Page 24

Xander, December 18th

V an der Hoff takes another turn too fast. Without anything to hold on to, the momentum throws me against the car door. I swear he’s grinning, even though all I can see is the back of his head.

“Dick,” I mutter, rubbing my shoulder. My comment gets lost in Nate’s excited yell.

“We’re here!”

His brother huffs, throwing him an annoyed look as he pulls into the driveway of their parents’ house.

It’s beautiful—almost a mansion—with a white facade and dark window frames. A pathway of natural stones winds its way through the frozen grass to the front door. The house is large enough to promise a separate room for every family member, as well as several guest rooms. Because I’ve been here before, I know there’s a workout area, a huge living room and kitchen, and a backyard that’s big enough to tout a porch for barbecues, and a hot tub. Still, there’s enough lawn left over to play all sorts of ball games, and tall hedges to keep away the prying eyes of neighbors and passersby.

The casual luxury of all that space makes me feel just as intimidated as when I first visited Nate during summer break.

After about five hours of being stuck in the car, it feels good to stretch my legs. I took the first shift of driving while the twins kept arguing over the music. The result was hours of Nate’s weird mix of pop music with some rap thrown in that I only realized was in Dutch when we passed into Massachusetts.

Nate runs ahead, backpack half-slung across his shoulder, leaving me with his twin to unpack the rest of our stuff.

Van der Hoff has his head buried in the trunk when I walk around the car to help. I wordlessly reach past him to get my travel bag—easily distinguishable from the twins’ luggage by the patches where the material has frayed—but Van der Hoff has already grabbed it. His hand is warm under mine, and I start at the unexpected contact.

I quickly retreat, my skin tingling.

“Can I get my bag?” I ask, forcing my voice to come out steady. Thankfully Nate is talking to his parents at the door, because I’m pretty sure a blind man could see my discomfort.

Van der Hoff’s green eyes glint with mirth as he holds out my bag.

For another moment I’m frozen in my tracks, painfully aware that it’s the first time we’ve been alone since I snuck out of the locker room at the Bonham Tech rink—but I’m too tongue-tied to make anything out of the situation, which ends as Van der Hoff rolls his eyes and drops my bag at my feet. It lands with a heavy thud on the ground.

“Oh, come on,” I growl, but Van der Hoff merely takes his own duffel and turns toward the house.

With a shake of my head, I remind myself that this behavior is unacceptable no matter how hot the guy is. Still, my eyes follow him, trailing over his broad shoulders, down his trim waist, to the way his jeans hug his ass. With another grumble I lean down to pick up my bag. Whatever is going on, I must have seriously gotten my wires crossed to have butterflies instead of anger welling up in my stomach.

I stop in front of the entrance where a tall blond man has pulled his two lookalikes into a hug despite their protest.

I lean past them to offer my hand to Mrs. Van der Hoff, a brunette who is still every bit the athlete she used to be during her own time as a professional hockey player. Her athleticism is evidenced in her slim figure, the practical braided ponytail, and the functional wear that makes it seem like she just returned from training.

“Hello, Alexander, nice to see you again,” she says, squeezing my hand. Her greeting is friendly as always and I smile, even if her piercing eyes make me feel like I’m back in St. Bernard’s locker room, getting stared down by Coach. I swallow thickly to push my heart back into its proper spot between my ribs.

She has that kind of sharpness about her, that only one of her sons inherited.

“Let’s get all your things inside, hm? Hi, Xander,” Mr. Van der Hoff says, his voice tinted with just a hint of a Dutch accent. He claps a heavy hand on my shoulder as he passes me. It doesn’t take away the feeling of being an intruder, but it helps to ease some of my tension.

Mr. and Mrs. Van der Hoff have dinner waiting for us. There’s some green vegetable mash and sliced sausage with a side of dark gravy. I’ve never had anything like it before and pick at it initially, but once I’ve tried all the components, I come to the conclusion that it tastes great, so I eat some more and then start mixing it all together.

Dinner passes without incident, even if I was unlucky enough to end up sitting next to Van der Hoff. He and I are both too hungry to start an argument about it.

Afterward, I help to clear the table, hovering a bit awkwardly around the dishwasher until I’ve watched Nate put in some of the cutlery. I copy him, hopefully without disturbing their usual way of loading up the trays.

I’m about to excuse myself when Mr. Van der Hoff comes back from lighting up their fireplace, placing a large cardboard box on the table. When he lifts the lid, the ornaments inside shine and twinkle.

“Would you boys do the honors? You know your mother won’t let me decorate the tree anymore, right, Liefje ?”

“For good reason, darling.” They share a smile that makes me feel like I’m spying on an intimate moment.

Nate grabs the bag, and I’m grateful that I can follow him.

The tree is set up in a corner of the living room, right next to the TV. It’s tall enough to brush against the high ceiling, the branches sweeping out like a bristly skirt. Fairy lights are already strung around it, twinkling between the dark needles.

The small lights and the flickering flames of the fireplace make even the bulky leather couch and the bare walls feel warm and inviting. Paired with the woodsy smell of tree sap, the atmosphere is so potently homey I wish I could bottle it up and carry it with me.

“Okay, you can take the red ones, I’ll put the golden ones,” Nate delegates tasks, holding out a smaller cardboard box to me.

“We always have red and gold! Why not silver and blue for once?” Van der Hoff’s voice makes me jump. I instinctively hold the carton with its fragile contents more tightly.

“Because we don’t have enough silver. Besides–” Nate already has a big and intricately painted bauble in hand, studying the tree intently as if hanging the first ornament is a matter of life and death. “–red and gold look best.”

I don’t wait for them to settle their argument and start taking out red baubles to arrange in a spiral all around the tree.

“You shouldn’t put that one there.” Again, Van der Hoff’s voice startles me. I raise a brow at him, and then look to where he’s pointing.

“And where would you put it?”

“There, obviously.”

I sigh but reach out to take the ornament and move it a few inches. “Here?”

“No. There! ”

“That’s where it is!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, let me!” Van der Hoff pushes into my personal space and grabs for the glass ball.

Feeling it slip from my fingers at his impatience, I hiss and reach over with my other hand to catch it. For a moment we’re all tangled up: Van der Hoff’s shoulder digging into my chest, his hair tickling my throat, our arms locked around each other.

At least the ornament doesn’t drop.

I quickly relent and pull my hand out from under Van der Hoff’s, taking a small step back. Still my heart jumps into my throat. Stupid, after such a brief touch, when he has been much closer. But that was when I was half-mad with anger and lust.

“Do you have eyes? How could you miss a huge gap like this?” Van der Hoff berates me, his voice carrying just a hint of strain. He hangs the ornament in the exact same spot where it was before he interrupted me.

I snort and shake my head, picking up a glass pinecone.

“Do you do this every year?” I ask, raising my voice to make clear the question is directed at both twins.

“Yeah,” Nate smiles as he passes me on his way to the other side of the tree. “When we were small, Oma would decorate the tree in the night, and we’d wake up to it. But since we moved here, we’ve always done it together.”

I hum and walk around the tree to the other side, where Nate has put so many golden balls that I barely find spots for red ones.

By the time we’re finished the whole tree is sparkling and looking like a proper Christmas tree. Except for–

“You’ll never reach. Let me do it.”

“We’re the same height!”

I look over to where the twins are arguing again, raising a brow when Van der Hoff successfully shakes Nate off. He leans toward the tree, hand outstretched with a star-shaped tree topper.

“Ugh, I’ll get a ladder.” Nate rolls his eyes when he walks past me.

I chuckle, but also go over to make sure Van der Hoff doesn’t fall into the tree in his attempt to finish it. He’s not missing the tip by much, maybe one or two inches. But he’s stretched out as far as he can, shirt riding up to reveal the dips next to the curve of his spine, just above the waistline of his pants.

I bite my tongue and turn my head to make sure Nate is gone, then take another step closer, coming up behind Van der Hoff.

“Let me,” I hum lowly, sliding my hand over the small of his back to steady him, the other reaching up to take the ornament from him. I feel rather than hear his sharp intake of breath, mirroring him unconsciously. The smell of his aftershave—sandalwood—rises into my nose, mixing with the scent of the pine needles.

With the heat of his skin radiating into mine, I almost forget why I’ve touched him, but the cool glass in my other hand reminds me. Grasping the star, I reach up and gently place it on the top of the tree.

Feeling the curve of Van der Hoff’s back aligning with my front keeps me stretched out for a moment longer before I settle back on my feet.

“There we go,” I say, unnecessarily betraying my breathlessness, but I manage to take a step back before loud clanging announces Nate’s return.

“Oh, how did you do that?”

“Told you I could reach!” Van der Hoff turns to his brother, his eyes carefully avoiding mine.