Page 80 of Hat Trick

“Bam-bam!” Toby shouts, hurling more snowballs like he’s on the pitcher’s mound at Fenway Park. “I’m going towin!”

I watch as the couple twist their bodies so that their chests touch as their lips brush together in akiss.

And Iyearn. I yearn with everything that I am to know what that’s like—to have a partner by your side and kids to laugh with, and someone to loveunconditionally.

Loneliness seeps into my bones, whisperinghelloto the regret already residing there like they’re oldfriends.

Take the leap offaith.

With cold, numb fingers, and my rapidly beating heart, I pull up his phone number and make my second call in the last hour. I wait and I wait and I wait, and then my pulse leaps when the phone clicks onand—

“Hello, this isMarcus.”

Marcus? I pull the phone back to stare at the number, just to make sure I called the right one. “Hello?” I say. “I’m sorry, I think maybe I’ve got the wrong phone number? I’m looking for aMarshall?”

I hear molars grinding like the guy is chewing gum. “No Marshall here, lady. Listen, I got to go, okay? It’s Christmas and I’ve got people over. Have a good one, yada yadayada.”

There’s an audibleclickas the callends.

My gaze shoots back up to the rearview mirror only to find that the family has moved back into the warmth of the house and the door isshut.

Locking their love inside where itbelongs.

Meanwhile, I’m sitting in my car on Christmas night with absolutely nowhere to go and no one to see. I don’t want to bring down either Zoe or Charlie’s holiday, and it’s incredibly obvious that Marshall has moved his queen into place on thechessboard.

Actually, he’s swiped all his chess pieces off the board and removed himself from thegame.

The knowledge burns like hot coals under myfeet.

My phone comes to life on my thigh.Marshall. I swipe it open without glancing at the Caller ID, giddy butterflies coming to life in my belly as I answer. “Marshall.”

“Not Marshall,” comes a female voice with alaugh.

Crap. Rolling up the window, I tuck my phone against my shoulder and then rub some warmth back into my fingers. “Holly. I’m so sorry. I thought . . . Well, it doesn’t really matter what I thought. What can I do foryou?”

There’s a small pause before she replies. “Does the offer still stand to hang out today? I’m drinking alone at a bar and I’m not going to lie, it’s mighty damnpathetic.”

Part of me wants to ask where Jackson is if he’s not with her, but it’s none of my business. “Which bar?” I ask, already backing my car up out of my mother’s driveway. “Any chance you could have a shot waiting forme?”

“How about a flight of shots?” She laughs into the phone, but the sound is tired and more than a little sad. “It sounds like you might need them just as much as Ido.”

I think of calling Marshall and some random guy named Marcus picking up. If that’s not a sign then I don’t know what it is. “You think one of those will cure a brokenheart?”

“Not sure. But I’m down to give it a go if youare.”

“Done.”

Then I think of the couple standing over their suburban kingdom, watching their children play in the snow and the almost reverent way they held eachother.

Marshall is the only man I’ve ever wanted—loved—with all of my being. I want it all with him: kids, the white picket fence, marriage. Not necessarily in thatorder.

Don’t everbail.

I bailed and I bailed hard, but that doesn’t mean the game is over, right? Sometimes there’s overtime. Sometimes there’s a shoot-out. And sometimes I need to stop thinking about hockey references, even in my ownhead.

Foot to the brake, I slow the car as I pull up to a red stoplight. Feeling bolstered by my mental pep talk, I say, “I need aplan.”

Holly’s momentary silence is interspersed with her asking for another round of drinks. “Good thing you’re a publicist. Planning is pretty much your job description, isn’tit?”

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