Page 12 of The Christmas You Crash

Famous last words. Listen, Lex, I gotta go, but I want updates. At least twice daily. I love you. Be safe.

Love you too. Talk soon.

Locking my phone, I stare at the ceiling. I should get up, but I don’t want to leave the comfort of the blankets I’ve been nesting under. Unfortunately, my bladder has other plans. A minute later, I almost leave the bathroom without washing my face or dragging a comb through my tangled hair before remembering my uninvited guest. Guess I should at least look somewhat presentable. I don’t want to care what Ryder thinks about me, but I also don’t want to scare him half to death by walking out of here looking like some grouchy yeti. Stupid Rachel, putting yetis in my head.

And I am grouchy. The moment I remember the too-attractive, hockey-playing interloper sleeping down the hall, mymood sours. Although he said he’d stay out of my way, I’m going to feel obligated to include him. I might not like it, but that’s just who I am. A reluctant people pleaser. Thanks, Dad.

Yoga. I need to start off my day with some yoga. Tugging on a pair of leggings, a long-line sports bra, and an oversized sweatshirt, I quietly open the bedroom door and peer down the hall. Why? I don’t know. It’s not like I’m expecting Ryder to be standing, unblinking, outside my door like some weirdo. But I’m uncomfortable after the way the evening ended last night, and I have no idea what to expect when I see him today.

The house is silent, and I make sure it stays that way as I creep down the hall to the closet in the mudroom that holds my yoga mat. Carrying it out to the living room, I start a quick fire to banish the chill, then get set up. The snow falling outside is even more beautiful as the barest hint of warmth from the sunrise tints the swollen clouds a delicate pastel peach.

My anxiety fades as I take deep, steadying breaths and move through my favorite poses. The stretch of my muscles and the familiar routine of the movements help quiet my mind.

So this trip isn’t turning out the way I had hoped. So my father has, once again, done something that led to my disappointment. None of that is new. I can overcome my anxiety and frustration. Throughout the years, I’ve learned to center myself and cope with unforeseen changes.

Deep breath in.

Hold it for a count of four.

Slow breath out.

Soon, I’m completely in the zone. Nothing exists outside of my breath and my body. Nothing matters except for the familiar strain of my muscles as I flatten my palms on the mat, pull my knees and legs off the floor, and move into Crow Pose.

I’m okay.

Everything will be fine.

You are strong and resilient.

“Mornin’, Lexi.”

Zone obliterated, I fall on my face, narrowly avoiding smashing my nose into the floor. “Ow.”

“Shit.” Ryder’s feet move into my line of sight as I groan. And then his hands are untangling my limbs and lifting me easily off the floor, where I’d wanted to stay so I could melt into it in a puddle of shame and embarrassment. His voice is low and so close to my ear when he asks, “Are you okay?”

I groan again, this time less from the pain and more from shame as he sets me down on the couch and settles in next to me. “I’m fine. My pride stings more than my face.”

Ryder’s low chuckle rolls through my body in a way that should be illegal. Especially since I cannot like him. Not even as a friend. It would be highly inconvenient. He’s already got that damned dark-haired, blue-eyed thing going for him. Plus, he’s annoyingly polite. It would be really great if the universe would stop stacking this guy up with all my favoriteyumsand throw someyucksin there to balance things out.

“Don’t laugh at me,” I grumble.

Of course, that just makes him laugh harder.

“Sorry, Lexi,” he says once he gets himself under control. That’s when I allow myself to look up at him. Which, I quickly realize, is a mistake.

Ryder Hanson is hot as hell. There’s no denying that. ButmorningRyder? He’s adorable. His blue eyes are squinty and just the slightest bit puffy as he blinks at the world, attempting to acclimate to the sun. His dark hair has more pronounced waves this morning, and they’re sticking up at all angles. But it’s his sleepy, lazy smile that gets me. Which is how I find myself returning said smile against my will.

“Why are you up so early? Shouldn’t you be sleeping in? I know you guys don’t get time off very often.” The question is gruff, but he pretends not to notice.

“Force of habit. I have a hard time sleeping in, even during the off-season. I’m too used to early mornings. Why are you awake?”

“Same reason,” I say, staring at the fire, so I’m not tempted to look at Ryder. “I go to an early yoga class most mornings at home.”

Silence stretches between us, and I’m unsure whether I should apologize for whatever I said that shut him down last night or just pretend it never happened and hope I don’t ask something stupid again. I get not wanting to talk about your family. Besides distancing myself from my dad, because I’m not actually sure he gives a rat’s ass about me, I’ve also distanced myself from him because this is Minnesota. As soon as people find out that I’m Coach Cross’s daughter, they stop seeingmeand start seeing a way to get free Rogues tickets or to meet the team.

Nothing is more demoralizing than finding a guy you really vibe with, dating, and then having to break up with him because his eyes glaze over any time you speak and it doesn’t have to do with hockey. Hell, there were a few times guys stopped being interested in sex with me because they didn’t want to piss off my dad. Just in case they ever met him. Which they never would.

So, yeah. I get it. Family can be a sore subject, and I won’t ask again.

---