Page 35 of Holiday Hostilities

“Everyone, that’s who!”

I can’t help but laugh. As the two of them continue to argue back and forth, I push my mashed potatoes to the side of my plate as surreptitiously as possible before digging into my stuffing, which tastes infinitely better.

Questionable potatoes aside, the meal’s going surprisingly well. Most of the team is here, along with their better halves and a smatter of sticky-fingered, over-excited children. Reagan came, and so did Stefani—our team chef and nutritionist, and the one responsible for making the incredible stuffing I’m currently shoveling into my mouth.

Laughter rises around the room as people eat and drink and, in Colton and Griz’s cases, get a little merry. The two of them have decanted their beers into a couple of the glass pumpkin decorations I bought at Hobby Lobby earlier in a last-ditch attempt to be a good host, and are now having a chugging competition.

Jake wins and, luckily for him, Sofia laughs at his antics instead of publicly disowning him for being a man-child.

All in all, I’m glad Jimmy came up with this plan. All this togetherness is surely good for team morale.

“A toast!” Colton announces grandly when everyone’s finished eating, raising his pumpkin high. “To our captain, for hosting us today!”

I smirk. “I don’t believe I had a choice in the matter.”

“To our captain, for putting up with our B.S.” Dallas shouts, and everyone laughs. “May you lead us all to victory this year.”

“No pressure,” I joke, even as I feel pressure. I shake it off and raise my glass high, saluting my teammates. “To the Cyclones!”

Everyone cheers and raises their glasses (or various drinking containers) accordingly.

“To spending Thanksgiving with all you beautiful people!” Reagan adds.

“To the best hockey team on earth!” Triple J pipes up.

The cheers get louder.

“TO THIS BEING THE SEASON WHEN WE FINALLY WIN THE STANLEY MOTHERF?—”

“Kids!” I swiftly cut Perez off. “There are kids here!”

Seb shoots me a grateful look, which is a little funny seeing as his son is, like, two months old and a little blob of a human who can’t understand anything being said right now.

“Whoops.” Colton grins goofily, swaying on his feet. “I mean, to the Cyclones winning the Stanley FRICKING Cup!”

He looks ridiculously proud of this delayed correction, but nevertheless, everyone gets to their feet and clinks glasses. It’s the sort of festive, celebratory scene that would make anyone feel warm and fuzzy inside.

After cheersing everyone in my immediate vicinity, I turn to Olivia. But instead of joining in the celebration, she’s chewing her lip while texting with one hand.

Anyone except Olivia, apparently.

“Not going to cheers your favorite hockey player?” I ask her with a waggle of my brows.

“Mmm?” she says, holding out her glass without even looking up from her phone screen. My words must sink in belatedly because her head snaps up, her eyes fix on me, and she smiles slyly. “Jimmy and I clinked glasses already.”

Anyone else might have missed it. Might just assume that she was simply distracted by a run-of-the-mill text. But I know Olivia, and I know that, while she has an excellent poker face, she holds all her cards in her eyes…

Sophomore year of high school, she joked about my (very ill-advised and short-lived) faux-hawk hairstyle with a big smile, but those eyes stayed flat. Turned out she’d just gotten a D on a test.

A year later, she laughed about how Arjun Singh turned down her invitation to the Sadie Hawkins dance, but her gaze was glued to the floor to hide the hurt.

That night, my senior year when I tumbled through her bedroom window and we talked on her bedroom floor, her eyes were sparkling and bright. But by the time I left, I’d accidentally extinguished all of those sparks. Let both her, and myself, believe for a moment that we could have something we couldn’t. That I could feel something I shouldn’t.

A few months ago, when she unceremoniously crashed into me in that club, and her eyes were flashing with the same panic I felt seeing her again for the first time in years.

And, right now, in front of me in my dining room, her smile is fox-like and sexy and cunning, but her eyes are defeated.

Something is wrong. And it’s tied to whatever she was just doing on her phone.

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