Page 65 of Santa's Pucking Hat Trick

“Let’s win this for her,” Roman said, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I smiled, the tension in my chest easing for the first time all night. “For Rachel.”

The game wasn’t over yet—not for the Santas, and definitely not for us. We were going to win this, and when it was over, we were going to fight for Rachel. Because we loved her. And now, we knew she needed us just as much as we needed her.

37

RACHEL

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting golden warmth over the living room as I curled up on the couch with a mug of hot cocoa. The twinkling Christmas tree lights shimmered in the corner, their soft colors reflecting off the glass ornaments. It was Christmas Eve, and my heart was heavier than it had ever been.

I took a sip of cocoa, letting the warmth seep through me, but it did little to comfort the ache that had been growing since the gala. I hadn’t heard from Wes, Roman, or Sawyer in days. Not since Bria dropped the bombshell that I was pregnant—and I had to admit to them that I wasn’t sure who the father was.

I hadn’t reached out to them either, and maybe that was on me. But I’d already apologized for keeping the pregnancy from them. I couldn’t be the one to reach out again. If they wanted to be part of this, part of my life, they needed to show me. They needed to fight for me.

But their silence…it gnawed at me. I couldn’t help but wonder if it meant they didn’t want this baby. Didn’t want me. Maybe it was too much for them. Too messy. Too complicated.

My hand drifted to my stomach, where my bump was really starting to show. Today had been hard, especially when I finally told my parents the truth. I didn’t want to ruin Christmas, so I had to get it over with now, while they were still riding the high of holiday cheer but before the big day itself. Their ho-ho-ho spirits evaporated the second the words left my mouth, though.

Paula had almost fainted, and my dad—well, he’d gone completely white around his mustache, like all the blood had drained from his face. He was always the quiet type, and his silence spoke volumes. Mom had been on the verge of a meltdown, panicking about me having unprotected sex, about the concept of me not knowing who had fathered my child, until Michael, of all people, stepped in. My brother, who I thought would’ve been the angriest before, defended me like the amazing twin he’d always been. He explained everything—our relationship, my feelings—and that, yes, it was unconventional, but it was real.

Mom’s response, once she’d gotten over the initial shock, had been…oddly typical. “Well, I love Wes, of course. Roman is so charming. Sawyer’s always been a bit more aloof with me. But I guess if he’s going to be my new son-in-law, he’ll just have to get over his macho stuff.”

It stung, though, to think,He’s not going to be your son-in-law, Mom. None of them will be. I wasn’t sure if they even wanted me anymore. The thought made my chest tighten, and I pressed my eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears that had been threatening to spill all day.

Then, I heard it. A sound from outside. A clatter arose, like something out of that dumb storybook, but not on the roof—on the front lawn.

Frowning, I pulled my cardigan tighter around myself, slipped on my slippers, and padded toward the front door. As I stepped outside into the cool night air, I blinked in disbelief.

There, standing in the snow-dusted yard, were Wes, Roman, and Sawyer. All three of them wore Santa hats, and as if this moment couldn’t get more surreal, they were…singing?

Trying to, anyway. Wes surprised me by having a pretty nice singing voice, but Sawyer and Roman were completely tone deaf. It was charming to see Roman especially, belting out something that vaguely resembled notes, but certainly not the right ones.

It was the melody of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.” But it took me a long second to realize they’d changed the words.

“We wish you would forgive us, we wish you would forgive us, we wish you would forgive us, and accept our apology!”

I gaped at them as they carried on, each of them chiming in with their own verses. Roman stepped out of their line for his solo first.

“We’re sorry we were idiots,” Roman belted out, his voice louder than the others, “and acted like pricks! I’ll admit that I panicked,” he said, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation, “I was being a dick!”

I burst out laughing, tears springing to my eyes for an entirely different reason now. Stupid hormones. I was never the weepy type, but this? This was too much.

Wes stepped forward next, his voice softer, but the sincerity in his eyes was undeniable. “I thought I’d be a bad dad, but the real truth is, I’m not scared of that now, I’m—” he broke off the song and spoke the last few words, which didn’t fit with the rhythm anyway. “I’m scared of losing you, Rach.”

I couldn’t stop laughing—andcrying—as Sawyer finished off the song. “We wish you would forgive us, and love us through this mess. We’re ready for our baby, and we’ll do our best!”

By the time they were done, I was a mess of laughter, tears, and sheer disbelief. They were here. They had come for me. Hell, they’d even organized a whole grand gesture like this was some kind of Christmas movie. And it seemed like the gesture stillwasn’t over, because Wes stepped up, then, pulling something from behind his back with a sheepish grin.

I took the small piece of fabric into my hands, examining it. It was a tiny Skatin’ Santas’ jersey, red and white, with a number on the back. But it wasn’t the number that made me gasp—it was the name stitched across it: Finnegan-Jett-Robbins-Henning.

I stared at the jersey, my heart swelling so big I thought it might burst. “Oh my God,” I managed, laughter bubbling through my sobs. “This looks so ridiculous.”

Roman stepped closer, holding out a festive-looking trophy with candy cane handles. “Oh, and we know you don’t care about hockey?—”

“I don’tnotcare about hockey,” I lied feebly. Roman went on.

“But we thought you might want to know that the team won the Christmas Classic,” he said, grinning. That explained the trophy that looked like something from Santa’s workshop. Only in Mistletoe.

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