Page 126 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

“It seemed like the best idea at the time.”

“Then I’d hate to have heard your worst idea.”

My shoulder’s starting to ache again now. “I think I need to ice this and go to bed.”

He closes the lid on the debris we’vetossed inside the box. “Then in the morning you need to call my cousin and tell her how fucking amazing she is.”

“Huh.” I get off my stool and move toward the freezer. “So she can ignore my calls just like you did?”

“Jesus Christ, you are such a fucking moron, Woods.” He pulls out his phone. “I’ll call her for you.”

“No, no.” A cold, dread-filled panic surges in my chest.

He taps the screen. “Text then.”

I practically lunge across the island to stop him. “Fuck, no. Stop. That wouldn’t be fair.”

“Okay, okay.” He holds up his phone like a weapon he’s surrendering, then gingerly slides it into his back pocket.

Blowing out a breath of relief, I turn back to the freezer and pull out a fresh, ice-cold gel pack. Exactly like the one I wrapped around Natalie’s ankle that first night.

“Well, unless you want to engage in another old-timey form of communication and send her a carrier pigeon, that”—Wyatt points at my left shoulder as I wrap the pack around it—“has bought you a few days off. You could always go deliver a message yourself.”

“You meanyoubought me a few more days off by causing it.”

“Oh, don’t fucking start.” He heads up the hallway toward the elevator. “You know it was an accident. And I came here to apologize. So don’t give me shit for it.”

The cold already feels good.

“Look,” Wyatt says, pulling his boots back on. “I’m really fucking sorry we were both assholes who haven’t talked for so long. And I’m really fucking sorry that I told Nat you’re a dick and she should stay away from you.”

He straightens and grabs his coat from the rack.

Two hours ago, I thought the chances of me eventalking to Wyatt ever again were virtually zero. But here he is, in my hallway, having been the bigger person and shown up bearing our old traditional celebratory pizza and apologized to me for everything.

I step toward him and hold out my hand. “I’m sorry you were an asshole too.”

He laughs. It’s a brotherly laugh—a laugh you reserve for someone you could kill sometimes, but who you also love like they’re your family.

He bats my hand away—“Oh, fuck off”—and pulls me into a hug.

“Watch my shoulder.” I pat him on the back. “Some asshole tried to break it earlier.”

He lets go of me and opens the elevator doors. “And that asshole is wondering why the fuck you are here and not up in Warm Springs apologizing for being an asshole to someone who is definitely not an asshole.”

Then the doors slide shut across his knowing grin.

CHAPTER 40

NATALIE

We could not have hoped for a better evening for the play. The sky is clear, the moon bright, the stars twinkling. It’s a perfect Christmas Eve.

A couple of the parents helped me wrap the bandstand and the trees nearest the pond in more lights yesterday, and they look beautiful. The path from the sidewalk is illuminated by alternating Santa and snowman lights staked into the ground.

The turnout is beyond anything I expected. The half of the pond facing the action is lined with people about ten deep, many wearing their pig headbands or pig-eared hats from the festival. The two long benches are packed with residents from the retirement village. Victor stands behind one of them, alongside Uzma, Dorothy, and Gavin.

Speakers set up in the bandstand played a medley of festive tunes from Bing Crosby to Bruce Springsteen as everyone arrived, and the coffee twins mingled with thecrowd, handing out cocoa for donations to the theater repair fund.

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