Page 21 of Holiday Power Play

Maybe Trevor was right. It does seem like a lot of trouble for a few strangers just passing through.

"Let me guess, in exchange, he wants Lana's number?" Trevor says, still defensive.

"Nope, but he does want yours."

My eyes shoot back to my brother, and we both say, "What?"

"I mean, your jersey number. Signed. That was his only request. I told him you'd do it, no problem," Vance laughs. “Anything so that we don’t have to wait out a snowstorm from my car.”

"But I don't have a jersey,” Trevor says.

"No need. He's a fan, man. Apparently he has one at the cabin we'll be staying in. It's hanging in one of the guest rooms."

How nice that we'd find ourselves nearly a thousand miles from home and just so happen to run into Trevor's biggest fan.

"But actually now that you mention it, yeah, big bad sheriff dude did low-key ask me for Lana's number."

Trevor gives me anI told you solook.

I try to ignore him. "So, where is this cabin?"

"Welp," Vance says. "About that."

I'm once again engulfed in that scent that is purely Trevor Sincaid. A smell like that should be illegal. It's the kind of fragrance that makes for bad decisions. I realize the effect as I'm grabbing onto his midsection like my life depends on it.

The firm muscles of his stomach tighten at the way I grasp onto him as he speeds over bumps in the snow on the snowmobile.

My brother is riding just next to us. The people of Holly Ridge really are way too trusting to let people they don't know just stay in their cabins and borrow their snowmobiles.

What's next? A visit from the neighbors with a plate of cookies in the morning? Actually that wouldn’t be so bad.

The snowmobile hits a bump, and we fly into the air and land with a big thump, my body pushing up against Trevors as my legs hug his thighs in a way that isn't entirely appropriate, but I wasn't about to do this with my brother. Hell no.

Vance stops just before the dark cabin and shuts the ignition off. There aren't any lights for miles, and the cabin looksabandoned and untouched from where we are. Now, it all makes sense.

Trevor parks next to Vance and whistles, saying, "Looks about as festive as your house, little grinch."

I push myself away from him. "You’re one to talk."

“I just moved in. What’s your excuse?” Trevor says.

Vance quickly dismounts, bounds up the steps to the two-story log cabin, and tries the door. After moments of messing with the lock, he resorts to knocking.

"Don't you have a key?" Trevor calls out to him as he follows him up the steps.

"It's not working," he calls back over his shoulder.

The wind is picking up, and it hasn't stopped snowing since we got into town. It's getting heavier. We weren't able to bring the SUV up the road, so we were only able to bring whatever could fit into backpacks for the night.

Hopefully,justfor the night.

Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and I can imagine our family all gathered around the warm fire of the cabin in Breckenridge. A picturesque scene glowing behind them in the giant glass wall of the town full of lights and nearby snow-covered mountains. It was the post card that lives in my mind of every Christmas of our childhood.

That's the Christmas I was hoping for. Not getting detoured, snowed in, and trapped in an abandoned cabin in some small town with my brother and his obnoxious teammate.

An obnoxious teammate whose coat I'm now wearing since I was too aggravated at the sight of him to run back inside and actually grab mine before leaving on this stupid road trip.

Vance finally gets the door open. Inside, we split up in search of light switches. I run my hands over the walls in the dark place and find one, switching it back and forth—nothing.

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