Page 3 of Hat Trick Holidate

“I guess I can cry in Atlanta as easily as here.”

My brother lays his hand on my arm, giving it a pump. “It’s okay if you do, but it’s also perfectly fine for you to get drunk and dance your tail off.”

I do like to dance.

two

BRYCE - PRESENT DAY

Two days per year,every year, I get fucked up. Does it help? Temporarily, yes. Will I wake up tomorrow feeling worse? Yes. I’ll have a headache in addition to the jagged, open wound in my heart, in memory of my brother’s death. At least I have my guys, even if they think I’m a grumpy asshole. Only one of my Georgia Jets teammates knows what I’ve been through—Reed Bauer Cross, the best damn human being on earth. We played for the Kentucky Stallions together, and in the off-season, he was a free agent and ended up here on the Georgia Jets.

As we enter the club, I can’t help but remember that he was with me on my brother’s birthday, years ago when he and some friends came down to watch me in my first season as a professional. A friend’s wife, Lettie, was competing in a Grand Prix event to make it to the Olympic Trials. I’m not sure what it’s called, but she won a medal in the Olympics.

The VIP host seats the team in the same location as thatnight. I was a rookie, and the way I skated had everyone wanting me. God, that seems like a century ago. I was dancing with some girls when I saw this fiery redhead across the floor. Her hips swayed hypnotically from side to side. From the moment I saw her, her mesmerizing legs caught my attention. Their length and fullness were like an invisible force drawing me in and captivating me completely.

Her hands were above her head, and she looked like a fantasy goddess set ablaze. The rhythmic waves of the strobe lights outlined her hair as it swung.

Damn, that was quite a night. I don’t remember many one-night stands, especially one so many years ago, but this one was different. We danced for an hour and then came back to this cordoned-off area with my Stallions teammates and some other friends from college. For weeks, the guys teased me in our group text.

Hagan: She gave you, Rookie of the Year, a fake name. Rusti.

Reed: The girls loved her.

Flynn: Wish you would have gotten her name.

Dane: Lettie won’t shut up about how perfect she would be in our group.

Rusti?Probably fake. That’s why she felt different and why she’s never been far from my thoughts. The night was epic. Hands down the most fun I’ve ever had. The best sex ofmy life. Not that it was hard core, but it was like we were both unleashing the monsters inside us. Uncontrollable passion. Fuck, it was a connection unlike any I’ve ever had.

“Wynward? What do you want?” Rustavelli, who was traded to the Jets this year, snaps. He’s seasoned like Reed and I, but I would be lying if I said we were friends. Now, we tolerate each other. We’ve been rivals since college, but on the ice, we need to know our teammates have our backs. And now that we’re into the season, I’m doing my damnedest to forge a relationship with him. Not too long ago, he made headlines for all the wrong reasons which is why he’s no longer on the Vipers. As captain, I intend on capitalizing on his time with the Jets. It’s been two years since I won a Cup, and Reed and Roman are the missing pieces.

Management and I had a conversation about Roman Rustavelli joining the team and even though I’ve detested him for a long time, I really want to get back to the championship and win the Stanley Cup one more time before I hang up my skates.

“Rustavelli, I called ahead. Twenty-five-year-old Pappy is on its way.” My voice is tinted with annoyance. Not because it’s expensive bourbon, but shitty memories cloud my space.

Roman Rustavelli’s mouth opens, “Blowing a week’s check, Captain Grump?” he asks with sarcasm lacing his tone.

“Nah, just a day’s pay.” I grin, knowing I’m the highest paid player on the team at eighteen million a year. Yep, fifty thousand a day is ridiculous, and I haveno one to spend it on, so we’re getting trashed in honor of my brother’s birthday. He turns to the hostess and asks her to bring the Rip Van Winkle, and I swear the thin, model-like girl sees the biggest tip of her life in her future.

With Rustavelli’s eyes on the hostess, Reed takes a pull of his beer, standing by me as we survey the crowd of people below. “I can’t stay long, but I wanted to be here with you tonight. Bryce?”

He rarely calls me Bryce, so I know he’s concerned. “What?”

“When are you going to quit punishing yourself?”

Shaking my head, I say, “I can’t. He deserved this life.”

In a club where the walls echo the heavy bass of the music, it’s silent. What have I done with my life? I play hockey and have done it well since I was a kid. But I have no one to share my success or failures with. No family. My dad lives overseas, and my mom passed away from a broken heart years ago.

I wish it would have been me. It should have been me.

This is why the guys call me “Grumps.” In college, they called me introspective, quiet, a leader, and friend. But it’s different in the pros. Most have wives by their third year in the league and then come the babies. Reed has five children: Caleb, Colby, Christina, Carly, and Cannon. It’s a tongue twister.

“Listen, Brooke and my brother Stone are developing a dating app for the holidays. She wants you to sign up.”

I cough into my hand, laughing, just as the hostess delivers the high-priced bottle of bourbon. She pours a glass and hands it to me. “Not a chance.” She looks stunned, and Irealize she thought I was speaking to her. “Sorry, I was talking to my friend.” A polite smile crosses her lips.

Rustavelli, Reed, Lykins, and our goalie Snow, all single but Reed, sit down on the couch, and we each take a shot. Rustavelli is in as bad a mood as I, even though we just beat his former team. If my team traded me after giving them seven years of playoff appearances and stats that rival hockey greats, I would be pissed too.

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