Page 14 of Snowed In With the PUCK

“I think this is a bit fragile,” I say, holding it up.

His expression changes instantly. There’s something in his eyes—a hesitation I haven’t seen before, accompanied by a sigh. He takes the album from my hands like it’s precious, like it’s something he hasn’t touched in a long time… like it’s something he’s not sure he wants to see right now.

“I haven’t looked through this in years,” he says with an attempt at a smile, flipping the cover open.

I move back to give him some space, watching as he turns the pages slowly, his gaze lingering on the old photographs. I can tell these memories mean something to him, but there’s a distance in his eyes, like he’s trying to keep himself from feeling too much.

After a few minutes, I notice his fingers pause on a photo of a woman, probably from the 1980s, her hair big and styled in that over-the-top way everyone wore back then. There’s something scribbled on the back of the photo, but I can’t make out what it says from where I’m sitting.

Eric closes the album abruptly, his expression hardening. “I’ll put this away later,” he says, his voice tense. It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about it, so I don’t push.

Instead, I stand up and stretch, trying to shake off the awkwardness that keeps piling up on this day. “I’ll make us some hot chocolate,” I offer. “I’m still freezing from earlier outside.”

He nods, but his mind is somewhere else. I can see it in the way his jaw is clenched, the way his eyes are distant, even as he watches me walk into the kitchen.

While I prepare the hot chocolate, I can’t help but think about how much I don’t know about Eric. I know the basics—he’s an incredible hockey player, he’s been through some tough losses, and he’s dealing with more than he lets on with this mid-season trade deal. But what I don’t know is what makes him tick. What’s behind the hard exterior and the easy charm he shows to the world?

When I come back into the living room, two mugs of steaming hot chocolate in hand, Eric is sitting on the couch, staring at the fireplace like it holds all the answers. I hand him a mug and sit down beside him, careful to keep some space between us. After what happened earlier, I’m not sure how to act around him. That’s mostly because I don’t know how I feel about the sex we shared.

He takes a sip of the hot chocolate and glances at me, his expression softening just a little. “Thanks,” he says quietly.

I nod, wrapping my hands around my mug for warmth. “So, I read somewhere that you lived with your grandparents, right? Did your grandparents always go all out with the Christmas decorations?” I ask, trying to steer the conversation back to something pleasant.

A small smile softens his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, they did. My grandma especially. She was the best, and man, she loved Christmas. It was her favorite time of year.”

His voice is soft, almost wistful, and I can tell that the memories of his grandparents are still fresh for him, even though I believe they passed away years ago. He doesn’t mention his parents, though, and I notice that he hasn’t talked about them once since we met.

“What about your parents?” I ask gently, hoping he might open up a little more.

Eric’s expression is guarded again, and I instantly regret asking. “They died when I was a kid. I don’t really remember them.” He smiles that fake smile public figures use when they have to seem pleasant. “I’m just glad I had family to raise me, my grandparents.”

I can definitely tell he doesn’t want to talk about it, so I don’t pursue the topic. Instead, I let the silence settle between us, sipping my hot chocolate and wondering if I’ll ever really get to know the person behind the hockey star.

After a few minutes, I decide to share a little of my own story. Maybe it’ll help make things less awkward. “My dad… he’s always been a tough guy to impress,” I say, keeping my voice casual, like it’s no big deal. “He’s an entertainment attorney, so he’s used to working with big names and celebrities. Nothing I do ever seems good enough for him.”

Eric glances at me, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really? But you’re coming from NYC, so I just assumed”

I shrug, trying to downplay it. “Assumed that working for a good firm in the Big Apple would be enough for him?” I laugh harshly, then nudge him with my shoulder to soften my attitude. “Wishful thinking. It is what it is, right? You can’t force people to change. But yeah, it makes the holidays a little… complicated.”

Before Eric can respond, my phone buzzes on the coffee table and I glance at the screen. It’s my dad. Of course. His timing is weirdly perfect in the worst way.

I decline the call, feeling a little embarrassed, but Eric doesn’t say anything. He just watches me, his expression unreadable.

“Your dad?” he asks the obvious, his voice low.

I nod, setting my phone down. “Yeah. He calls to check in, make sure I’m doing everything ‘up to his standards,’ especially with this new job. Working for an NHL team is a big deal.” I say it with a laugh, but there’s a bitterness in my tone that I can’t quite hide. My words make me realize again that I made a really big mistake by having sex with one of the NHL’s more popular players.

Eric doesn’t ask any more questions, and for that, I’m grateful.

Instead, Eric stands up. “I should probably unpack some more of those boxes,” he says. “I’m going to head out to the garage and see what’s all out there.”

It’s an excuse to be alone, and I feel the same way right now. I nod, watching him as he walks toward the garage, his broad shoulders tense. There’s so much more to him than I ever realized, and now he knows there’s more to me too.

Chapter seven

Eric

I’m standing in thecold garage, surrounded by stacks of cardboard boxes, trying to focus on unpacking the essentials to bring inside, but my mind keeps drifting back to Jessica. I used to have casual, meaningless sex back in my younger years. But I stopped all that a long time ago. Now, when I am intimate with a woman, I try to make it mean something.

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