Page 36 of Cross Checks

As I tossed and turned, I thought about how much I’d grown as a player and person in the 2 1/2 years since I’d started to play for the Cougars. I learned so much from my coaches and fellow players, and my relationship with Hank was making me into a better man.

I remember my first look into Hank’s eyes when I lay in his arms that day he rescued me from the locker room fire. Since then, he’d become so much more than the firefighter hero. He was my rock, my support system, and the love of my life.

As I considered what would happen if I made it to the NHL, I wondered what it would mean for Hank and me. He said he would be willing to follow me anywhere, but I knew he had deep roots in coastal Maine.

The thought of being apart from him was almost unbearable, but I knew almost everyone else would tell me my life dreams were crucial. I sighed and rolled over again in bed.

I heard Coach Hoss’s gravelly voice saying, “Focus. One game at a time.”

A few days later, a brisk winter breeze nipped at my cheeks as Hank and I wandered through rows of Christmas trees. We were searching for the perfect one to put up in his living room.

The scent of fresh pine put a smile on my face. As we checked out each tree, Hank’s grin grew wider. He enjoyed the search.

“Hey, what about this one?” he asked as he gestured toward a bushy fir.

“It’s a little full, don’t you think? Like it’s got a potbelly? It might take up the entire room.” I chuckled as I tried to imagine the tree squeezed into Hank’s cozy living room.

“Okay,” he conceded. “Let’s find something a little more proportional.”

As we continued the search, our easy conversation helped chase away the anxiety that lingered in my brain about Coach Hoss’s mention of the NHL scout. Each new tree seemed to make those worries less significant.

Finally, we stumbled upon a tree that we both thought was just right. It wasn’t too tall, but it was majestic enough to look good next to Hank’s tall frame.

As we hoisted the tree onto his truck, I itched with the desire to tell him about the scout. I hated keeping secrets from him, but I didn’t want to create unnecessary worries either.

Back at his house, we got to work decorating the new tree. Hank had boxes of lights and decorations, some dating back over three generations in his family. When we had the all-white lights placed, their twinkling looked like stars in the night sky.

Hank played Christmas carols while we pulled out the ornaments. Most of them looked handmade.

“I remember you telling me about your family’s tradition of making some new homemade ornaments every year. These are great.” I paused to admire a tiny wooden reindeer.

“Some of these are falling apart,” Hank observed, “but it’s hard just to retire them. Would you like to do some new ones for our first year together?”

I thought the idea was great, but I hesitated to answer, thinking about the possibility of a move to an NHL city throwing a wrench into our relationship. “One game at a time,” repeated Coach Hoss inside my head.

“Yes, that’s an awesome idea,” I agreed.

A few minutes later, I was ready for a break. “How about some eggnog?” I’d brought all the ingredients with me. While a fire crackled merrily and Christmas songs filled the air, I headed to the kitchen.

“Yes, we need a break,” Hank agreed. He rolled up his sleeves and joined me in the kitchen. I couldn’t cook much but knew how to mix a few drinks. “Having this homemade will be a first for me.”

“You’re in for a treat,” I promised. We worked together, measuring the ingredients and whisking the eggs.

As we heated the milk on the stove, Hank said, “I didn’t know you cooked eggnog.”

“This is cooking? I think it’s making drinks,” I chuckled.

When we'd nearly finished it, Hank observed, “I thought you’re supposed to drink eggnog cold. Do we need to wait for an hour or two while we put it in the fridge?”

I shook my head. “That’s the standard way, but I drink this recipe warm. It’s great, and you’ll thank me.”

With warm mugs full of the creamy spiked drink, we returned to the living room and settled onto the couch. The tree was nearly complete, and it stood proudly in a corner of the room with its twinkling lights.

With one of Hank’s arms wrapped securely around me, we started to share stories of Christmas past. They were the holidays that shaped us both into the men we became.

“Tell me more about those crazy family gatherings with your cousins,” Hank urged. “What’s the wildest thing that ever happened?”

“So, this one year,” I started. “We had the most epic snowball fight I’ve ever known. We’d built forts, and we chased each other around the outside of the house. It was great fun until…”

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