Page 21 of Mountain Man's Naughty List
Stevie’s smile blooms wide and knowing. “I’ll grab my laptop.”
NINE
THATCHER
It’s Christmas Eve, but the only hint of the season is the occasional humming ofJingle Bellsfrom one of the rookies.
As usual, the day before a big game, the team runs one last light practice. The guys are loose, laughing, full of that pre-holiday buzz. I should feel it too—the hum before the next shot at redemption. Instead, every stride feels wrong. Too fast, too hollow. Every echo of my skates against the boards sounds like someone else’s heartbeat.
When practice ends, I’m the last one in the locker room. I peel off my gear, sit staring at the scuffed floor, and fish a folded piece of paper from my jacket pocket.
Thenaughty list.
It’s soft at the corners now, ink smudged from my thumb. I unfold it carefully, eyes tracing the words that started as a joke:Skip the gym. Sleep past six. Drink a gallon of eggnog. Get laid.
I flip it over.Don’t fall.
Too late. Way too damn late.
Coach Dane steps into the doorway, arms folded. “You planning to shower sometime this century, Holt?”
I glance up. “Thinking about it.”
He studies me for a long moment, then nods toward the paper. “Is that your playbook now?”
“Something like that.”
“What happened up there on your vacation?” He comes closer, lowering himself onto the bench across from me. “You’ve been off all morning.”
“Just tired.”
“That’s a load of shit and we both know it.” He leans his elbows on his knees. “Go on. Talk.”
I stare at the ice bag melting by my foot. “I don’t think I can play tomorrow.”
His brows shoot up. “You’re cleared. You’ve been waiting weeks for this.”
“I know. But my head’s not here. My heart sure as hell isn’t.”
He studies me, quiet. “This about the woman?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “It’s about Liz.”
He exhales through his nose, slow. “You walk out on a Christmas Day game, the owners will kill you. That’s not saying the ass-kicking you’ll get from your teammates. Not to mention me.”
“I’ll deal with it.” I fold the list again, slip it into my pocket. “She made me remember what it feels like to want something that isn’t the next win. And right now, that’s all I can think about.”
Coach rubs a hand over his jaw. “You sure about this?”
“I’ve never been surer of anything.”
A beat of silence stretches between us, filled with the muffled noise of teammates joking down the hall. Finally he says, “Maybe Christmas isn’t a place. Maybe it’s a person.”
I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He smiles faintly, the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “You’ll see. Sooner than you might think.”
I have no clue what the hell that’s supposed to mean. But it’s enough to keep me from buying the first airplane ticket back to Alaska.
