Page 18 of Puck the Holidays

“Nah, she’s ok for now. I’ll crash on the couch and move her if she wakes up during the night.”

He walks me to the car, and I shiver against the bitter cold. The temperature has been dropping steadily and I wonder if I’ll see my first real snow soon. I can’t decide if I’m excited or not.

“Hey, do you have plans for Thanksgiving?”

“Oh,” I say surprised. I haven’t really thought about it honestly. I’ve been so focused on all of the crazy things coming up for work and the start of my nemesis of a month, that I kind of forgot Thanksgiving was even a thing. It hasn’t really been a big deal for me in a while, not since my mom died. Josh didn’t really have a family unit either, so his idea of thanksgiving was getting drunk and watching football at the sports bar up the street that always stayed open on the holiday. His mom had left when he was a kid, and his father had been one of those rich dads that just threw nannies and money at his son, hoping that he miraculously became a semi-functioning human at some point. His dad traveled a ton for business—on his private jet, of course—and only saw Josh maybe once a month, at least before he sent him off to boarding school. Then it was maybe two or three timesa year, at most. So, yeah, Josh had been all too happy to ignore the traditional family holidays with me. I almost snort with a humorless laugh—it had been one of the many reasons I thought he was perfect for me.

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” I tell him, honestly.

“Well, you’re welcome to join us if you’d like.” I open my mouth to respond, then close it. Would that be weird? Would it seem too much like a girlfriend thing, not a friend thing? Somehow knowing the exact direction of my thoughts, he adds, “A few guys on the team are coming too. The ones who don’t really have family or can’t travel home or have no idea what Thanksgiving even really is. We’re introducing turkey and pumpkin pie to Roman and Nowski” Seeing the big Russians' reactions to a traditional American thanksgiving feast is just too enticing to pass up.

“I’d love to, yeah. What can I bring?”

“Sedatives for Mowser. He likes to do karaoke when he gets into the wine and he can’t carry a tune in a dump truck.” I laugh at the image. “You don’t need to bring anything.” I begin to protest, but he stops me, “But I know that you’re not going to accept that.” We both smile. He already knows me so well. “So, bring whatever you’d like, whatever your family liked to have. We can never have enough food with these guys around.”

I nod and head home. It's still a few weeks away, but I'm excited for my first real Thanksgiving in years, my first Thanksgiving with my new friends who are quickly becoming family.

Chapter Eight

Connor

"Come on in!" I yell from the kitchen, though I'm not sure whoever is at the door can hear me over the dance party happening in my living room. Ollie has Hannah Montana blaring from the speakers and four of the guys from the team dancing along with her obediently.

"When she has yellow hair, she is Hannah?" Nowski yells over the music to Mowser. "But she is same person as with brown hair, but has different name? Is she spy? This is children’s show?”

Ollie giggles at his accent and jumps on the couch, singing at the top of her lungs in a terrible off-key wail. It’s a good thing she’s adorable.

"Quite the party," Hattie says, entering the kitchen. I spin and smile, noticing the huge banker’s box in her arms. I quickly lay my knife down on the cutting board and rush towards her.

"Here, let me help you with that." I grab the box, quirking a brow in question. "Are you moving in or…"

I set it down and she takes the top off, smacking me in the back of the head with it.

"You said you can never have too much food, so…" She shrugs. I lean over the now open box and inhale deeply, moaning. I can't tell exactly what it is since the dishes inside are all covered, but whatever it is smellsamazing. When she offered to cook some "real southern food" for us, I didn't envision all of this. "I made biscuits and gravy, dumplins, green bean casserole, and biscuits—all my mamaw's recipes." My mouth waters.

"Marry me. Marry me right now."

She laughs and calls me an idiot, and I grin as I swat her shoulder with a dishrag. Things have been great the last few weeks, and we've gotten really close. It was like once I dropped the Ollie-Bomb, whatever small wall had remained between us disintegrated. We’ve hung out almost every day, I’ve shown her the sights—including the tourist attractions, as promised—and we’ve finally gotten her house completely put together. I dutifully put together four new bookshelves for her office upstairs and they’re already almost completely full since I showed her this awesome independent new and used bookstore not far from her place.

The owner literally had to find boxes for us to carry out to the car for everything Hattie bought.Boxes. Plural. But my God the way her entire face had lit up as she wandered the shelves, trailing her fingers over the spines, handing me book after book after book to hold—it was amazing. Getting to watch someone love something in a totally unfiltered, uninhibited way is rare and a gift, and I’m grateful that I was able to see it.

“Oh! What if we did a book drive at the arena? For a local school or library?” she’d said, eyes wide with excitement as we’d driven back to her place. “If you bring a new or gently-used book to donate, you get like $10 off admission or something.”

“I think that would be amazing,” I told her honestly, loving that her mind was always working, always thinking of ways to not only help our organization, but to help the community as well. She’d already gotten tons of charity stuff set up, we’d put on a free hockey camp for underprivileged kids, some of us had helped rebuild a community center, and we’d just got done with a huge free thanksgiving dinner event in the parking lot of the arena yesterday where most of the team handed out meals.

So, she’d run with the idea and next week, we’re having the first annual Vipers’ Book-A-Thon. She somehow credited me with helping her come up with it, though I literally did nothing, but I wasn’t going to complain about the giant hug she gave me in thanks. So, yeah, things have been awesome with us.

I'd honestly been a little nervous that the moment on the couch that night had spooked Hattie. Hell, it spooked me a bit. I’m good with us being friends, know that it’s probably the smartest choice given the circumstances, but in that moment, I’d wanted nothing more than to pull her to me and press my lips to hers, to settle her over my lap and run my fingers through her hair, to feel her body against mine.

And it wasn’t just the physical need that rode me in that moment, it was the intense connection between us. It was like talking to my oldest friend in the world, I felt so at ease and comfortable and I actually thoughtthis. This is how it’s supposed to be. This is what I’ve been missing.

Not that I feel like my life islacking. I’m well aware of just how lucky and blessed I am. I get to play the game I love and make decent money doing it. I have brothers in all of my teammates, brothers I would fight to the ends of the Earth for. I have the best kid in the world and an amazing support system.

But sometimes, I do feel like something’s missing, that a piece of the puzzle is still out of place. I’m not lonely exactly, but that’s about as close as I can get to describing it. I want someone to share moments with, someone who can be a part of this life with me, be a partner, atruepartner, having my back and being strong when I can’t be. I’ve broken down alone in my room more than once since the day Hannah died. Sitting on the edge of my bed with my head in my hands, just breaking apart because I wasn’t sure if I could do it all, wasn’t sure how in the fuck I was supposed to raise a kid and be the star goalie and keep everything together. It’s hard. Really fucking hard. Worth it, of course. A thousand percent worth it. I don’t regret taking Ollie in for a second, but anyone who thinks that becoming a father overnight is easy is smoking the good shit.

So, yeah, sometimes I think it would be nice to have someone there with me through all this shit. And I can’t say I haven’t thought about Hattie in that way since we started hanging out, but I don’t want to push things. She's quickly become one of my closest friends and one of the most important people in my life, and I would never want to risk that.

"Oh and pie!" she cries. "I made pies. There's another box still out in the car."

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