by RJ Scott
“Yes, I understand. I’m sorry. I am. I didn’t mean to talk that way.” I rolled the greasy wrench around in my hand as I spoke. Her tight jaw loosened slightly. “It’s just that life is so hard. Nothing we do seems to get us ahead. And I miss Ryker. When he’s gone, it’s like this gaping raw wound in my chest. I just…” I pulled it together. “I’m just upset that this tractor is taking all my time, that’s all. Don’t think on it anymore.”
“What happened to the special gift you were saving for?” She jabbed the sandwich and thermos at me. When I took the coffee, she lifted the wrench from my other hand. “Eat, drink. I’ll get the spark plugs back in.”
With a bob of my head, I peeled back the foil and took a big bite. Cheese and bacon bits hit my tongue, the flavor a favorite one of mine. Mom made the best egg sandwiches in Minnesota.
“So, the gift for Ryker,” she prompted, lifting a spark plug up to the overhead light to eyeball the gap. Farm girls rock.
I swallowed after another bite. “I sold it to pay for the parts we needed for the tractor.”
Her blue eyes widened in shock. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“There isn’t enough money in the farm account to cover the cost of the kit.”
She worked the inside of her cheek, the spark plug lying in her palm for a second before she dropped it into place and reattached the cover.
“What was it you had bought for him?” She was tentative, and I was beaten.
“An engagement ring.”
“Oh, Jacob,” she gasped, her voice filled with pain, just as my heart was. I shook my head, hoping to dash away the tears that welled up. Instead of crying or looking at her, I focused on my sandwich. Mm-mm, it was good. Fuck. “Look at me, Jacob.”
“I really can’t right now, Mom, please…”
She padded over to me, her fingers slick with gasoline and grease. I peeked up from the last bite of fluffy yellow egg and Velveeta to witness her removing her anniversary band from where it sat atop her wedding band and engagement ring.
“No, Mom, no,” I said with as much force as I could muster. “That was from Dad for your twentieth anniversary.” It wasn’t an expensive ring, not like some you see. It was just a skinny white gold band with diamond chips all round it. Dad had saved up for a year to buy it, and she adored it. Said it made her feel like a duchess.
“And now I’m giving it to you to give to Ryker.” She held out the band between two thin work-worn fingers.
“No, it’s yours. And it’s too small. That will never fit him. And it’s a woman’s ring. The band I got him was thicker, manly, and engraved.”
“This is engraved, although I reckon the lettering is worn off by now. And as for it being a woman’s ring, since when are promises to love each other forever male or female?” She shook the ring again, the itsy-bitsy diamonds glinting in the ugly glare of the old work lamps overhead. “Take it and give it to him. Tell him it has sentimental value because it was your mother’s and she gave it to you to bestow upon the person who won your heart. He can wear it on his pinkie or around his neck on a chain until you can buy back the ring you got him.”
“I don’t think so. It’s not… it’s not his ring.”
“Jacob, the ring is just a symbol, honey. It’s the love in two people’s hearts that’s important, that binds the couple together. The rings and the other fancy wedding stuff is just that. Stuff. I don’t have much to give you, but I can give you this. Please, take it.”
There was no way I could eat now or drink, so I coughed and sputtered, took the tiny ring from her, slid it into my wallet for safekeeping, then swept her into my arms and cried into her hair as she patted my back and whispered soft, motherly things.
“I love you so much,” I said after the mushy moment passed.
“And I love you. Now, let’s get to work here. If we stop fiddling around, we might have this done in time for you to get back to the cabin and my future son-in-law.” She patted my cheeks and kissed the tip of my nose, just like she’d done forever.
“He might not say yes,” I warned her.
“I’ve seen the way that young man looks at you. He’ll say yes. Now, pass me the rest of the spark plugs, and you work on something else.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I smiled the first real smile in days and handed her the spark plugs.
When I returned to the cabin, none of the guys were moving. It was after eight, and no one had stirred. So I pulled off my boots, hat, gloves, and coat, threw them onto the sofa, and slipped back into the master bedroom. There lay Ryker, long powerful legs spread wide under the covers, his arms over his head, face buried in his pillow. I shucked off my clothes quietly and slid under the blanket, keeping an inch or so between the radiant heater that was my boyfriend and my cold self. He grunted a bit when I leaned over him, settling my chest to his back. When I kissed along his shoulder, he purred like a cat with a belly full of smoked salmon. When I shoved my icy fingers under the waistband of his sexy blue briefs, he sucked in a breath.
“Fuck, dude! Really, your hands are freezing!” he yelped, wiggling to get away, but I leaned in over him, placing more of my weight on his back as I worked my hand between his ass cheeks and found his hole. He stopped trying to get away, rising off the bed, encouraging me to play more. So I did. I tasted his back and the nape of his neck as I worked a spit-covered finger into him. His hips moved sinuously. I pressed deeper, finding that knot of nerves that made him shudder and whimper my name.
“Merry Christmas, baby,” I panted beside his ear as I worked him into an orgasm that left him sweaty, weak, and unable to speak. Then as gently as possible, I moved him over, captured his mouth, and licked deep, pulling sweet soft sounds from him as he ran his palms over my arms and back. I didn’t have to ask for him to please me. He was eager to do so, taking me in hand, pulling and tugging and stroking while he whispered tender things to me, things that made me buck and groan when I tumbled over the edge, things that eased me deeper into our love, things that would never be repeated outside of our bed.
“So yeah, hell of a present.” Ryker chuckled afterward, his sticky hand resting on my belly, his curls damp with sweat. I rolled to my side to study him. He was breathtaking lying beside me, the winter sun on his flushed face, the smell of us thick on his skin.
“I love you,” I told him, reaching up to tug a curl. He kissed my throat, murmuring that he was devoted to me as well. I thought to ask him to marry me then. I even moved to go get the ring from my wallet when someone pounded on the door.
“Time for hockey!” Benoit roared, slapping the floor with what could only be a stick. “Stick taps for the free porn soundtrack too.”
“Asshole!” Ryker and I both yelled, but my man’s cheeks were red as a candy apple.
I scrambled over him, pinning Ryker to the bed. There was so much I wanted to say to him, but the time to propose had passed, so I’d have to wait for another perfect moment.
“We better get out on the ice before Ben breaks down the door.”
And so we left the cocoon of our bed for the bitter cold of a Minnesota farm pond at eight a.m. on Christmas morning. The air was so cold my nose hairs froze. Our breaths clouded in front of us, and steam rose from our knitted caps.
It was a pretty loose game, with only one net and one goalie, but we had a blast. Ethan and I were defending Benoit from Ryker and Scott. Hayne had no interest in strapping on skates, but he was on the sidelines cheering and sipping from the thermos of coffee he’d brought along.
Ryker was good. Damn good, fast and quick, his skill set noticeably above Scott’s, who was no slouch. But Scott hadn’t played professionally as Ryker did. Neither did I. Ethan had, but that was behind him now. Hell, Ethan had retired and had a leg that was probably aching like a bad tooth in this cold. But he was a hockey player, so he kept his pain to himself.
Ryker tried a fancy deke on Ben, but the young goalie was too damn fast.
“What do you call that move? My mother’s got more fl
air!” Ben called out.
Ryker flipped him off, then picked up the puck. I settled into a stance, low, weight balanced on my skates, eyes flickering between Scott and Ryker as they shuttled the puck back and forth between them while they inched closer to the goal. Ryker gave me a wink, then pulled this Tennant Rowe spin-a-rama move on Ethan that left Ben wide open. I threw myself in front of the slapshot, the puck catching me in the chest, then dropping to the ice. Scott and Ryker dove on it, sticks clacking as I rolled to my belly to pin the puck. And there I lay, like a massive log, laughing at the names the two forwards were calling me.
“Okay, someone blow the fucking whistle! This is a blatant delay of game tactics!” Ryker bellowed to Hayne. “Ref! What’s the call?” We all looked at Hayne. He gaped at us, his bright pink mittens wrapped around his cup of coffee, the wind throwing his wild curly hair into his face.
“Oh, uhm, the call is he who lies on the puck owns it. Is that right?” Hayne shouted back, and we all laughed.
Scott skated over to the edge of the pond for a quick kiss from Hayne, which turned into a much longer kiss, which meant that we had to pelt the two who were sucking face with snowballs. Hayne hid behind Scott, who was trying, and failing, to Mickey Mantle each ball of snow whipped at him out into centerfield.
Ethan called an end to the impromptu madness. “To quote Roger Murtaugh, ‘I’m too old for this shit’, and my balls are frozen solid. Let’s go inside, eat, open presents, and watch some of those DVDs we brought up.”
“You brought up,” Ben said, his mask in his hand. “None of us own a DVD.”
Ethan looked at each of us. We all shook our heads.
“Christ, I am fucking old,” Ethan lamented.
“I love you anyway, Gramps,” Ben teased, pulling his fiancé in for a hug and a smooch.
Dropping an arm around Ryker’s neck, I stole a kiss as well. He beamed at me, his love so evident it made me feel unworthy in so many ways. Here I was with nothing to offer him but a used white gold band and a farm on the verge of bankruptcy. And there he stood looking at me as if I hung the moon and stars. I hugged him and just held him until the guys shouted at us to get moving before Ethan’s old balls got any colder.
“You okay?” Ryker asked. I nodded, brushed a soft little snowflake from his hair, and led him back to the cabin.
“As long as I have you in my arms, yeah, I’ll be okay.”
Chapter 7
Ryker
“Die Hard is not a Christmas movie,” Ben stated for the third time, his eyes rolling so dramatically that I swore they were about to pop out of his head. He was actually the only one in the Die Hard-isn’t-a-Christmas-movie camp, the rest of us saying it was. Well, all except Hayne, who shrugged and continued with his drawing. He was lost in sketching each of us as a Christmas gift, and I couldn’t wait to see what he made of it.
“Hush, you.” Ethan pulled him in for a noogie, and they wrestled like idiots until they ended up on the floor and Ben was yelling Uncle. “Say ‘Die Hard is the perfect Christmas movie’, and I’ll let you up.”
Ben could’ve easily bucked him off, but part of me thought he enjoyed being squashed flat by Ethan.
“No, I won’t say—” He stopped talking when Ethan bounced a little and then tickled him more.
“Say it, or die,” Ethan growled.
Ben wriggled. “How can you say that? What’s Christmassy about a film where everyone dies and a building gets blown up? Back me up here, Hayne!”
Hayne glanced up from his sketch pad and blinked at Ben, looking confused to see Ben and Ethan on the floor.
“Huh?”
“Die Hard is not a Christmas movie, right?” Ben called up and snorted when Ethan tickled him some more.
Hayne clearly wasn’t in the room with us right now, a smudge of blue on his cheek and streaks of scarlet in his hair. “Is that what you’re watching?” he asked and peered at the screen, just as Bruce Willis, in his tatty white vest, put an office chair packed with explosives down an elevator shaft. The movie cut to a wide-angle shot of an entire floor of the Nakatomi Plaza building exploding, and Hayne winced. Then he just let out a soft “hmmm” before looking back down at his sketch pad.
Scott pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s curls and shifted a little to make sure Hayne was still comfortable on his lap. “What Hayne meant by that is that I get his vote, and I say that Die Hard is definitely a Christmas movie.”
“Say it.” Ethan was laughing so hard with Ben that Ben’s squeaked words were difficult to make out, enough so he could deny he’d even said it.
“Okay, okay, it’s a Christmas movie! Now let me up!”
“Word,” Ethan said and leaned over to high-five Scott before helping Ben to his feet. It couldn’t just have been me who saw he had his fingers crossed.
“To be fair, there is Christmas music,” I added and then pushed my phone back under my sweater attempting to recall what I’d just read. “Also, it’s set during the holiday period, in fact, on Christmas Eve itself. There is a salvaged romance, cheesy lines, and at one point John McClane even goes down an elevator shaft, which is a symbolic chimney, so you know, it’s Christmas.”
Everyone barring Hayne stared at me, and I couldn’t help the twitch of my lips nor the squeal I let out when Jacob started tickling me. Which of course led to Scott joining in, meaning Hayne had to lift his sketch pad out of the way to save it, and Ethan dying from laughter as he attempted to stop Ben from getting hold of the big old laptop we were all huddled around. Jacob pretended to help me, but in the end he was the one holding me so he was going to get what was coming the next moment his guard was down.
None of us were really watching the film, Hayne drawing, Scott watching Hayne. Ben was grumbling about the difference between Die Hard and his personal favorite, Elf. Ethan was trying to watch the film, same as me, but from the way his mouth moved, he was whispering lines before they happened, just to annoy Ben, I guess he’d seen it as often as I had. Die Hard was one of my dad’s favorite films, and for a moment I felt a familiar twinge of regret that I wasn’t seeing him or Mom today. It wasn’t the first time I’d felt that, but it didn’t last long, though, because Jacob curled his fingers into my hair and tugged me in for a kiss.
“What’re you thinking about so seriously?” Jacob asked, pressing his thumbs into my neck, where I was clearly tense.
“The future,” I blurted and then wished I could take it back because it wasn’t only Jacob who heard me.
“What about it?” Scott asked, which drew the attention of Ethan, who glanced away from the film.
“Nothing, just watch the Christmas movie,” I said.
“It’s not a—” Ben started, but Ethan shut him up with a hard kiss that carried on for so long that Scott and I threw chips at them.
“What about the future?” Jacob asked when Ethan and Ben finally broke apart, and Ethan cleared up the chips.
“Nothing. Not really. Okay, well, yeah…”
“Use your words,” Jacob said drily.
“Just thinking about not seeing Mom or Dad over Christmas but how it actually feels okay because I’m not a kid anymore, and you and I will be making our own traditions, and passing things down to our family one day, like my love of Die Hard and your mom’s Christmas lights.” We’d strung the lights in the porch, out of the blasts of frozen air and the swirling snow, and I could see the warmth and glow of them through the scuffed window. I loved that they were a part of Jacob’s past, a gift from his mom that we could take anywhere we wanted.
“You forget we can pass your hockey sticks from Ten down through the generations,” Jacob deadpanned, “and my entire collection of Star Wars figures.”
“Wait, you have a collection of Star Wars figures?”
Jacob smirked at me. “Doesn’t every small kid?”
“Not me. I collected NHL trading cards.”
“Of course you did.” Jacob pressed a kiss to the tip of my nose. “And I bet you had loads of them signed
personally by friends of your family, right?”
“Okay, so I knew people, who knew people.” I decided not to tell him about my Gretsky collection, or the rare early Lemieux card, and it was my turn to smile then. “Anyway, they’re my pension.”
“Jesus, guys, stop talking about getting old and shit,” Scott interjected. “You’re seriously harshing the Die-Hard-don’t-care buzz we had going on.”
“We all need to have some plan for the future,” Ethan said primly, and Ben’s snort of laughter was so loud that all of us, even Hayne, started to laugh. Of course, Ben’s derision of Ethan’s sensibleness, if that was even a word, led to more of them kissing, which necessitated more chip throwing. Finally, after it all died down, something changed in the room, a seriousness that was always a scheduled part of any of us getting together.
“You know something?” Ben started. “I’ve never thought about life after hockey, apart from the fact that I’ll be with Ethan.” Ethan made a cute little awwww sound and hugged Ben. “What about your future? What will you do after you finish with hockey?” Ben was completely focused on me and whatever answer I gave him, and that really put me on the spot.
Why did I even think of talking about the future today? No one needed to think ahead when they could’ve been enjoying the moment. If I was really honest, apart from being with Jacob, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I was trying to make my way with the Raptors, and of course, a family with Jacob was my entire future, in that he featured in every part of it. I wanted him there when I won my first trophy, when the team made it to the Cup finals, when we won that Cup, when I was getting to the end of my career and became the old-timer to the younger kids on the team. In every part of my future, Jacob was right there, celebrating my successes, looking on me fondly as I made my mark. Likewise, I would be there for him, with every little thing he did on his farm, when he took it over and made it better than it could have ever been without him, when he raised the perfect cow, if that was a thing, or when his farm won an award for the most amazing milk ever produced in Minnesota. All the way through, my future was me, Jacob, and a whole heap of successes born from our hard work and constant love.
