All We Want For Christmas Is You: A Reverse Harem Christmas Story

by Anita Maxwell

  "It should be the next right," I whispered back. There was a sudden roar from the crowd in the stadium above us, the foot stamping and cheers made the ceiling rumble. We both jumped; our joined hands gripped each other as the fear and excitement shot to a new level within us.

  "Why are we whispering? There isn't a soul around." Steph pointed out.

  "I don't know, you started it," I returned. I noticed that my shoulders were hunched over and that we actually looked like we were sneaking around instead of just acting like normal people walking from one side of the stadium to the other using the back halls.

  We were asking to be caught.

  When we rounded the corner, I straightened my shoulders and turned to Steph, "Okay, look just act naturally. We look like we are doing something sneaky right now. Just stand up, and let’s talk about you and James."

  Steph shot me a look, "Ahh but Hay, that's no fun." She dropped her bottom lip in a pout and gave me huge blue puppy dog eyes.

  "No," I said as I pointed my finger in her face, "Normal, no super sleuthing, that's how we’ll get caught. And we need those photos."

  She dropped the act with a sigh, "Fine. So, I slept over last night."

  I had just turned to start walking again, but stumbled over my own feet as I tried to walk and turn back in a single motion. I grabbed the wall to stop myself from eating the concrete floor. "What? Why am I just hearing about this now? You were in the shower when I woke up!" I jabbed out at her.

  I saw a soft blush on her cheeks as she brushed passed me. I quickly reached out and grabbed her arm, jerking her to a stop before she could get away. "Explain,” I demanded. What the hell had happened to best friend code?

  "Well, after you and I finished with Tori, I met him at the library to study, and then we went and got dinner. We took it back to his dorm since his roommate crashed at his boyfriend’s place last night. There was a cute Christmas movie playing. There was some making out -”

  "Woo hoo," I gushed at her, turning her pink cheeks even pinker, delighting in increasing her embarrassment.

  "Hush you!" She slapped me on the arm playfully, then continued her story, eyes going a little glassy as she remembered her night. "I don't remember the end of the movie, I must have fallen asleep, the next thing I knew it was morning, and I had slept, wedged between him and the wall." She continued to stand there, looking all dreamy and loved up.

  I was a little jealous.

  "And..." I prompted her.

  "And when I tried to get up, he woke up a little, just enough to pull me in for a tighter cuddle. He was all smooshy in his sleep, it was adorable. We fell back asleep for a bit. When I woke up again, he was watching me and playing with my hair. I totally thought that would be creepy, but it totally wasn't. He was looking at me like I was his everything Hay." The smile on her face could have powered a Broadway stage, her accent heavy.

  "Aw look at you, all cute and smooshy yourself," I joked with her. She wrinkled her nose at me, which just made her look cuter. “So, are you guys going steady?” I asked in my best fan girl voice.

  Steph turned on her heel and started to walk off again, tossing a “No,” over her shoulder.

  I quickly caught up, “What do you mean no? You didn’t say no, did you? Steph, James is perfect for yo -“

  “Of course I didn’t say no Hay. A girl can only use that trick once.” She said as she glanced at me out of the corner of her eye before looking away from me. “He hasn’t asked me yet.”

  Oh. Ohhhh.

  “I thought you guys were having The Conversation on Saturday night? Why didn’t you ask him?” I asked, seriously confused.

  “I can’t do that!” She hissed at me.

  “Why not?”

  “Because, I, he, just because okay!” She gibbered through her fluster.

  I bit my lip to try and contain a smile she totally would not appreciate.

  “Okay, but you could totally ask him to be your boyfriend. It’s not like you are stealing a proposal or anything. And maybe he is waiting for you to make the next move? He did put himself out there first.” I reminded her gently, aware that what I’d suggested would hurt her Southern Belle sensibilities.

  “Yeah, I know, but what if he says no Hay? I really like him. Like really, really. God, listen to me, I sound like I’m in high school.” She muttered as she closed her eyes and shook her head slightly.

  I laughed, “Steph, that boy has it bad for you, he will say yes. I will bet you a month’s worth of Netflix subscription that he won’t even hesitate.” I challenged her.

  She mulled it over for a second before realizing it was a catch twenty-two. She either bets against him or she bets against herself. She harrumphed at me before begrudgingly saying, “Fine.”

  “Tonight.” I pushed, knowing that if she didn’t keep the adrenaline high from our little mission that she would totally chicken out, and we would be having this conversation again this time next week.

  “Why am I helping you again? I should be in my dorm studying, I have a final tomorrow.” She said with a fake bratty tone.

  “Well, I didn’t ask you to help, you volunteered when I told you what I planned on doing tonight.” I replied with a smirk. “‘Oh can I come, please? I want to burn the moment that was the beginning of the end for the Puck Games into my mind’. I think you may have even begged with a “pretty please with sugar on top” at the end.”

  We arrived just outside the men’s old change room door when a security guard came around the corner further down the hallway. We both kind of locked up, like naughty children being caught sneaking into a room they weren’t supposed to go into.

  Be cool Hayden, you aren’t doing anything wrong. Just pretend like you are still walking along and besides, there is no sign up that says you can’t be here right now.

  I took a deep breath, gave myself a little nod and took a step forward looping my arm through Steph’s to drag her along with me.

  “So, are you ready for your final?” I asked, forcing my voice to be normal. To be honest it actually came out a little deeper, which was actually preferable to the squeak that was threatening to get out.

  “Final?” She asked; her eyes darted everywhere, trying not to look at the security guard, but were magnetically drawn back every half a second.

  “Yeah you know, the one you have tomorrow? You and James were studying together,” I raised my free hand to do bunny quotes around the studying part. As we drew level with the security guard my stomach ached from all of the nervous tension pulling at my chest. My feet felt like they were encased in wet cement, my thigh muscles trembled with the effort to lift them high enough to look like a normal walk. Sweat beaded under my bra and along the back of my neck.

  Steph was no better, I practically dragged her upright comatose body which was now just blatantly staring at the oblivious security guard. As we passed him, I glanced at her sideways, she was pale and sweating, her lips slightly blue at the corners.

  You would think we were robbing a bank, the way we were acting. The guard literally looked us up and down and then dismissed us. Apparently, we weren’t a threat. Little did he know…

  “Breathe,” I muttered under my breath.

  Steph suddenly drew in a loud, noisy, breath. And then proceeded to hyperventilate.

  I glanced over my shoulder and saw the security guard turn down the hallway we had just come from. The tension left my shoulders, as I quickly propped Steph up against the wall.

  “Honey, you need to breath. We are fine, just breath, didn’t get caught, in, out, in out,” I rambled on, just trying to get her breathing normally.

  “I’m not,” shuddering breath, “cut out for… this Hay…not a journalist,” Steph gasped out.

  I rubbed my hands up and down her arms, “I can see that.”

  We continued to stand there for a few minutes, letting Steph calm down, myself too if I was being honest.

  I looked into Steph’s eyes which no longer had that wild edge to them, “Yo
u good?”

  She took a deep breath as she exhaled and let out a breathy, “Yeah.”

  “Ok, let’s do this.” I grabbed her hand and we both turned back and headed towards the door. I didn’t want to hesitate, giving us both a last chance to back down, so I just pushed through the door.

  Into pitch black.

  I fished around on the wall until I found the switch. There was a slight hum with a few tweaks as the fluorescent lights buzzed on. Even before the lights had come on I could smell the carpet, dank and moldy from years of being constantly wet from rink dust a.k.a. ice shavings.

  There was a short hallway in front of us before we hit the open plan change room, with all of the wooden cubby lockers fixed to the walls. There were bench seats that were about three cubbies wide that ran just inside forming two parallel lines either side. The open space in between had threadbare carpet, some spots even showed scuffed concrete. I could see a door on the opposite corner to us which I assumed lead to the old showers.

  And there at the far end of the room, in front of the only bare wall was a free standing white board.

  I quickly pulled my phone out of my back pocket, noted that I had a message from Vinnie, and opened my camera app. I quickly took a photo of the room as we found it. I wanted before and after shots.

  Without giving it too much thought I walked straight up to the board and flipped it over, nearly choking on my tongue at the extravagance of the board. Someone had seriously gone to a lot of trouble to make this.

  There were two dark wooden panels acting as doors, a little gold latch keeping them closed. I flicked it open and swung the panels out exposing the board. Once opened, the whole board on this side was black. It had a dark wooden frame shaped to look like an honor board with an Eagle holding a Puck in its mouth at the center point where the frame arched up.

  Gold lines formed a wide grid across the board, with dry erase chalk filling each cell with words and numbers. It was about forty percent full. Not a really good ratio for the hockey team, half way through the season.

  Chuckling at myself, I turned to Steph to let her in on my genius when I saw her face looking confused and angry at the same time.

  "Steph, what's wrong? You don't have to stay, if it's too much," I said but she’d already shook her head at me.

  "No Hay, Sugar, come away from the board. Here let me take the pictures for you." She offered as she held out her hand for my phone.

  I reflexively curled my fingers around it clutching it to my chest. What was she doing? This was my article, I’d take the damn photos.

  Her eyes darted over my shoulder and back again, before she reached forward trying to grab my shoulder, "Come on Hay, let’s just go. You don't need to write this article, we can just report this to the Dean. I'll take a photo of the board, and then we can go. Here, move out of the way," she said as she got between me and the board, pulling her own phone out.

  I stared at the back of her head bewildered by her behavior. What the hell was going on? I could drop the article? Hell no! I was writing the shit out of it.

  "Steph, I'm fine. I'll take the photos, yours always turn out blurry anyway," I joked. When she didn't budge, I was a bit more forceful, "Steph, I got it. You can move."

  She turned to face me, "Hay don't look, please." Her eyes were sad, filled with pity? Why pity?

  I stepped around her and took a closer look at the board scanning the list of names down the left-hand side. I spotted Tori's name, and ran my eyes along her line to see she had a series of seven's and eights. My eyebrows raised, not bad Tori, not bad at all.

  I went back to the list, not recognizing any other names until I got down to Steph Harris. Only one number on Steph's line, a seven, under that prick Damian’s name. I glanced at Steph with a cheeky smile, but she still looked really worried. My smile disappeared into a frown as I slowly turned back to the board. I looked back at Steph's name and looked down at the final row.

  Hayden Halloway.

  My throat closed up as I scanned my line on the board. No numbers. But my name was on the board.

  What the fuck did that mean? Tori hadn’t mentioned names without numbers.

  Had they been planning this? Had they put my name on the board as a preemptive move? When had my name been put on the board? This obviously meant they all knew about me.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  My vision started to go black at the edges as my fingers began to tingle. Was I seriously about to faint? Fuck, no. I reached out, and Steph gripped my arm holding me up. I could feel my breath coming in short sharp puffs. Fuck that, breathe Hayden. In. Out. I could see Steph's lips moving as she held onto my shoulders, walking me backwards until my legs bumped into one of the bench seats. I sat down heavily, welcoming the jar to my back as something I could register from the real world.

  Steph was crouched down near my knees rubbing her hands along my legs in a soothing gesture when I started coming back to myself. That's right Hayden, you can beat this.

  "Keep breathing Sugar, you're okay. No numbers, so that's a plus. You don't need to write the story if you don't want to, I understa-"

  "No, I'm still writing it. I'm not dropping the story." I stated, my voice a harsh whisper, scratching my throat. No way was I letting them get away with this. I can’t believe I’d almost been about to take a different approach with this article, taking a broader approach, not directly shaming the hockey team. Fuck those scumbags. How dare they put my name on the board, especially without my consent. They hadn’t even fucked me, and now, they were letting their whole team?

  I slowly stood up, letting my body adjust before I stepped directly in front of the board and raised my phone. I snapped a shot with the entire board, zoomed in for a stylish shot of the grid where there were the most scores, and then backed up to get another room shot with the Puck Board showing.

  Steph stood to the side the entire time, not saying a word, just watching me with concern in her eyes. When I lowered my arms, she just flipped the board back over, so it looked as if we had never disturbed it before coming up to me and hooking our arms together. She tugged lightly forcing me to turn away from the board and walk towards the hallway. My body listened to her instructions, walking out the door, waiting for her to hit the light switch and close the door behind herself. Re-hooking our arms she led me through the underbelly of the stadium as roars of success filled the building.

  It all sounded so distant to me, like a far-off concert; the bass barely reaching me. My mind still held onto the image of my name printed in block letters on the last line of the board.

  Which one had nominated me?

  When did my name get put on the board? Before we met? After we met? Was it Vinnie after our sports bar date? Or Justin after our lunch? Or Christian after he had brought me eggnog? Or was it all three of them after the Winter Wonderland? Had they compared notes? If I had felt connected to my body, I am sure my eyebrows would have raised at that. Even my Inner Voice was keeping her trap shut.

  The one part of my body that I could definitely feel was my heart. I could feel it tearing in half; jagged lines formed as the two pieces fell away from each other. The ache was so much that my chest wasn't containing it; my throat closed up around a hard lump that I couldn't swallow past no matter how many times I tried. My arms felt heavy and useless, like they were just there for decoration.

  How could they do this to me? Had it all been a game to them? I know I was the one with the hidden agenda, but my story wasn't aimed at a single one of them, it was aimed at the Puck Games, the whole team. What they had done, putting my name on the board, was to take my free choice away from me. To take my voice away. They were advertising me to their entire team. They didn't care. I no longer felt guilty about hiding my true motives from them, since they had lived up to every one of my low expectations of star athletes. None of it had been real. Not even the hearts they gave me.

  The hearts. Oh my God. Had they coordinated that? Had they all decided to buy me a heart? I
bit my lip as it trembled, tears welled in my eyes.

  They hadn't cared about me at all. I was just another Puck to them. To Vinnie. Christian. Justin.

  Any reservations I had about writing this story disappeared in a spectacular show of fireworks and smoke. I forced myself to stand up straight and to walk under my own steam. Steph glanced at me with concern. I gave her a sad smile and just patted her hand where it now rested instead of guided, on my arm.

  "I'm still writing the story." I stated as our dorm building came into sight.

  "Okay Darlin', if that's what you want to do," She replied, concern crinkling the corners of her eyes. She reached and opened the door for me letting me in. We slowly walked up the stairs for what felt like hours, all the energy drained from my body. I could have happily camped out on the first-floor landing, but I didn't want to worry Steph any more than I already had.

  We made it to our door. I managed to unlock it after two attempts and pushed the door open. Steph ushered me into the room and I quickly turned and hugged her, squeezing her tightly. She wrapped her arms around me and just whispered in my ear, "It’s okay, it’s going to be okay," over and over until all of the tears had left me.

  I nodded my head as I released her. I headed to my bed, curling onto my side as I lay down, fully dressed, and stared at the three little red hearts I had hung from the shelf above my bed.

  I thought about every woman who had been wronged by a guy because he was a star athlete and could get away with it. Every woman who’d had her choices taken away from her. Every woman who had been played by some misogynistic man. I had to stand up for what was right. I had to drop all of these emotions I was having for the guys, and write the article, no holding back.

  This wasn’t just about Steph, or my portfolio. This was about shining the light on the cultural issues that plagued not only my college’s athletic department but all colleges across the nation. What was happening on my campus was sexual misconduct, the rating of girls by how well they performed in bed. The systemic issue of protectionism towards male athletes when words like sexual harassment, abuse, and rape were thrown around, was disgusting and reprehensible on so many levels; the worst of which being the additional abuse, disrespect, and discouragement aimed at the victim in an effort to get them to drop their allegations.