Maybe This Christmas

by Jennifer Snow

  What she had with Ash was real. It was also really confusing and complicated and not something she wanted to discuss with her sister.

  Again.

  “At least tell me you’ve decided to complete the PhD therapy program…even if it’s not this upcoming semester.”

  She nodded. “Yes, of course. I’m just not sure the timing will work now.”

  “Because of Asher,” Jess said, shaking her head.

  Their father appearing in the doorway saved Emma from answering. He was still in his robe and pajama pants, and Emma knew that he’d be in them all day unless he had a reason to leave the house.

  “Hi, Dad,” she said.

  “Why are you two standing out here?” Delaney Callaway asked, shivering as the cold wind blew inside the house. “If you’re discussing putting me in a home just because I fell asleep and burnt my macaroni and cheese last night…”

  Unfortunately, the burnt dinner was just the most recent in a long line of reasons why Emma thought a retirement home might be the best thing for him. Unfortunately, the one and only time she’d mentioned it to Jess, her sister had immediately shut the conversation down.

  Jess shot her a look now that said This current conversation is not over before picking up the puppy box and turning to their father. “Of course not. In fact, we bought you a surprise.”

  We? Oh no. Her sister was not dragging her into this disaster. Her dad would take one look at that puppy and see all the trouble it was going to be.

  And then she’d probably get stuck with a new four-legged houseguest.

  “A dog?” he asked as they entered. He opened the box and the little brown mixed-breed pup gave a happy yelp. He lifted him out of the box and held him out at arms’ length. His thick eyebrows joined and his lips pursed. He turned the puppy from one side to the other, scrutinizing it as the little thing continued to yelp in defiance of being restrained.

  A spirited terror, no doubt. Her sister would never settle for anything else. “It was Jess’s idea,” Emma said quickly as her father continued his evaluation. Any second now, that puppy would be placed back in the box and Emma would be looking for a new pet-friendly place to live.

  But then her dad surprised her by smiling. “This is perfect.”

  “It is?”

  Even Jess was surprised by the reaction. No doubt she’d had the perfect speech prepared to give about why the puppy was a good idea.

  Their father grinned as he cuddled the thing to his chest. The puppy’s tail wagged wildly and he licked her father’s scruffy face. “Yes. The little Terror will drive Beverly Westmore nuts.”

  Apparently that was a good thing.

  * * *

  As Asher climbed out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, he heard Emma’s voice downstairs. It was the first sound that hadn’t annoyed him all day. Heading down the hall, he went into his bedroom and closed the door partway. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he slowly put his jeans on, then the leg brace. This thing was a pain in the ass. Six to ten weeks—no freaking way. He’d have this off in two and be back on the ice in four. That morning, upon waking, he’d been depressed and angry still, but now, after coaxing a handful of pain meds from his mother, he was just determined. Determined and hell-bent on recovering as quickly as possible.

  That’s where his best friend came in. He was prepared to pay her whatever she needed to clear her patient schedule for the next few weeks to whip him back in shape.

  She tapped on the door once before entering. “Hey…oh sorry, didn’t realize you weren’t dressed.” Her gaze landed on his bare chest and her cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink.

  “You’ve seen me a lot more naked than this,” he said, standing and reaching for a T-shirt.

  “Not in your old bedroom in your mother’s house,” she hissed, checking the hall before moving farther into the room, but still lingering hesitantly near the door.

  He laughed. “Why are you so afraid of my mother?”

  “She sees and knows everything. And I think she suspects that we are…”

  He waited for her to define what they were, but she didn’t.

  She shifted feet and subjects. “Anyway, heads up—my dad has a puppy.”

  “That will piss Mom off,” he said, wrapping his belt around his waist.

  Growing up, they’d all begged for a pet—a dog, especially—but the answer had always been no. His mother claimed it was because their older sister, Becky, was allergic, but Ash called bullshit on that. Becky smothered every four-legged creature she saw in kisses and cuddles. If she were allergic, she’d be dead by now. He knew the real reason was that Beverly knew the boys all had far too much on their plates already with hockey and other extracurricular activities. She would have been the one in charge of taking care of the dog. Four kids was enough.

  “That was the point. Partly at least.” Emma sat on the corner of his bed, and he realized it was the first time she’d been in his room.

  The first time any girl had been in his old room. When they were growing up, the rules in the Westmore house were few, but his mother was very clear about one: no girls in their rooms. He’d always been too busy to care. Ben had had issues with it and had broken it once. But only once.

  “Jess thinks it will be good for Dad to have company. She thinks he’s lonely in the house by himself.”

  He couldn’t hide his disdain at the mention of Jessica. Miss Know-It-All was always sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. He knew she was the one to encourage Emma to take a longer break from snowboarding than necessary after the accident. It was her idea for Emma to pursue physical therapy and not return to the slopes at all. And he wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t the least bit peeved at her article in the Glenwood Times. He would have hoped his own hometown’s paper would have printed a more encouraging article at least. “Doesn’t your sister have her own life to worry about?”

  Emma’s face clouded slightly. “No. Hers is perfect already.” She stood and scanned his display case near the window. Hockey trophies and medals covered the dustless shelves. It amazed him how his mother still kept up the room. Unlike Ben, he hadn’t wanted to take the trinkets of all of his former successes with him when he moved out. But unlike Ben, he only had a small bachelor apartment in New Jersey, not a multimillion-dollar home in the city. “It’s so great that your mom keeps your room intact with all your accomplishments displayed like this,” Emma said, picking up his Triple A division win trophy and reading the inscription.

  “It’s a little odd, actually. Feels like walking through a time warp.” His mother had dismantled the other boys’ rooms and Becky’s room years ago.

  Of course Abby had a theory. She believed it was because Asher was the baby of the family and had left home so young, and he was the only child living too far away to visit often. She might be right, and if it gave his mom comfort to keep the room like this, then that’s all that mattered.

  “Where are your things?” he asked. Emma had her share of trophies and medals, yet they weren’t displayed in her apartment. And he couldn’t remember ever seeing them in her family home…the few times he’d been inside.

  “In a box in Dad’s attic, I guess.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “They used to be displayed in a cabinet in our living room, but Mom died and the accident happened, then Dad moved. We packed everything up, and keeping them packed up just seemed like the right thing to do. Keep the past in the past,” she said with a sigh, tucking her blond hair behind her ears.

  Crossing the room slowly and awkwardly he wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her back into him. “That sounded like Jessica speaking,” he whispered against her ear. He suspected boxing up her incredibly impressive past had been her sister’s idea.

  He felt her stiffen in his arms. “Jess isn’t always wrong,” she said, her voice sounding strange—faraway, almost.

  “She’s not always right, either. Don’t forget that,” he said, kissing her chee
k before releasing her. He may be an adult now, but he knew the same rules of the home applied. He was surprised his mother had even sent Emma upstairs to find him. Though he suspected she lurked nearby, ears perked. His hard-on couldn’t go any further…not while he was in his old bedroom. “Now, how much do you make an hour?”

  She raised one eyebrow as she turned to face him. “That’s quite rude.”

  He laughed. “It was, actually. Sorry. I’m only asking because I’ll double it for your undivided attention for the next few weeks.”

  “You’re not ready for therapy yet. The doctor said it would be at least a week or ten days before the swelling…”

  He shook his head. “For a normal person, maybe…not me.”

  “Right. I forgot you’re superhuman.” Her sarcastic remark made him grin.

  “I’m an athlete. We recover faster. You know that.” Which is why it irritated the shit out of him that she hadn’t tried. Sure, her injuries had been so much worse than his, but the woman who gave up on her dream wasn’t the one he’d met years before, and it killed him to see that spark in her going out. He brushed the thought away. She’d made her choice. He would make his. Which was: “I want to start therapy tomorrow and introduce mild exercise in two to three weeks. I read online that that’s okay.” He grabbed a sweater and, balancing on his crutch, righted it and slid it over his head.

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, well, if WebMD says it…”

  He reached for his boots. “You’ll have to help me with this part.”

  Emma sighed as she knelt on the floor to help with the boot. “Where are you going? You’re supposed to keep the foot elevated.”

  “You’re driving me to the pharmacy. I need painkillers that aren’t on lockdown.”

  She shot him a look.

  “Come on. Not you, too. You know me—I’m not addicted.” He slid his foot into the other boot and tied it himself.

  “That’s not what I was thinking. I was wondering if you were paying me to be your therapist or your slave,” she said as she stood.

  Despite the pain in his knee and the awkwardness of the high school throwback room, he felt himself start to harden again. He moved toward her and grabbed her hips, pulling her into him. “That depends on what kind of slave we’re talking about.”

  She shook her head, but her attempts to push against him were futile. Maybe there were a few pros to staying in Glenwood Falls during his recovery. “No. Not in your old room with your mom downstairs. You know the rules. No girls.”

  “I’m not a kid anymore,” he said, brushing her short blond hair aside and kissing her neck. She always smelled so good. He loved that she never wore perfume. The flowery scents or powerful vanilla fragrances that so many women wore made him gag. Emma just held the faintest smell of soft, gently scented body wash or moisturizing cream—a light peppermint scent that tempted him.

  “That won’t stop your mother from grounding you.” She shoved against his shoulders, but her hundred-pound frame didn’t even budge him. “Ash, seriously…” The note of desperation in her voice only made him harder. He gripped her tiny waist, holding her against his body, running his hands along her sides, upward to graze the sides of her breasts. All the blood rushed to his crotch, and the house rules were the last thing on his mind.

  “I’ll be quick,” he whispered against her ear, the thought of taking her right there on his bed making his pulse race. His hands dipped lower to cup her ass, lifting her slightly off the floor. He squeezed the tight, tiny rear end he could stare at for days, and suddenly his teasing her was torturing him.

  “You’re supposed to be in pain,” she said, reaching around to remove his hands from her body.

  “This will make me feel better.” A lot better. Already he hardly noticed the throbbing leg. He wrapped his arms around her again quickly when she tried to step back and lowered his mouth toward hers.

  “Ash. No,” she said firmly, placing a hand over his lips to push his mouth away. “This is not happening. Not right now, anyway,” she said, her gaze looking longingly at his mouth.

  He sighed, releasing her. “Fine. For now.”

  When he heard the sound of raised voices coming from downstairs, his hard-on immediately vanished.

  What now?

  Emma’s eyes widened. “Shit. I’m guessing your mom just met Terror.”

  Chapter 6

  Going into her office the next morning, Emma flicked the light switch and shivered in the cool reception area as she waited for the lights to illuminate the large, open-concept space. The office had been closed on the weekend, so it was freezing. The old heaters in the two-story historic downtown building took forever to warm the upstairs therapy offices, so she left her coat on as she adjusted the thermostat.

  As usual, she was the first one in, just after seven. She dumped Friday’s leftover coffee down the sink and washed and refilled the pot with water. Setting it to brew, she went into her therapy room and opened her blinds. The sun shining in would help warm the five-hundred-square-foot space.

  The old building on Main Street had been a brewery in the early 1900s. She loved the history of the building and its preserved original décor—maple hardwood floors, rounded archways, and an open concept design with crafted metal ceilings. She’d been thrilled when Glenwood Therapy and Rehabilitation had moved in above the medical walk-in clinic.

  Of course, she enjoyed it much better once the heaters kicked in.

  Rubbing her hands together for warmth, she sat at her desk and opened her Outlook calendar. In a town of five thousand residents, she was surprised that she’d been able to establish a fairly busy client schedule. Most were seniors with mobility issues or teenagers with random and—for some of them—frequent recovery from fractures and breaks. With Dr. Masey and herself being the only two therapists in the town, she was definitely kept busy.

  Contrary to what Asher wanted to believe, he wouldn’t be able to train all day every day. Overtherapy would only make the leg worse and wouldn’t speed his recovery, but she scanned her schedule for the weeks ahead and added his name to as many of her open appointment spaces as possible.

  She’d get to see him more in the next few weeks than she had in years. The thought made her heart race. At some point she would tell him how she felt about him. He was home. There were no distractions. She planned on spending as much time with him as she could, showing him how she felt, proving to him that there was more to what they had than just the amazing physical chemistry that still sizzled between them, despite years of sex. With his lips on her neck yesterday and his hands gripping her ass, it had taken all of her strength to push away.

  Remembering the way his hard-on had pressed against her, she folded one leg over the other and tried to dull the immediate throbbing between her thighs. Damn, he better be right—he better heal quickly. She wasn’t sure how long she could take him being there and not being able to have sex with him.

  Her cell phone chimed with a new text message. Seeing Jessica’s name on her screen, she groaned. It was seven a.m.—too early for Jess.

  Dinner at my place Friday night next week.

  Why did everything with her sister feel more like a command than an invite?

  She didn’t respond, tucking the phone into the top drawer as she stood and gathered that day’s patient charts, grabbing a blank one to start on Asher. His first session would be that afternoon, and she was actually a little nervous about it. She knew what she was doing, and the average person with an average injury didn’t make her doubt her abilities, but this was an NHL pro athlete looking to recover as quickly as possible. Not to mention the man she was in love with.

  No pressure.

  * * *

  The sound of the front door opening just after eight that morning had Asher hiding a handful of aspirin as he awkwardly descended the stairs.

  “Hey,” Ben said as he entered, shutting the door behind him and shaking snow from his dark brown hair.

  The sight of his brother ma
de him instantly annoyed. He grunted a response as he continued his way to the kitchen. Then he swung back. “Why aren’t you in Tampa?” The Avalanche were scheduled to play the Lightning that evening, and Ben was supposed to have flown out already. Annoyed, angry, or irritated, Asher’s hockey brain still took over.

  “I’m taking a later flight,” Ben said, removing his winter coat and tossing it on the back of a chair in the living room. “I wanted to check in on you. See how you were doing.”

  Only took four days.

  “That was unnecessary.” Asher went to the kitchen and opened the fridge for a bottle of water. Twisting off the lid, he tossed the four pills into his mouth and washed them down. They weren’t doing shit for the pain, which seemed worse today than it had the day after surgery. No doubt the good hospital meds were out of his system now. He’d yet to find where his mother had stashed the T3s, so the over-the-counter junk he’d bought the day before was his only hope. He chugged another mouthful of water, draining the contents, and tossed the empty bottle into the blue recycle bin near the kitchen door.

  “How’s the leg feeling?” Ben asked behind him.

  “Perfect.”

  “Ash, look, I wanted to say that that check the other night probably wasn’t the best decision I’ve made on the ice.” Ben shoved his hands into his jeans pocket and stared at the floor.

  “Is that an apology?”

  “I guess, yeah.”

  “You guess. Wow.” Asher shook his head. Opening a cupboard, he grabbed a mug, purposely selecting one with a New Jersey Devils logo on it, his annoyance rising when he had to reach far in the back, past three Avalanche mugs, to find one.

  And the family said they didn’t play favorites. Bullshit.

  “Is that what you need, an apology? Because the brother I know would have delivered the exact same hit if the roles had been reversed,” Ben said, reaching for his own team mug.

  “So you’re not apologizing?” Asher poured the weak coffee into his mug, then set the pot back.