Hearing the women approach, Ben gripped the spoon with two hands and stirred as fast as his arms could go.
“How’s it going?” Becky said, poking her head in.
“Nothing to it.” Ben’s words were said through clenched teeth.
Asher grinned. It was actually nice to watch his brother struggle at something for once.
The timer chimed and she grabbed a set of oven mitts.
“Is it done?” Ben asked, slightly out of breath.
“Not even close. It just needs to be removed from the heat. We’ll take it into the living room. Grab a towel and those pot holders,” she told Asher.
“When did we become your elves?” he muttered, but grabbed the stuff she asked for before following everyone into the living room.
Emma was holding his baby niece, Lily, and Abby and Olivia were oohhh-ing and ahhh-ing over the precious one-year-old.
Asher’s mouth went dry. The one thing he and Em almost never talked about was kids. When she’d been pursuing her pro athlete career, it hadn’t even occurred to him that children were something she’d want for herself.
Now, things were different. She was living the small-town life, with a normal career—would she want a family of her own?
Watching her with his niece made his gut twist in a million different uncomfortable ways. Hockey and family didn’t mix well. He’d had to learn from a young age how to separate the two and not allow himself to miss home when he was away. Hockey first…until he no longer could, then family.
That was his goal at least.
One Emma had once shared.
Did she now? Or was she looking for more out of her new life path? Things he wasn’t sure he could give her yet?
She glanced his way and the look in her eyes was unreadable—giving him no answers at all.
“Don’t kid yourself, man. She wants one of them, too,” Jackson said, answering for her.
* * *
“What is that?” Beverly asked, squinting as she peered past him out the kitchen window later that evening.
“What is what?” Asher asked. He’d been barely listening to his mother, his mind still on the sight of Emma with Lily. It had confused him so much, he’d made up an excuse about needing to help his mother with something to avoid going back to her place. Getting a hard-on while thinking about the possibility that she might actually want children would have been near impossible. He’d needed some distance, but he felt guilty when she’d looked so disappointed.
“That blinding light coming from next door,” she said, standing and going to the window.
He carefully bent and straightened his leg the way Emma insisted he do at home. He was probably going overboard with the exercises, but the more he worked the muscles surrounding the injury before they weakened completely, the less rebuilding it would take to get them back once his ACL healed. Also, working out was always his go-to when he needed to clear his head, and this was about as much physical exertion as he could do. He’d work on his upper body by lifting his old set of weights…as soon as he could feel his damn arms again.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. Has the man completely lost his mind?” his mother asked.
Asher pushed himself up to join her at the window. The snow had finally stopped, but now, after seven p.m., it looked dark and frigid outside. In contrast, Mr. Callaway’s house was lit up like the Fourth of July with red, blue, and white string lights covering nearly every inch of the peaked roof. A construction crew truck was parked in front with a hand-painted sign on the side that read WE HANG CHRISTMAS LIGHTS.
The construction business in Glenwood Falls was slow in winter.
“It’s festive,” he said.
“It’s tacky…and an eyesore…and…” His mother’s voice trailed off as she grabbed her sweater from the back of her chair. “First that damn noisy adorable dog and now this…” she mumbled.
“Mom, where are you going?” he asked, attempting to block her escape from the kitchen.
She shot him a look that suggested even if he was uninjured she could take him.
He sighed and moved out of the way. Sitting in the chair, he quickly refastened his leg brace and followed his mother to the front door. He waved to Mike Miller, the owner of Miller Construction.
Still on the roof were two teenage boys…Mike’s kids, he assumed.
“Hey, man. Tough break about the leg,” Mike said.
“Yeah. Literally,” he said, wrapping his arms around his body. The temperature drop at night was nut-numbing. “Was this your idea or his?” he asked, nodding toward Mr. Callaway, who stood on the snow-covered lawn in a pair of sweatpants and robe, pointing to the only section of roof not yet covered.
“His.” Mike rolled his eyes. “But I get paid by the hour, so I don’t care.”
“I’ll pay you double to stay and take them all down,” Asher muttered, seeing his mother’s arms flail as she reamed out Mr. Callaway.
Terror danced from one paw to the other on the snow around them.
The older man had obviously mastered the art of the smile and nod as he ignored Beverly’s complaining and continued to instruct the kid about where he could locate the extra set of lights. His ability to tune out was the product of forty years of marriage, no doubt.
Mike shook his head. “As tempting as that offer is, it’s twenty degrees out here and my wife has already texted twice that dinner will not be waiting for me anymore if I’m late again.”
Another blissfully wedded man.
Why did these guys torture themselves by putting a ring on it? He wasn’t opposed to marriage, but if more couples focused on having the kind of relationship that he and Em had—great sex and great friendship—the world would be a much more peaceful place.
A memory of her expression when Lily giggled and kissed her cheek that afternoon made his stomach knot. Was his best friend developing a maternal instinct and a ticking biological clock now that her professional snowboarding days were over?
Man, what he wouldn’t give to get her back on the slopes.
“Boys, come on,” Mike called to the kids on the roof, then turning to Mr. Callaway, he said, “We’ll be back first thing in the morning. Can’t do much more in the dark.”
“Okay. I’ll pick up more lights,” Mr. Callaway said.
“Don’t you dare,” he heard his mother say, as the kids and their father hurried to their truck.
Asher groaned. The lights were an eyesore, but they were just lights. “Mom! It’s freezing. Come back inside.”
She ignored him.
“Mom! Leave the man alone, it’s his house.”
She shot him a look, and he shrugged and slipped back inside.
He tried.
But this arguing between his mother and Mr. Callaway had to end, otherwise they were both in for a real shitty rest of their lives, bickering over every little thing. Three years was long enough.
He couldn’t remember ever fighting with Emma. They had a live-and-let-live philosophy to life. She didn’t expect anything from him. He expected nothing from her. Their friendship was based on trust and a mutual understanding that they had no claims to one another.
Would that always be the case?
Returning to the kitchen, he took advantage of Mr. Callaway’s misfortune and hunted down his painkillers. His leg ached and his head wasn’t much better. Finding the bottle hidden behind a box of puffed no-name-brand cereal, he shook several into his hand and two directly into his mouth. He swallowed them, put the others in his pocket, and tucked the bottle away just as his mother reentered.
“That man is impossible.”
“He refuses to take some of the lights down?”
“Yep. And he insists he’s not done,” she grumbled, peering out the window at the house next door.
“Well, you tried, right?”
Her eyebrow rose. “Oh, I’m just getting started. If he wants a war, he’ll get one.”
“I doubt he wants a war. I think he’s just
trying to get into the spirit of the holidays.”
She wasn’t listening, she was already scheming. He could actually see wheels turning in her mind.
“Mom, what are you going to do?”
“Nothing crazy.”
Yeah, right.
“Just a little extra holiday decorating of my own,” she said, leaving the kitchen.
“Mom…” But she was gone.
Asher sighed as his cell phone rang on the kitchen table. Checking the caller ID, he saw his coach’s New Jersey number. He’d been away from the league as well the last two weeks, dealing with a death in his family. “Hey, Coach Hamilton. How are you?”
“I’m good, Ash. Shitty time of year to be burying someone, but then, there really isn’t a good time, is there?” he asked, ever unsentimental.
“No, sir.”
“How’s the knee?” Straight to business.
No doubt by now the team and the NHL officials had received all of his hospital records, so there was no point sugarcoating things. “Surgery went well, but the doctor says six to ten.”
“Almost two weeks ago…You’ve started working with a therapist?”
“Yes, sir.” Emma would send his coach updates as well throughout his progress. The league left nothing to chance, and they were all about full disclosure.
“And everything else is good…”
Shit. He knew what his coach was alluding to. “Yes, sir. There’s no overreliance on meds.”
“Good. Glad to hear it. An injury we can work through. An addiction is a little tougher to overcome, but we have resources…if you need anything, we’re supporting you.”
Ash swallowed hard. “I appreciate that. I assure you, the knee injury is the extent of my issues.”
“Great, son. Take care of yourself. We need you back for that milestone game.”
“Yes, sir.” Disconnecting the call, Asher tossed the phone onto the table. They needed him back for his milestone game. It didn’t escape his notice that his coach hadn’t said “rest of the season.” His pending contract renegotiation suddenly weighed heavy on his mind. Even before the injury, his game had been off, and he’d been stressing over whether the team would re-sign him. Now he was really sweating. And he hated the feeling.
Pushing himself up, he went to the pantry, took the bottle of pills, and tossed them into the trash.
Mental toughness and determination would get him through this, not drugs.
* * *
“Did Christmas elves puke all over the neighborhood?” Emma asked, entering her father’s house the next morning through the front door, which was wide open…for who knew how long? The chill inside suggested her dad had forgotten to close it a long time ago.
Terror ran up to greet her and immediately started licking the snow from her boots. She bent to pick him up and a wave of doggy breath hit her. “Whoa…you stink really bad for such a small thing,” she said as her father appeared slowly behind him. “What are you feeding him?”
He shrugged. “Whatever I eat. Turns out he likes whiskey.”
“Dad!”
“I’m kidding. He’s eating whatever that mushed-up crap is from the cans of food your sister brought over.”
Emma put the dog down and followed her dad into the kitchen, debating whether or not to mention the front door…Better to focus on the bigger issue. For now. “So, seriously, what’s with the lights?” Between her father’s house and Beverly’s, there was enough electricity to light a small village.
“Just a little neighborly competition,” he said, filling an old teakettle with water and setting it on the stove. He preferred the battered old kettle to any of the new electrical ones she and Jess had bought him over the years. At least the thing whistled when it was ready, and her father wasn’t able to completely forget about it.
“Can’t the two of you get along? Or at least ignore one another like normal neighbors do?” she asked, leaving on her coat and scarf. She’d stopped by to walk Terror before heading to work.
“She started it.”
Right.
“Oh my God, Dad—the house looks amazing!” Jess’s voice in the hallway made Emma sigh. Her sister hadn’t mentioned she was stopping by that morning. Otherwise Emma would have let her walk Terror.
“See—Jess likes it,” her dad said with a wink as she entered the kitchen.
As usual her sister was the picture of perfection, wearing knee-high tan boots over a pair of dark brown leggings and an off-white cashmere coat that hugged her body. With its military-style collar and big brown buttons down the front, the coat was obviously a result of a shopping spree in Denver.
Her sister had inherited their mother’s fashion sense—all of it, apparently. If Emma’s thermal coat and practical winter boots were any indication, she’d inherited her father’s sense of practicality. She just didn’t see the need of dressing up in the small town. There was no one here she was trying to impress. And the one person she’d ever been concerned with impressing was usually only seeing her head and shoulders through a Skype connection.
And he didn’t care what she wore. In fact, his favorite outfit of hers was no outfit at all. Which never used to bother her before. But lately, the idea that the only thing he wanted from her was sex was plaguing her.
Which was ridiculous. They’d been best friends long before sex had worked its way into the equation, and besides, she wanted it just as much as he did.
Unfortunately, she also wanted so much more. And it had disappointed her on various levels when he’d called it an early night the evening before.
“Oh, was it your day to walk Terror?” Jess asked, interrupting her thoughts.
Emma wasn’t fooled. Jess had an internal scheduling system that outranked any online calendar. “Yes. But since you’re here, maybe I’ll head to the office early.”
“No. Wait!”
Emma stopped.
“Why don’t we walk him together?” Jess suggested.
Emma sighed. Her sister obviously had an agenda that morning. “Okay.” She grabbed the dog’s leash and, after hooking it to the dog’s sequined collar, followed her sister outside. Once out of earshot, she said, “When I got here the door was wide open.”
Jess waved a hand. “He probably just forgot.”
That was the problem. Their dad was forgetting a lot lately. Her sister didn’t seem to get it. Or she was choosing to not get it.
“So, you’re coming to dinner tonight, right?” she said, changing the subject. “You never actually answered my text.”
Emma shivered in the early morning wind and zipped her coat higher around her neck. “Yes, I’ll be there.” She hadn’t seen her nephews in weeks, and she needed to get the inside scoop on what they wanted for Christmas. If she asked Jess, she’d only insist that Emma buy an educational savings bond or some other gift that would launch her straight into lame-aunt territory. She wanted to get the boys something they really wanted. Preferably something messy and impractical…something Jess would never buy them.
“Great,” her sister said a little too enthusiastically.
Yep, she definitely had an agenda. Emma suspected it had to do with the University of Florida. Her sister hadn’t brought it up since the week before, and her silence was unusual and a little unnerving. But she was happy to delay the conversation until that evening.
“Turn left here. I didn’t check the mail yesterday,” Jess said as they reached the corner.
“You know, at some point Dad needs to learn where the mailbox is,” Emma said. Her sister’s babying of their father had to come to an end. Their dad needed to become more self-sufficient. Or they needed to discuss other options.
“Let’s just get him through the holidays without Mom, and then we can start pushing him to be more independent.”
Fourth holiday without their mother. While Emma suspected the holidays would always be tough, time did ease the pain. She wondered if maybe her sister was using their dad as an excuse to hold on to some of the
hurt herself.
Reaching the mailbox, she shoved her hands into her pockets as she waited for her sister to retrieve the mail. Terror danced in slush puddles, getting the insanely expensive doggy boots Jess had bought him—insisting his paws were too fragile for snow and ice—covered in salt and dirt.
Heading back toward the house, she said, “And what are we going to do about the Christmas light situation?”
Jess shrugged. “Help Dad win his battle against Mrs. Westmore.”
Emma laughed before realizing her sister was actually serious. “Come on, Jess. There are already six hundred lights on the roof. I counted seven plastic Santas throughout the property, and he’s talking about adding a sleigh and reindeer to the roof…”
Her sister didn’t seem fazed. “People like it. Dad said cars drove by last night and stopped to admire it.”
Admire? Probably not.
“Look, he’s happy. It’s giving him something to focus on this season, instead of moping around, missing Mom.”
“Okay, fine.” She sighed as they reached the house. “Anyway, I have to go. I have a full schedule today.” Though there was only one patient she was excited to see. As usual, Asher had booked himself as her last appointment of the day, and she wondered if he’d consider going to dinner at Jess’s tonight. Probably not.
Her stomach turned slightly. Beverly and her father didn’t get along. Asher and Jess had never warmed to one another. How could a real relationship ever fare well in that situation? Did it matter? She was willing to try to make one work…if she ever got the nerve to tell Ash that she wanted one. “Anyway, tell Dad I’ll stop by to walk Terror tomorrow at lunch.” How the dog had become her problem, she’d never know.
Jess wasn’t listening, nor was she accepting the dog’s leash. Her gaze was on an envelope in her hand and her eyes were glistening.
“Everything okay?” Emma asked, moving closer to see what it was.
Jess nodded. “It’s a final reminder that there are a few tickets left for the University Hospital’s holiday luncheon and fashion show in Denver on Sunday. Mom and I used to go every year.”
Right, the tradition they’d started years ago. One Emma had never been around to participate in. Not that the high-end holiday event had been of any interest to her.
Maybe This Christmas Page 9
