Any Given Christmas

by Candis Terry

  “Why would I do that, Ollie?”

  He leaned into his truck and twisted the key in the ignition. “Figured you’d be heading out to pick up Dean. Sure is a shame.”

  She inhaled a huge lungful of air. “What’s a shame?”

  Ollie turned his head and looked at her really hard for a second. “You don’t know?”

  “Apparently not.” She fought back tears and shrugged. “But it appears you do, so why don’t you fill me in?”

  He straightened. “You do know that Dean’s career is over. Right?”

  “Oh, that.” Unable to expound further, she turned to watch the small fortune add up on the gas pump. Two dollars poorer she said, “How did you find out?”

  “Mags called me about an hour and a half ago,” he said quietly. “She saw it on ESPN.”

  “So the whole world knows about it?”

  Ollie shrugged. “The PGA Masters is on so I guess plenty of people were watching when they announced it.”

  “Oh.”

  “He did call you, didn’t he?” Ollie’s expression softened.

  The gas pump clicked off and Emma yanked the nozzle from her car. “Sure.”

  “Yeah, I figured you’d be the first one he’d want to talk to.”

  Or at least somewhere down the line after he called his family. But nooo. “Hey, I’ve got to grab . . . a bag of ice.” She plastered on a smile and tried to sound as composed as possible, even though her throat was as dry as Death Valley. “Give Mags and the boys my love.”

  She pushed through the convenience store door and strode to the back cooler to grab a bag of ice for which she had no need. On her way to the register she ran into man-eater Gretchen Wilkes who had oddly paired her bright red cowboy boots and jeans mini-skirt with a Stallions jersey bearing the number eleven.

  “Emma.” She grabbed Emma’s shoulders and drew her in for an air kiss. “You must be on your way to get Dean. I saw the news about an hour or so ago and I just had to put on this jersey in mourning.”

  “He’s not dead, Gretchen.” Although he might be if she got her hands on him.

  “Well, bless his heart, I’m sure he wishes he was.” Gretchen tsked and shook her head, which caused her wild red curls to fly. “That man is going to need some cheering up for sure.” She patted Emma’s cheek. “Now, if you’re not up to the job, you just have him call me.”

  With the bag of ice melting in her hands, Emma watched as Gretchen turned on the pointed toe of her boot and flounced up to the front counter. When she got there she leaned over the counter and whispered something in the clerk’s ear. The both turned their heads and looked at Emma with a mix of pity and laughter in their eyes.

  Emma sucked in a deep breath, made her way up to the counter, and paid for her ice. Somehow she found her way across the parking lot to her car. Somehow she managed to open the door, throw the bag of ice in the back, and strap herself in. Somehow she found the nerve to turn on the car radio to the local sports station.

  At the top of the hour, the news reporter confirmed what apparently everyone else on the planet except her had known. Dean Silverthorne had been dismissed from the Houston Stallions due to a career-ending shoulder injury.

  She looked down at her watch. Four o’clock. He’d been told his shoulder had not healed and he’d been let go from the career he loved a full day ago.

  And he’d not called her once.

  In a moment of crisis when he should have looked to her for support, he’d gone to everyone else. Before he’d left Deer Lick he’d made her feel like she really meant something to him. That she was important. She loved him with her whole heart, with every fiber, muscle, and bone in her body. She was meant to love him. She’d thought there was a chance they could really be together.

  Instead, the one thing she’d feared the most had happened.

  She’d been forgotten.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  On Saturday morning Dean had boarded a plane that was promptly delayed due to a thunderstorm. While he waited for clearance he picked up his phone and opened his contacts list. His finger hovered above Emma’s number for the gazillionth time since yesterday afternoon. Without hitting “send call” he shoved his phone back into his pocket.

  What could he say to her when he felt like half the man he’d been just a day ago? How could he face her when he could barely face himself? He was in the prime of his life and everything he’d worked for had been cut down. Everything he’d known about himself was wrong. He was devastated. Ashamed. Fearful.

  Who was he now that he was no longer Dean Silverthorne, Starting Quarterback for the Houston Stallions? No longer Mr. Perfect?

  On the layover in Denver he’d barely managed the call to his dad. He’d only succeeded at that because he couldn’t bear the thought of his dad worrying about him.

  So why hadn’t he been able to call Emma for the same reasons?

  His stomach revolted. He lifted his fingers and pressed them against the interchange of shredded muscles and tendons.

  He was afraid.

  Today he was a different man.

  Weak.

  What if he wasn’t enough for her?

  He glanced across the terminal at a young couple cooing to a tiny baby wrapped in blue blankets. A sigh backed up in his chest. He felt lonely without Emma. Incomplete. It wasn’t that he needed her to make his life better. It was that his life was shit without her. With her, he was a better person. She didn’t make him that way; she made him want to be that way. He wanted her to be proud of him. To look up to him. But he had a long way to go before that would ever happen.

  At the moment he had no life and no career. But he did have a dream. Kindergarten teacher Emma Hart had shown him that life could be simple and fulfilling. That happiness could come in the form of a hug or a touch, a random act of kindness, a selfless deed of giving.

  She’d shown him that a future without her was unacceptable.

  And unimaginable.

  Dean stepped outside of the Missoula Airport terminal and searched for his ride home. Across the street in the front row of the short-term parking lot sat his mother’s beast of a Buick. Apparently Kate had arranged the transportation. Anyone else would have sent his SUV. Only his baby sister knew that with his mother’s car he wouldn’t have that long drive alone.

  He glanced up at the snow-capped mountain range as he opened the car door and slid inside, reached beneath the floor mat, and grabbed hold of the keys. He buckled the seatbelt, twisted the key in the ignition, and the engine turned over with a cough. Moments later he was rolling down the highway, rehearsing in his mind what he would say when he knocked on Emma’s door. He ran through every scenario as if it was the final play of the Super Bowl and he needed that W behind his name.

  In reality Emma was no game. She was the prize.

  Twenty miles from home, Dean turned the radio knob when the only song that would play from the crackling speakers was It’s Not Unusual.

  Wait for it . . .

  A deep red, pulsating glow that felt like the inside of his head invaded the interior of the Buick.

  “You’re down fourteen-ten. Midfield. Twenty seconds remain in the game. What’s your strategy?”

  Dean shook his head at the reminder of how during his career his mother would challenge him to step up his game. To be a better player.

  She wasn’t doing that now.

  Now she challenged him to be a better man.

  “No choice but a Hail Mary,” he said, pulling the Buick to the side of the road. He thrust the gearshift into park and turned in his seat. He gave her a brief smile.

  “And what if you underestimate the pass?”

  He swiped his hand over his face. “I lose it all.”

  His mother leaned forward and settled her icy hand on his arm, reminding him that miracles were possible. She’d left them months ago, yet here she still was . . . his biggest fan. His best friend.

  “You’ve never given up before.” The tone in her voice sou
nded tight. Disappointed. “Why now?”

  “From the moment I first set foot on the field at USC, everyone had expectations, including me. I wanted to be that shining star for everyone. I wanted to be up on that pedestal. When I first put on the Stallions uniform, that expectation grew and I lost myself.” He pressed his hand to the ache in his chest. “I forgot the one thing you always taught me . . . to be the best I can be at whatever I do. Even if it’s mowing lawns or shoveling horse manure.”

  “Have you remembered now?”

  “Yes.”

  “I told you that football was what you did. Not who you are. You are so much more.”

  “It’s hard to keep that in mind when you’re in the midst of the game and your back is against the goal posts.”

  “But you remember now.”

  He nodded. “It’s funny but I feel like a new game is just beginning.”

  “It is, Son. It is.” She gave him a brief smile that flashed in her green eyes. “You were always a good boy and you’ve grown into a fine man.”

  “I owe it all to you, Mom.”

  “I know.”

  He looked up. Their eyes met. And they both laughed.

  “Was that a memorable enough moment for you?” she asked, mirth still playing at the corners of her mouth.

  “Definitely. I shall cherish it in my heart for eternity,” he over-embellished.

  “Good. Now get this beast moving toward home. You’ve got some living to do.”

  “Roger that.”

  “And, Son?”

  He glanced over his shoulder to where her hand had settled. When anyone in their right mind would be completely freaked out, he felt only comfort.

  “I really am sorry about your shoulder.”

  “Actually, Mom, I think that shove into the turf might have been the best thing that could have ever happened to me. It’s opened my eyes. I wasn’t looking for it, but somehow I found what you and Dad shared. Not everyone is lucky enough to find that other person who makes them whole.”

  “Now you’re talking.” She leaned back and her glow turned brilliant gold. “Let’s get a move on.”

  As he pulled back onto the highway, his mother began to reminisce back to when he was just a boy with big dreams and strong hands. To the times he used those hands to protect his sisters. To the times he used them to work side by side with his family after school. To the times he’d fold them together and use them to pray. He’d put those hands together on the flight from Texas to Missoula when he’d thought of Emma and all the feelings he’d foolishly tried to push away. Those emotions were strong and powerful. Protective and hopeful.

  He loved her.

  He was in love with her.

  Who knew that deep inside he was a man who wanted the whole ring, marriage, and kids happily-ever-after?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The wind blew cold against Dean’s back and he shivered as he sat on the steps of Emma’s front porch. He’d left his heavy coat at the lodge house but he hadn’t wanted to waste the time to go get it. All he wanted was to get to Emma.

  But she wasn’t home.

  He could drive all over town to try to find her, but then he’d take the chance of missing her and further delay their reunion. He imagined she’d be a little upset that he hadn’t called yesterday. Which meant that when he told her what had happened, he’d have to be more open and honest with her than he’d ever been. He’d need to open a vein and let it all spill out.

  No more holding back.

  He picked up a pebble from the porch and tossed it onto the drive. He’d been sitting there for well over an hour when finally he spotted her little Subaru coming up the street. She pulled into the driveway and stopped when she saw him sitting there.

  Yep. She was mad.

  After a lengthy hesitation she finally pulled the rest of the way into the driveway and parked. He stood and went to her side of the car. With her hair up in a loose ponytail and wearing his favorite pink sweater, she looked so beautiful she stole his breath. Instead of opening the door and stepping into his arms like he’d hoped, she remained behind the wheel and took several deep breaths before she finally reached for the handle.

  Dean’s heart thumped hard and his throat went dry.

  As soon as she was clear of the car, he captured her in his arms, lifted her to her toes, and held her tight. He ignored the stiffness in her body and the fact that her arms hung limp at her sides. “I’m so glad to see you, honey.”

  She eased from his arms and stepped back. “I assume you had a nice flight.”

  Those flat, emotionless words sent a chill up his spine and he knew. This was about more than just him not calling when he said he would. “You already know, don’t you?”

  She opened the back door to her car without looking at him. “Everyone knows, Dean.”

  “Everyone?”

  “Yes. Everyone.”

  “How is that possible? The only person I called was my dad and I asked him not to tell anyone until I came home. I wanted to tell you myself.”

  “Too late.” She hefted a bag of groceries into her arms.

  He took them from her, followed her into the house, and set the bag down on her kitchen counter. “Who else knows, Em?”

  “Edna Price.” She yanked a loaf of Wonder bread from the bag and stuffed it into the bright red bread box on the counter. “Maggie and Ollie. Even Gretchen Wilkes. Who, by the way, offered herself if you need consoling.”

  “Damn that Kate.”

  “Don’t blame your sister. If it wasn’t for her I’d still be wondering if you were dead or alive. Besides, she didn’t have to spread the news.”

  He leaned against her counter. “Then who did?”

  “Blame ESPN and anyone watching the Masters. It appears everyone knew . . .” She grabbed the bag and started pulling out cans of corn. “Except me.”

  “Shit.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “There’s a reason I didn’t call.”

  “I’m sure there is.” She turned and shoved the cans into a cupboard. Her small shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It just doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “Sure it does.” God, the disparagement in her eyes made him want to crumble.

  She dropped her head with a sigh, then turned toward him and folded her arms. “Look, I’m really sorry about your shoulder. And I’m truly sorry about you losing your career. I understand you must be devastated.”

  “I felt dead.”

  “I can only imagine.” She blinked once. Twice. Then she glanced away. “I would have been there for you, but . . . obviously you didn’t want that.”

  “I couldn’t face you, Em,” he stated honestly.

  “Why? Because I’m so big and scary?”

  “No. Because this was big. Because all my life I’ve been great with a football and not much else. Because for the first time I had no control over my life. Because I’d lost everything.”

  Her chin came up. “You hadn’t lost me.”

  He shook his head, knowing what he wanted to say but unable to find the right words. For the past sixteen years he’d barked out orders, plays, and demands. He was proving now to be far less articulate when it came to matters of the heart. “Emma, I’m really sorry I didn’t call.”

  “Don’t you get it, Dean? This is about so much more than the fact that you didn’t call. This is about more than me being publicly humiliated. Again. This is about you not trusting me. This is about you not wanting me to be a part of your pain or your happiness or whatever emotion you’re dealing with at the moment. This is about you shutting me out. This is about you . . . forgetting me.”

  He reached out for her but she took a step back. “You were never forgotten, honey. I started to call you at least a million times. I just . . . couldn’t do it. Can we sit down and talk about this?”

  “Now you want to talk?”

  “Now I’m ready to talk. There’s a difference.”

  “Well, maybe now I’m not ready to listen. Call me selfi
sh. I’m sorry you’re going through a tough time and that truly breaks my heart.” She shook her head and gave a little laugh that sounded anything but funny. “I knew when I fell in love with you that it was the dumbest thing I’d ever done. I tried to convince myself that I could be happy with what little you chose to give me.” Beneath her sweater her shoulders squared. “But I can’t. And I won’t. You’ve proven that you aren’t willing to share the important moments in your life. I wish you would. But I just can’t base a relationship on fantasy.”

  Her words struck home and he rubbed the expanding ache around his heart. She was right. In the past he hadn’t opened himself up. Everything had been a game. Until now.

  “I’m sorry, honey. I truly am.” He wrapped his arms around her. “And I promise I’ll make it up to you. We’re good together. You know we are.”

  Tears flooded her eyes as she untangled herself from his embrace. “It’s too late,” she whispered.

  Her voice was so calm, so detached, so utterly reasonable it sent a chill through him. Her chin lifted as she went to the front door, opened it, and waited for him to leave. He didn’t know what to do to make her understand. He didn’t know what he planned to do with his future. He only knew what he’d done with his past. When faced with keeping his team in limbo or walking away so they could move forward, he’d walked away. But he wouldn’t walk away from her too. Because whether he sat behind a desk at a nine-to-five or baked cupcakes for the rest of his life, he wanted her there beside him.

  His chest felt so tight he could barely breathe. “I love you, Em.”

  “No. You don’t.” Her trembling bottom lip conflicted with the finality of her words. “If you did, I would have been the first person you’d have wanted or needed to talk to when your world came crashing down. I wouldn’t have been an afterthought.”

  “That’s not the way it is, Emma.”

  “That’s the way I see it.”

  “You love me, Emma.”

  “Maybe so.” Her eyes met his and held steady. “But I’ll endure it. I’ve survived worse.”