An uncontrolled growl rolled out of Aaron “Sarge” Sergeants’ throat when a kid skated too close to him. The boy’s eyes widened in fear, and he almost fell on his butt as he scrambled away as fast as possible. Sarge shook his head in regret. Sure, he didn’t want to be there, but that child didn’t deserve anything he or his bear would dish out right now.

Loud squealing and laughter bounced off the glass of the rink. Banners from the inaugural Kids Kare First Holiday Hangout with the Stars of the Seattle Blizzards hung over the rails. Sarge stood off to the side out of the way as much as possible, scowling at the spectacle of kids, parents, and everyone else invading his sacred space. They skated like the place was for fun and games rather than the arena where he kicked ass and left all the bullshit of his life out on the ice.

For the event, half of the home of the Blizzards was sectioned off, carpeted, and decorated as if Santa had come and vomited all kinds of Christmas on it. Children stood in line to take pictures with team members in front of a goal and a huge fake decorated tree. An entire area set up with all kinds of desserts and sweets waited nearby for everyone to load up on their sugar intakes so they could scream louder. Sarge winced again at another high-pitched screech and searched for the nearest exit.

Maddox caught his eye from the other side of the ice before he could search for the nearest exit. Crap. So much for a quick getaway. She winked at him, chuckling to herself before returning to help out one of the kids she must work with at her physical therapy job.

Sarge looked away fast, hoping she’d get the hint and let him off the hook. It wasn’t the kids he minded. Hell, he liked them…in theory. Wanted some of his own once upon a time, long ago in a land far away, where he actually believed in love and the magic of Christmas. But he knew better now, and no amount of poorly sung songs or hot cocoa with massive amounts of whipped cream would ever convince him that this time of year brought anything good.

Plus, did he really have to wear the god-awful hideous red and green sweater with snowflakes and—haha, Maddox—dancing bears wearing Santa hats? No way did he want pictures of him wearing something so ridiculous floating around on the internet, even for a good cause. And why wasn’t Maddox wearing one if he had to? She got to wear a cool fleece jacket with her work logo embroidered on it like all of her co-workers. Even though she’d added a tacky scarf and hat with a big fluffy pom-pom thing on top, it didn’t count because she managed to look kind of adorable. But did Sarge look cute in his ugly ass sweater? Hell, no. Not even close.

As if reading his mind, Maddox looked up at him again, shook her head, and made her way in his direction. Although engaged to the team’s star defender and his own best friend, she had no skating talent whatsoever, wobbling off balance more than once. Sarge tensed up, watching her teeter back and forth on her skates. Almost biting the dust for the third time, her arms flailed in wild windmills until Griff skated up behind and caught her right before her butt hit the ice.

Sarge couldn’t help the snicker that escaped him. Those two really did make a good couple, and a part of him was truly happy for Griff that he’d found his forever mate. Based on how stinking cute and connected the two of them appeared to be, Sarge guessed that they wouldn’t hold off on their wedding date too much longer, and pretty soon there’d be kids of their own to raise. A familiar pang squeezed Sarge’s heart. If all had gone as planned so many Christmases ago, maybe he’d already have a cub or two of his own. But, like every winter holiday time, all he possessed was his mother’s harsh reproaches to remind him of what he’d lost and an empty house.

Maddox approached with rosy cheeks and panting breath. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad, Aaron. I promise you, none of them bite.” She teetered and tumbled against him, grabbing his sleeve to stay upright.

“Yeah, the whole event is actually pretty great. You did a good job putting it all together, babe.” Griff helped steady her and hugged her tight against his chest. He tilted his head at Sarge. “No need to be afraid of things half your size. They’re not dangerous.”

“I’m good right where I am,” huffed Sarge. “Besides, you’re the superstar they love, Grizzly Berenger.” He could give just as much shit right back.

His best friend flipped him off behind Maddox’s back, and Sarge flashed him a shit-eating grin. When he caught full sight of Griff’s attire, he glowered. “Hey, why the hell doesn’t he have to wear a sweater like mine?”

Griff wrapped his arms around his girl and planted a dramatic kiss on her cheek. “It’s good to know the boss in charge. Even better if you rock her world in bed to convince her not to make me look as stupid as you do right now.” His lips traveled down to her neck. He whispered something in her ear dirty enough to make her pink cheeks flare bright red.

Before Sarge could roll his eyes, Samson skidded to a stop beside them. “Convinced Mr. Scrooge here to stop moping about and get in on the action yet?”

“Fuck you, Samson,” barked Sarge.

“I think you mean Bah, humbug, Scroogey McScroogeson. You’re always a beast around this time of year. I figured at least participating in this event might cheer you up a tiny little bit. Give that heart of yours a chance to experience the true magic of the season. Plus, you know that some of the moms are decently hot and into studs like us.” Samson wiggled his eyebrow as and ignored Maddox swatting his arm.

“Nah. You can act as the mommy porn all by yourself.” Sarge shoved Samson, who knocked his hand away playfully.

“Knock it off, you two.” Maddox already perfected her impression of a parent. “Now, Sarge. You’ve got two choices. Go over and skate with the kids so that they can brag that they spent time on the ice with the captain of the Blizzards or go over to the dessert area and take pictures.”

“But—”

“Neither of those choices included you standing here on the side.” She leveled him with her gaze.

“Yeah, stop being a Grinch,” teased Samson.

“Stop mixing up your holiday pop culture references. You’re giving me a headache,” Sarge complained.

“Scrooge.”

“Stop. I mean it.”

“Hans Gruber.”

“Dammit—”

“Old Man Potter.”

“Could you—”

“Bumble.”

“For fuck’s sake—”

“Grinch. You’re a Grinchy McGrinch Grinch with a heart the size of a pea.”

Griff broke off the war of words, pushing Samson out of Sarge’s face. “Okay, assholes. That’s enough.”

Maddox rocked unsteadily as she reached out to touch Sarge’s arm. “Listen, Aaron. I get it. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you to participate.”

Sarge’s heart dropped. “It’s not you, Maddox. I’m sorry I’m being a jackass.” Once again, the baggage he carried around spilled over and tainted his current life.

She touched his arm. “You aren’t. Well, maybe you are…but you can make it up to me.”

He managed a weak smile. “What can I do?”

“Skate or go take pictures. For one hour. Do that, and you’ll earn a little of my lasagna.”

The weight inside his chest eased a bit, and he nodded.

“Hey,” Samson butted in. “Your lasagna’s my favorite.”

Maddox beamed at the big guy. “And you’ll get two containers of it all to yourself.”

Samson woohooed and skated off, joining a kid tentatively moving forward on the ice, holding onto a chair to help him balance. Sarge watched the team’s massive, intimidating Enforcer help with more patience than existed in Sarge’s entire body. No doubt that in those few seconds of cheering on the youngster, Samson had managed to make the kid forget whatever made him need to use a chair in the first place.

Maybe Sarge wasn’t meant to be with others. Some bears lived solitary lives alone far away from others and managed not to go crazy—at least not at first. Sticking out his hand, he sighed. “Fine. I’ll do pictures. For an hour.”

Maddox shook on it and gave him a quick peck. “Thank you.” She waved, turning and flailing her way across the rink with Griff following behind from a close protective distance.

With the resolve to ease the guilt of giving Maddox such a hard time, Sarge got his ass off the rail and skated towards the closest end of the red-carpeted area. He walked past the tables of baked goods, sniffing the air that smelled like vanilla and gingerbread.

Damn, if the spread wasn’t the most decadent display of sweets he’d ever seen. The cupcakes displayed in stacks like Christmas trees with all kinds of enticing sugary decorations were in desperate need of tasting. But nothing tempted him quite as much as the woman standing behind the table, helping a young girl pick out a red-and-white striped frosted cupcake.

A dark green apron covered up the red sweater she wore. Based on what Sarge could see that the table didn’t block, that fabric hid some major curves underneath. When the woman bent over to hand the little girl her cupcake, she gave him a brief but clear shot of her cleavage, making his mouth water and his dick twitch.

As if sensing him, her intense eyes caught him staring. A smile beamed across her plump lips, but her eyes possessed a dash of wariness in them. Looking away as fast as possible, Sarge cleared his throat and hurried past the siren-song of a hot woman serving dessert.

“Well, look who decided to finally make an appearance. Nice of you to act like you’re part of the team.” Rob Markinson, this year’s rookie and all-around asshole announced to everyone waiting. Spotting the young eyes on him, he straightened up and changed his tone to more playful. “Aren’t you all lucky to take a picture with the team captain? Nice sweater, by the way.” He smirked.

With a slight snarl, Sarge tilted his head. “Move over, Rob.”

“Aye, aye, Captain. Think I’ll go over and get me something sweet to eat while you pose. Let the old guard take over for a while.” He snapped a crappy salute and moved away, signing an autograph as he left the staged area. Even the youngest teammate knew how to play the publicity game better than Sarge.

The photographer got his attention while a nearby assistant directed a new group to surround him for a picture. For about thirty minutes, he managed not to groan or grunt when people tried to talk to him or he had to paste a fake smile on his face. He’d promised Maddox a full hour, but he knew there was no way he’d make it. Another kid approached him, wearing Rob’s jersey. Perfect.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Sarge replied, grimacing a bit at his gruff response.

“Do you know if Markinson’s gonna come back for pictures? He’s my favorite.” The boy pointed to his jersey to emphasize his fandom.

“I don’t know. But I’m Sarge, the team captain, and I’ll take a picture with you.” He put his arm around the boy and turned him towards the camera, forcing his lips to turn upward.

The kid squirmed a bit, looking up at him after every flash of the camera.

“What?” snapped Sarge.

“Is that beard real?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Because I tugged on the one on Santa at the mall, and it moved.”

“That’s nice.” No, it fucking was not. And for all that was holy, the kid better not ask—

“Can I pull on yours?”

“Hell, no.”

A few parents in the line gasped, and heat rose in Sarge’s cheeks. “I mean, let’s finish up your pictures so you can move on. I’ll bet there’s a cookie or something over there waiting for you.”

To his immense relief, the boy turned towards the camera one last time. Right when he was being ushered away, he yanked on Sarge’s beard. Trying not to cause a commotion, Sarge gritted his teeth and held back every single swear word on the tip of his tongue. The boy’s father attempted to gain control but lost it when the kid spotted Rob and wobbled off as fast as possible, running in his small skates.

A few people chuckled at the spectacle, but the photographer recognized that Sarge needed a small reprieve. She called for a ten-minute break, winking at him. Appreciative, he nodded, rubbing the sting on his chin and questioning how much he really wanted some of Maddox’s lasagna.

“That had to hurt.”

Something about the lone sultry voice calling out to him sent shivers down his spine. As if pulled by some magnetic force, Sarge pivoted in its direction and faced the woman from the dessert table standing on the far edge of the Christmas tree.

“It did.” Perhaps he could win a few sympathy points. Or maybe get her to kiss him to make everything all better. “That’s the last time I don’t shave at the end of Movember.”

“Well, you’re supposed to grow a mustache, not a full beard.”

“Hmph, not growing a patchy porn ‘stache. Now this,” Sarge rubbed his whiskers, “is what real men produce.”

“Right.” The woman’s chest jiggled as she laughed. “So now the length of the beard replaces the hand for determining size? You know, down there?” Her eyes slid down to his crotch.

Maybe he really was the Grinch, although it wasn’t his heart that was growing in size right now. Sarge’s entire body heated at the thought of having her see how his beard didn’t come close to comparing to what he could offer her. If a slight glance from her made him this hard, his mind raced with what she’d do to him if he could only get her full attention…naked…in bed…or anywhere else.

“Oh geez, I’m staring at your junk right now, aren’t I? Sorry about that. And you don’t even know me from Adam.” The woman looked up at him with a rosy glow on her cheeks.

“I guarantee you that I would be having a completely different reaction if your name was Adam.” The corner of Sarge’s lip crooked up. It had been a long time since he’d flirted—an even longer time since he’d found a girl worth the effort.

She snorted, and then covered her mouth. “I am making the worst impression right now.”

“Not even close.” That fucking adorable sound coming from her did nothing to help his burgeoning hard-on. Sarge shifted on his feet, not sure if a much-needed crotch adjustment would be appropriate at the event.

“I’m Tamsin, by the way.” She offered her hand as she moved closer to him.

The second his hand touched hers, a zap of energy crackled up his arm. The two of them jumped at the same time, staring at their own hands.

Tamsin gave a weak laugh and shook out her fingers. “Static electricity, I guess.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, closing his hand into a fist. With a tiny bit of reluctance, he met her eyes and swore another bolt of lightning hit him in his chest. “I—I’m Sergeants. I mean, my name is Sarge. Well, Aaron, actually. But most people call me—”

“I know who you are. Wouldn’t be a Blizzards fan without cheering for you by name.” Her wide grin lit up her face.

Normally, Sarge stayed miles away from a puck bunny. But Tamsin didn’t seem like a crazed super fan to him. Besides, he wanted a chance to hear her calling out his name in a much more intimate setting.

She continued, “Plus, I know you from—”

“Mr. Sergeants? We’re ready to start again,” interrupted the photographer. “Whenever you are, of course.”

Tamsin’s eyes darted in her direction. “Seems someone else is eager to work with you.” Her tone took on a sharp edge, and her eyes widened as if in surprise to her reaction. She softened her expression and offered a slow smile. “I guess I’ll catch up with you later.”

Every brain cell he possessed had gone on vacation, and Sarge found nothing to say to her. By the time his senses returned, Tamsin was heading back towards the dessert section. He watched her delicious curves sway as she walked away. When the photographer called for his attention again, he scowled at the persistent woman, unable to voice how no matter what she did to try and get his attention, she couldn’t hold a candle to the one whose scent still filled his nostrils. He made a plan to finish up with photos and then snag Tamsin’s phone number.

As his promised time came to an end, Rob joined him for a couple of duo shots with kids and their families. While waiting for the next picture to be set up, Rob slapped him on his back.

“So, you wanna dip your toes into the crazy pool, huh?”

“What the hel—I mean, heck—are you talking about, Markinson?” Sarge squeezed out a smile at the nearby mother who shot him a look of warning.

“That girl you were talking to? Don’t you know who’s her family?”

Shit. Sarge begged him not to tell him that she was related to anyone on the team. No way did he want to commit that huge no-no and cause team drama.

“No,” he grunted.

“That’s Tamsin Webb.” He watched Sarge’s face in anticipation.

“Is that supposed to ring a bell or something?” For the life of him, Sarge couldn’t think of anyone he knew by the name of Webb.

Rob rolled his eyes. “Remember that girl I took to the fancy dress-up ball before? The one that runs a bakery?”

The pieces connected one by one as Sarge’s stomach dropped. “You don’t mean Everly, do you?”

Rob nodded with enthusiasm. “Yep. That’s her older sister. But I guess we should feel lucky that Everly couldn’t make it to today's event. Otherwise, we’d have to interact with her demented ass.”

“Watch your language,” Sarge hissed. He’d prefer Rob took back that info and make it not true.

“Small favors, right?” The rookie offered up his hand for a high-five but dropped it when Sarge narrowed his eyes at him. He shrugged and slapped the hands of the incoming twins instead.

After what Everly did to torture Maddox and all of the drama she brought to Griff, Sarge shut down any possible plans with Tamsin. How someone so hot could be biologically connected to a sister so insanely evil, he’d never get.

As the minutes crept by, the dark hole of blackness he carried around this time of year widened again and swallowed up all his good will and hope.