Stevie was sound asleep, tousled in the sheets she’d stolen from me some time in the night. Shadows floated across the length of her body in slow motion, and when I turned to the small basement window, the snow was coming down in fat white flakes. The clock on my nightstand told me it was too damn early, but even on vacation, I couldn’t shake the schedule I’d grown used to. Stevie was sweet with soft breaths escaping from her parted lips. She wore the pair of long johns I’d let her borrow. My room was freezing on most winter nights, and I savored the way the fabric clung to her breasts and hips. Stevie had enlisted the “no fucking around rule” and even snuggling, for the sake of warmth, was out of the question.
I eased myself to the edge of the bed and it shifted as I stood. The full-sized mattress was laid out on the floor, no frame, and a box-spring to give it a few inches of height. The only thing about my childhood bedroom that had changed, was the woman sprawled out and snoring in my sheets. My Toronto Maple Leafs posters still adorned the walls, and Stevie had gotten a good laugh about the few swimsuit models I had pinned up, as well. I’d shrugged and told her every teenage kid had something they’d spanked it to. The comment had gotten me a cute and disgusted swat to the chest.
My eyes devoured her perfect form for a few more seconds before I turned toward the door. I wanted to grab the presents I’d hidden upstairs, figuring she’d rather open them before the Poppy’s-The-Only-Grandchild-Christmas-Day-Massacre occurred. It wasn’t hard to admit Poppy was spoiled. The girl got everything she wanted. She had doting grandparents and an uncle who couldn’t tell her no to save his own damn life. The only saving grace was Poppy didn’t act like a brat. She was wise beyond her years. And my favorite thing, for a girl who never showed much emotion, she had an abundance of gratitude. The smile I had on my face spread to my tired eyes as I thought about the interaction I’d witnessed between my niece and girlfriend last night. Poppy’s gratitude had been out in spades, or maybe it was graciousness, as she’d taught Stevie how to hold a hockey stick. In her own way, Poppy took Stevie under her wing, and to my surprise, let her steal a few pucks and even win a goal. Stevie wasn’t too bad of a player… when she wasn’t on her ass.
I was lost in my thoughts as the bedroom door clicked behind me. My feelings for Stevie, seeing her with my family, she fit us, fit me more than Mia ever had in two goddamn years. My mother had pulled me to the side after dinner last night and said she liked how happy I seemed. My dad’s opinion hadn’t been much different. He’d told me Stevie was one of the “good ones.” Mia never made me feel good, never made me smile like Stevie did. She’d always nagged about how NHL players didn’t get paid like basketball players or football players. She’d freaked out when I’d injured myself the first season we were dating, and it wasn’t because she was worried about me. She’d been worried about my career, what I could offer her—what she’d lose if I wasn’t playing. She’d wanted to be arm candy, a hockey wife, but Stevie, she wanted to be mine. Stevie made me feel human, real—more than just the logo I wore on my jersey.
The basement stairs creaked under my feet as I ascended to the main level. The house smelled of cinnamon and sugar, and as I drew closer to the pale light of the kitchen, the scent got stronger. It was only a quarter after six, and I knew there was no way Poppy would be awake. We’d all stayed up late playing Yahtzee, and she’d fallen asleep on the couch, her head in my lap, around midnight. A long sigh poured through the kitchen doorway, but it was the quiet sob that had my feet moving faster through the living room. My sister stood in the kitchen, her face in the palms of her hands, crying.
“What’s going on?” I asked in a rushed whisper. Her big, watery eyes found mine. Her lashes like wet soot speared me in the chest. My gaze fell to the phone on the counter and then back to her. “Everything alright?”
She nodded. “Yes…” She blew out a breath and croaked, “No.”
Three strides had my arms wrapped around her waist, her cheek to my chest. “Jesus, you’re shaking, Mol. What happened?”
She sniffled into the cotton of my shirt before she pulled away and wiped the tears from her cheeks with her fingertips.
“Dax… we got into a huge fight…” I ran my hand through my hair, letting my lungs expand. No one was hurt. “He said he couldn’t get a flight out until the twenty-seventh.”
“Mol, he’s stuck, it’s not his—”
“Fault. I know, Mark.” She shot daggers in my direction. “I understand. He’s stuck. It’s part of his job to travel, but…” Her temper ebbed and tears trickled down her cheeks again as she spoke in a choked whisper. “I asked him to quit for me when I got pregnant with Poppy. I hated that he was away all the time. He gave up his dreams for me, took this sales job… and fast forward eight years later and here we are. He probably would’ve been home more if he still played for Providence.”
“Molly…” I stepped toward her but she held up her hands and shook her head. “The AHL, those guys, some of them never see NHL ice. He knows that. He did what he wanted to do. He didn’t give up a dream, Mol. He got a family. He loves you and Poppy, and I guarantee he’d make the same choice again, I sure as fuck would’ve done the same thing.”
She lowered her eyes to the floor. “You can’t say that… you don’t know. You would never leave your team for—”
“I would if I had to be there for my family, for someone I loved. If that was my only choice, I’d always choose my family.”
Molly lifted her head, a sad smile forming on her lips. “You sound just like him.” She gently shoved me in the chest on her way to the coffee maker. “I know I’m crazy. I know he’s paying our bills.” She poured herself a cup of coffee, her chin tilted down. “I yelled at him, asked him how he could do this to me on Christmas. He told me I was being selfish and hung up.”
Dax and I had always gotten along, we were cut from the same cloth. There wasn’t much either of us wouldn’t do for the people we loved. We would give the fucking sky if we could. Molly was stubborn like our dad, and sometimes it was hard for her to see around her own nose.
“He missed Christmas with his family, Mol. He’s sitting in a shitty hotel in Denver, alone.” I picked up the phone from the counter and held it out to her. “So he said the wrong thing because he’s hurting… as much as you are.”
She took the phone from my hand. “I hate that you’re right.”
I chuckled and ruffled her hair with my palm. “Give him a break, the big stuff can wait till he gets home.”
She nodded, her eyes filling with tears again. “Stevie is lucky to have you.”
“I think it’s the other way around.”
“Possibly.” She cleared her throat, a smirk growing on her lips. “Mom made cinnamon rolls before she went to shower, steal a couple before Dad wakes up and eats them all.”
She headed to the living room with her phone to her ear and I overheard her whispered, “I’m sorry.” After I used the bathroom, and splashed some water on my face, I loaded a plate with cinnamon rolls, and grabbed the bag with Stevie’s presents in it from the cupboard inside the pantry. It was heavy and I worried the paper sack wouldn’t hold as I took the basement stairs two at a time.
She hadn’t budged an inch, but her shirt had ridden up a little, and the smooth expanse of her stomach teased me from where I stood in the doorway. Setting the bag to the side, I locked the door and placed the plate of rolls on my dresser. I raised my hand to the back of my neck, pulling my shirt over my head. The cold air of the room tickled the hairs on my arms as I stalked toward my girl with intentions she’d probably smack me for later. Slow and quiet I crawled onto the mattress, tugging the sheets until she rolled onto her back with a light hum. The other day she’d woken me up with a blow job, and I figured this morning I’d return the favor.
Pressing kisses to her belly, my nose dusted along the line of her hip as I pulled down her pants one stealthy inch at a time. She wriggled under my touch as my lips moved lower, much lower, and finally, I was tasting her. She was warm under my tongue, the slick heat of her body inviting me in as I slid two fingers inside her. Her hand was in my hair, nails on my scalp as I kissed and nipped her clit.
“Mark…” My name was a lust and sleep-filled syllable.
She rocked her hips, urging me. My fingers pumped faster as she arched her back. She swore softly, her hands dropping from my hair, only to shield her mouth as she cried out and came on my tongue, on my fingers. She was breathing hard and heavy as I pushed down my sweats letting them fall to the floor and climbed over her. Our lips collided together as I slipped inside her, the need I had for her driving my hips brutal and quick. She grasped my shoulders, spread her legs farther apart, letting me fall into her completely. Messy kisses and a hasty rhythm, I rode her body. My chest sinking into the softness of hers, the scent of sex and Stevie clung to my sheets, making itself known and permanent in my home, in my life. My left hand fisted in her hair, my right arm cradling her lower back as I closed off any space between our connection. Tight words spilled from our lips. Don’t stop, I’m almost there, Please, and God, and Oh, fuck.
The room, the world faded, and the painful anticipation settled at the base of my spine as I whispered, “Don’t close your eyes.”
All that was left was the euphoric relief I found in the amber color of her irises as I let go. Filling her, I spiraled down until our lips met. I took deep sips from her mouth, my tongue sliding alongside hers stroke for stroke. Breathless and spent, I pulled away, burying my lips inside the crook of her neck. I could feel the way her heart pounded inside her chest, and it matched my own deafening beat.
Stevie ran her fingers along the nape of my neck, through my hair, and back down again.
She was the first to speak, her tone content with a touch of humor. “You broke the rule.”
I raised my head, holding the weight of my body with my arms. My hands braced against the pillow beside her head. “Merry Christmas.”
She brought her fingertips to my lips and traced a line across them. My eyes closed as she cupped my cheek. I was fucking gone for this girl. “Merry Christmas.”
I opened my eyes and she smiled at me, her cheeks flushed all the way down to her chest.
“Have you ever had sex in here before?” she asked and I laughed.
“No.”
Her eyes widened. “We just christened your childhood bed… I feel so…”
“Good?” I offered.
“Dirty.”
I dropped my lips to hers and chuckled against her mouth. “Dirty… like you’ll let me fuck you on every surface of this room before breakfast kind of dirty?”
She shook her head, pushing my shoulders until I fell to the side and admonished me with mock irritation. “You broke the rule.”
“I think you liked breaking the rule.”
I palmed her breast and she wrenched her shirt down with an exhale. “Mark.”
I lifted onto my elbow and laughed. “What? You did. You loved it. Twice.”
“What if your parents heard—oh God—what if Poppy…” She glared at me and I had to bite back my smile. “I hate you right now.”
“Does that mean I can’t give you your presents?”
Stevie’s features softened, her eyes glimmered as they appraised me. “Now?”
With the tips of my fingers, I moved a strand of hair from her forehead. “Now.”
I didn’t give her a chance to answer as I rolled to my side and stood. I picked up my sweats from the floor, hauling them on before grabbing the bag and the plate of rolls off my dresser. When I turned around, Stevie’s smile punched me in the stomach, knocked the wind out of me like I’d been hit by a two-hundred-and-twenty-pound blue liner. Her hair was everywhere, her cheeks were splotched with pink, and she was wiggling into her pajama bottoms. Excitement danced across her face as she flipped on the bedside table lamp. She crossed her legs as I sat on the bed, leaving the bag on the side of the mattress and placing the plate on the night stand.
“My mom makes these every year.” My gaze slid to the rolls. “It can get crazy up there, and I wanted some privacy,” I said, mirroring her position, crossing my legs under me.
“I like that plan.” She watched me with inquisitive eyes.
I was about to tell her how fucking gorgeous she was, how running into her that night after she’d moved back to Tampa had changed my game, made me happier than I ever thought I could be. I wanted her to know how good it felt to trust again, to fall for her, how easy it was to breathe again, because kissing her, being with her, was the pulse point I’d lost.
My nervous-as-hell mouth wouldn’t open though, and before I got the chance she jumped up and said, “Wait.”
She practically hopped to her luggage and pulled out a medium-sized box wrapped in bold, royal blue paper. She set it on the floor across from my bag and settled back onto the bed.
I couldn’t help the dopey ass grin forming on my face as she bounced in place. “You want to go first?” I asked.
She eyed the bag, her decision made. “No, that’s okay, you can.”
I lifted the two wrapped gifts from the bag and put them between us on the bed. She stared at them, her teeth pressed into her bottom lip.
“Open them.”
Stevie opened the bigger package first, her eyes flitting between me and the box until the paper was torn and strewn across the bed and floor. She gasped when she realized what it was.
“A record player?” She raised a shaking hand to the large, white, vinyl nineteen—my number—I’d placed on the top of the lid. It was a small player, one she could move around the house if she wanted to.
“I haven’t had a record player since I was eighteen. I sold mine when I moved to Richmond.” Her mood was a mixture of sadness and surprise, and I worried I’d screwed up. I should’ve gone the traditional route, jewelry, or a trip somewhere fun.
“Do you like it?”
She traced the number, my number, with her fingers and then opened the lid. “I love it,” she answered in a small voice. “I wish I hadn’t gotten rid of all my records.”
I nudged the other gift, the unopened one sitting between us. “There’s more.”
She removed the paper at a tortured pace. I wanted to rip it open for her, but it was the tiny squeal, the flash in her eyes when she looked up at me, that fucking sexy-as-hell grin on her face made the wait worth it.
“Holy shit.” She looked down at the records in her lap, flipping through them furiously. “Holy... shit.” Stevie’s jaw dropped. “Mark, are these—”
“Originals, yes.”
“Mark.”
I chuckled.
“Mark, this is too much.” Her lips trembled as she flipped through the records again. The Ramones, Jawbreaker, The Vandals, Dead Kennedys, The Clash, Sex Pistols, Descendents, and a couple Misfits records Molly said were a must-have.
“Molly helped me find them.”
“I love Molly,” Stevie crooned, hugging the records to her chest.
My head fell back with a laugh. “I looked up a lot of those bands online. How the hell do you listen to that shit?”
Her pout made me chuckle.
“Don’t ruin how much I like you right now by saying stupid things.”
“How much do you like me right now?”
“A lot.” She set the records in her lap and leaned over the player. I met her halfway and kissed her. My palms held her face as she opened for me with greedy lips.
“Does this mean we get to break the rule again later?”
“I think it might.”
I sat back, my brows raised to the ceiling. “Really?”
She laughed. “You’re cute when you want sex.”
“I’m cute all the damn time.”
“Shh.” She set the record player on the floor and grabbed the box she’d pulled out from her luggage. “Your turn.”
Unlike Stevie, I tore into the paper, and when I opened the box, confusion had me lifting my eyes to hers. A Tampa Bay jersey was neatly folded inside the square of cardboard.
“I overheard you talking to Bryson about Poppy a few weeks ago.” Stevie spoke, her confidence dangling from a rope as she continued, “I heard you tell him she wanted to wear the number thirteen when she got to play for the NHL.”
Poppy had big dreams and why not? Everything started somewhere, and if anything, my niece reminded me of what I was like when I was a kid. I picked up the jersey and felt something hard in the middle.
“What’s this?” I asked, not really expecting an answer as I parted the material, revealing a framed picture of me and Poppy when she was a year old. I’d come home on a rare weekend, my rookie year, for her birthday.
“It was on the desk in the kitchen where you keep all your important paperwork, sitting under a few envelopes. I found it your last road trip, when you asked me to pick up your mail.” I gaped at the framed picture. Words clogged in my narrowed throat. “I wished I would’ve known she wanted to play for Boston…”
The name GRAYSON was spelled out across the back, the number thirteen stitched underneath it. Poppy’s last name and favorite number. A small flame grew bigger, into a blaze, a five-alarm feeling consumed my chest.
“I know how much she means to you… the camp, helping kids reach their goals. I thought it would be cool. I don’t know, it’s like a piece of the future, and you could wear it and think of her.” She dipped her chin, her smile fading as I sat there totally dumbstruck. “Poppy’s going to—”
“Fucking love it.” I found my breath and a smile crept across her face.
“Yeah?”
I held Stevie’s gaze, fighting the overwhelming and strange sensation building with each thud and whoosh of my pulse. “Fuck yes.” The wrapping paper crinkled and the records in her lap fell to the side as we met in the middle. “I love it,” I whispered against her lips. “If I could, I’d wear it on game days.”
“What about camp?”
“I’ll wear it every day I’m there, Poppy will never stop smiling… I’ll have to get her one of her own.”
She giggled. “Maybe get her a Boston one.”
I gently placed the jersey and framed picture on top of the record player, off the side of the bed, as I scoffed. “Screw that, if I get her a jersey it will be Tampa or Toronto.”
“Matching jerseys would be kind of adorable.”
My lips silenced her worry over team loyalty and my arms folded around her waist. She bit my bottom lip as my hands found the round curve of her ass. In one easy move, I had her on her back and the rest of her vinyl collection fell off the mattress and onto the floor. I kissed her hard and her knees gripped the sides of my hips. She didn’t push me away, or spout out rules, she surrendered to my touch. Taking a breath, I held her chin between my thumb and forefinger. Her eyes searched mine and the weight of her gaze plummeted down onto my shoulders. I wanted to surrender, too. I wanted to show her how much I fucking loved her gift… loved that she was mine, loved it more than I normally allowed myself.
The hot silk of her palm caressed my face and I kissed her. I closed my eyes as her mouth melded to mine, and I let the addictive weight take me under.