A Merry Brutal Christmas (North Shore Titans Hockey #4)

3. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Killian

The Reed estate is like a Christmas card come to life. Even though I've been here countless times, its sheer size still makes me pause. The mansion's white exterior glows under thousands of twinkling lights, and each window frames a different holiday scene, like some life-sized advent calendar for rich people.

I park my beat-up Ford Explorer next to Mrs. Reed’s sleek black Bentley, which probably cost more than my mom’s medical bills for the past decade, then step outside, my breath visible in the frigid air.

The Reeds are nice people—to me, at least. But I’m nervous about tonight . . . and tomorrow. I wasn’t expecting them to invite my family to spend the holidays here. My fucktard boyfriend had something to do with it, no doubt, considering his annoying ass has been bothering me about it for the past two weeks.

How does he expect to endure an entire professional season in the NHL—when we’re going to be playing on two different teams over a thousand miles apart—if he can’t handle me being in Massachusetts with my family for a few weeks?

I guess I can’t blame him. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been freaking out lately about what next year might look like for us.

The trip he has planned with friends in two days does not make me feel any better. God knows what they’re up to, but it’s never good, especially when they’re dragging my best friend into it. Raiyne’s big mouth is what got him involved in the first place.

Why’d he have to tell Jackson that he recognized Zach Knight’s stepbrother?

“Holy shit, Kill! Look at the ice sculptures!” Emily squeals, pulling me from my thoughts. She’s already whipping out her phone to document everything. Ugh, sixteen-year-olds.

“Language,” Mom warns, but she's smiling as she takes in the winter wonderland before us. She looks beautiful tonight, if a bit tired around the eyes. The fact that she's walking on her own is a blessing I don't take for granted.

Lilly, my youngest sister, bounces on her toes beside my mom. “It's like we walked into a Hallmark movie.”

“It's just a house,” I mutter, adjusting my coat.

Emily snorts, still snapping pictures. “A house with its own zip code.”

Before I can tell her to dial back the paparazzi routine, the massive oak door swings open, and my heart does that stupid flutter thing it always does when I see Jackson. He's wearing dark jeans and a forest green sweater that makes his eyes pop, his chestnut hair styled in that deliberately messy way that probably took him an hour to perfect.

Fucking pretty boy.

His face lights up when he sees me, but I catch the slight tension in his shoulders. It's good to know I'm not the only one nervous about our families spending Christmas together.

“Mrs. Blackwell.” Jackson's demeanor softens as he greets my mother, taking her hand and kissing her cheek. “You look stunning tonight.”

Mom beams at him. “Such a charmer. No wonder my son's so smitten.”

Jackson crouches slightly to hug Lilly. “Did you get taller since summer? You're going to be as tall as your brother soon.”

“Then maybe I can kick your ass on the ice too.” Lilly smiles wide, bumping him with her shoulder.

Mom sighs again. “What is it with my children and their language?”

Emily's next, and Jackson doesn't miss a beat. “How many followers did that TikTok of Kill falling on his ass get?”

“Over a million. Want to help me make another one?”

“Touch your phone and die,” I warn, but Jackson's already reaching for me, pulling me into a quick, slightly awkward hug.

“Missed you, jackass,” he whispers against my ear.

“It's been two weeks, drama queen.”

“Two weeks too long.”

We walk inside and take off our jackets. Jackson graciously hangs them in the hall closet. The house smells like pine and cinnamon, and classical Christmas music plays softly from hidden speakers.

Mrs. Reed glides forward to greet us, looking elegant in a deep red dress. Mr. Reed stands beside her, commanding attention without even trying.

“Welcome.” Mrs. Reed embraces my mother warmly. “We're so happy you could all join us tonight.”

“Thank you for inviting us.” Mom steps back and motions to my sisters. “These are my daughters, Emily and Lilly.”

Lilly beams at Jackson’s mom. “How big is your Christmas tree? Can I see it?”

“Of course.” Mrs. Reed takes my sister’s hand. “Come with me.”

Mr. Reed introduces himself to my mother and then turns offering me a firm handshake. “Killian, good to see you again. Hopefully you're not roughing up my son too much on the ice.”

“Not yet, but I make no promises, sir.”

“Well, why don’t we all head into the dining room? Dinner is ready, and I’m sure you’re all hungry after the drive down. Hope there wasn’t too much traffic.”

“Only while crossing the bridge and getting through the city,” mom says.

As everyone leaves the foyer, Jackson grabs my arm, holding me back. When everyone’s out of sight, he presses me against the wall. “Two weeks without getting my hands on you. Video chat isn't cutting it anymore.”

“You mean the daily jack-off sessions aren't enough for you?”

“Not even close.” His hand slides down to grab my ass.

I pinch his side, trying to encourage him to back off. “Our families are literally twenty feet away.”

“So?” He bites my earlobe, sending a fine tremor through my body.

“Boys!” Mrs. Reed's voice sounds from the dining room. “The food's getting cold!”

Jackson pulls away, a smirk on his face. I shake my head and straighten my clothes. “Think you can get through dinner without mauling me?”

He takes my hand into his. “No guarantees.”

The dining room looks like something out of a magazine spread—the long, polished mahogany table gleams under a crystal chandelier, the place settings look like they belong in the window of some Fifth Avenue boutique, and the centerpiece is so ornate it feels like it should be roped off in a museum.

My eyes land on the prime rib at the center of the table. Instantly, my mouth waters.

Mr. Reed eyes us as we take our seats. “You two, no blood on the tablecloth. I know how you both get.”

Mom laughs. “I’m just glad they keep the fighting on the ice.”

Jackson's grin turns wicked. “Oh, we do plenty of wrestling off the ice, too, Mrs. Blackwell.”

I kick him under the table as Lilly dissolves into giggles.

Emily lets out a loud, exaggerated, gagging sound. “Oh my god, you’re so gross.”

My mom just shakes her head and then turns to Jackson. “You must be excited about Winnipeg next year.”

Jackson's smile falters, his knuckles white around his fork. “It’s . . . yeah. It’s a big move.”

The conversation moves on, but I’m stuck on her words. Different cities. Different teams. Hours apart. My chest tightens, stomach churning.

Jackson interlaces our fingers and squeezes gently, but it doesn't stop the spiral of anxiety.

“You okay?”

I smile, but my heart thrums. “Yeah, just wondering how many times I'll have to check you into the boards before you admit I'm the better player.”

He snorts. “In your dreams, golden boy.”

We continue to hold hands a bit longer as we eat. Yet, while Jackson jokes with my sisters and charms my mother, I can't shake the anxiety clawing at me.

I'm not ready for things to change. Not even close.

Mom catches my eye across the table. She's always been able to read me like a book. I try to smile, to reassure her. But it’s tight, too forced.

Jackson's thumb traces circles on my palm, and I tighten my grip as I chew a piece of prime rib.

Whatever comes next, whatever changes we face, I'm not letting go of what we have without a fight.