Chapter 1
Piper
The peals of laughter outside the living room window pull my attention from the book I’m devouring.
A dark romance novel with an alphahole and a spunky, fierce heroine.
Too bad these types of relationships don’t exist in real life. If they do, I’ve yet to find one.
“Oh! Stacy, Joe, and the kids are here!” Mom glances out the bay window and claps her hands together.
I shift in my chair and reluctantly place the book on the end table. I grin, taking in my mom’s happiness at seeing her neighbor, and closest friend, Sandra, and her children come home for the holidays.
“Come say hello!” Mom says.
“We’re going there for dinner tonight,” I remind her.
“Put your boots on,” she orders, waiting for me by the front door.
I roll my eyes but drag myself from the chair. “I just got into town too, you know?”
“Oh.” Mom waves a dismissive hand. “You flew in from Vancouver. Stacy and her family had to travel all the way from London.”
I don’t point out that while my flight may not have logged the same mileage, I’m still exhausted. That I’ve been up since three a.m. this morning. That this trip home for the holidays is a much needed and long overdue break from my hectic work schedule. That I’m teetering on total burn-out mode.
Working in public relations in Vancouver, constantly on the go and putting out fires for celebrities, leaves me with little time for myself.
The relationships I’ve tried to start over the past few years fizzled before they had time to flourish.
My college girlfriends are all marrying and starting families.
My friendships from high school have faded with too much time apart and not enough calling.
Save for the boy next door, Hudson Page, I haven’t kept up with any of my high school friends’ lives.
And I only know Hudson because he’s frequently on ESPN and is now playing hockey for his favorite team, the Ottawa Huskies.
Plus, Mom and Sandra are best friends, hence, Christmas Eve dinner at the Page household.
I paste a smile on my face as I take a wool scarf from Mom’s hands.
It feels good to be home. Comforting. Since walking into the foyer several hours ago, the wave of exhaustion, mixed with denial, that I’ve been holding at bay has crashed down around me.
Maybe it’s because Mom and Dad provide a safe landing spot. But being here has forced me to acknowledge that I am unhappy in Vancouver. Stressed out. Exhausted. Alone.
I have nothing to offer and nothing to show for my time there, save for a fancy job title that does not come with a commensurate salary or job perks.
Unless you count flirty banter with men at my PR events, or exchanging lip gloss shades with women in the bathroom at said events, I have zero social life. No true friendships to speak of. No time for dating.
Besides, who would date me? I struck out with Hudson back in high school and since then, my history has been filled with one disappointing college relationship, a handful of lackluster experiences, and a half-assed attempt at long-distance.
No man has ever lit me up, mentally and physically, the way Hudson Page did right before I tried to confess my feelings and kiss him the night before graduation.
It didn’t happen. He shut me down. And in that moment, my world crumbled. Because while I knew Hudson to be a playboy athlete with a reputation, I never thought his rejection would apply to me.
We’d been friends forever. Best friends who navigated the awkwardness of puberty and confided our deepest secrets. Except the one that ruined everything.
I never saw him as annoying or immature the way others did. I never minded his pranks. I never felt overwhelmed by his energy or infectious enthusiasm. He was as large as the sun and I felt like the Earth, pulled into an orbit around him.
Until that terrible non-kiss went sideways, and I lost my best friend. Afterwards, I saw the emotionally unavailable, jokester, playboy everyone accused him of being.
I shrug into my coat, my nerves kicking up in my chest.
We never even kissed and still, the way I felt around him—butterflies in my belly, excitement in my veins—remains a memory. Was it because of my youth? Or the trust I placed in Hudson, having known him for so long? Or the fact that he was my first true crush?
“Don’t forget a hat,” Mom advises, plunking a beanie down on my head. She cracks the front door and the icy blast, mixed with a gust of snowflakes, swirls through the foyer.
What will seeing Hudson be like? Will he recall my blustering attempt to kiss him in high school and internally grimace? Will he remember it at all?
Does he think about me the way I sometimes remember him?
I blow out an exhale.
The last guy I dated accused me of workaholic tendencies and an inability to loosen up. Clearly, my current thought loop is evidence enough, but will Hudson view me like that?
It is true. Somewhere along the way, I forgot how to have fun.
I glance down at my naked nails. I haven’t had a manicure in months. Apparently, I don’t know how to look the part either.
“Are you coming?” Mom’s already halfway out the front door.
“Sure,” I agree, rubbing at the center of my chest as my heart rate increases to a galloping speed.
Mom’s bouncing on her toes, excited to see Stacy and her family.
No doubt Mom and Sandra have been giddy for weeks, knowing their children were all coming home for the holidays.
Well, Stacy and me. Hudson is always around.
If anything, I imagine his parents would prefer a break from his constant presence.
I slip into the boots Mom pulled out of the closet for me. I haven’t been home for Christmas in three years and forgot how cold winter in Ottawa is. Shivering, I slip outside behind Mom.
We carefully descend the stairs Dad recently shoveled.
There’s already over six inches of snow on the ground from the last snowfall that conveniently rolled into the storm we’re getting tonight.
Mom and I head down the icy path and cut across the front lawn, our boots crunching the snow, until we spill onto the Page family’s driveway.
“Misty! They’re here!” Sandra hollers, her smile wide, as she hugs her granddaughter, Kimberly.
Mom clasps my hand and waves it in the air. “I know! I’m so thrilled!”
Sandra laughs, Stacy shakes her head, and Joe pulls a suitcase from the trunk of their rental.
“Oof, Stace, what’d you pack?” he asks.
No one replies.
Instead, Stacy hugs me hello. “It’s good to see you, Piper.”
“You too. Merry Christmas. How was your flight?”
“Delayed twice,” Joe answers.
Stacy grins. “But we made it. There’s a storm coming in, so we were lucky.”
My dad, Bruce, comes out of the garage with a shovel in hand. “Hey! Glad you’re here. Most flights are being cancelled.” He walks closer, tossing salt down along the pathway. “Wait till you see the wine I’m bringing tonight,” Dad says to Sandra’s husband, Steve.
As the parents’ converse, Stacy moves toward the house, calling out for her son to walk slowly up the path. Out of nowhere, a snowball hits her square in the face.
“Shit!” Stacy hollers, her hand coming up to cover her cheek.
Joe snickers as the children crack up.
“Where are you, Uncle Hud?” Stacy’s son, Frankie, hollers.
Another snowball vaults from behind a tree, skimming Frankie’s shoulder. He dissolves into giggles, launching himself in the direction of the tree. Kimmy is close behind.
I groan. Hudson Page hasn’t grown up the way I hoped. He’s still the immature, pranking jokester. And frustrating. Like a pesky gnat I can’t permanently banish from my mind.
I glance at him and bite down on my tongue. He emerges from behind the trees to catch his nephew and swing him up into a hug.
Gah. I avert my gaze and pull in a deep breath.
As much as Hudson gets under my skin, he’s just as hot as I remember.
He’s wearing a black beanie that does nothing but accentuate his cool blue-green eyes.
His jawline is strong, covered in a two- or three-day beard, and that dimple in his chin, the one kids used to tease him about, is now straight-up sexy. He looks formidable. In control.
I work a swallow as my throat dries. Hudson glances at me and our eyes hold. Recognition flares in his irises as an easy, unaffected smile cuts across his face.
Shit. I wring my hands as I try to pull myself together.
For my entire childhood, Hudson was the boy next door.
The one who brought over my homework when I was sick from school.
The boy who taught me how to ride a bike and later, drive stick shift.
I used to vet his dates with the same intensity that he scared off my fake crushes, since deep down, I always had eyes for him.
We spent summer nights sitting on his roof, talking. Winter mornings shivering in the front seat of his car and waiting for the snow to melt off the windshield. We were best friends.
Until I tried to kiss him. Tried to tell him that he meant more to me than just a friend. That the feelings I had for him terrified and exhilarated and confused me.
He shut me down. Sure, he said it with a grin. And yeah, I laughed it off to cover my embarrassment. But ooh, the memory sears.
We graduated the next day. Hudson took off for summer camps and then the University of Michigan to play hockey. According to my social media investigating, he started dating a beautiful redhead with glittering green eyes who looks absolutely nothing like me.
I moved across the country. And life happened.
I haven’t seen him in years and looking at him now, with my heart in my throat and his gaze penetrating the winter coat I’m wrapped in, I was right to stay away. A snowball plops at my feet, just short of my boots.
Hudson snickers. “Almost got ya, Pipe,” he calls out, walking closer.
I lean down, pack a snowball, and launch it at him. He ducks, grins, blows me a fucking kiss.
And my frustration spikes. My hurt from so many years ago morphs into annoyance. I let out an exhale and settle into the feelings coursing through me.
Irritation. Disappointment. Exasperation.
They’re safer. I can control them.
Yeah, I can think of Hudson as the immature and annoying guy that never grew up.
“Merry Christmas.” Hudson stops in front of me and tugs my hat down over my eyes.
I swat his hand away and push the beanie up on my forehead. I narrow my eyes at him.
His grin falls at my expression, and he holds up a hand, as if he meant no offense.
But I don’t trust his gesture. I can’t.
As far as I’m concerned, he always aims to irritate.
“It’s good to see you,” he tries again.
“You too,” I reply, coolly. Ugh, why can’t I just be normal? Friendly.
Flirty, interesting, and fun? All things I’ve correctly been accused of lacking. As Hudson’s gaze turns curious, even thoughtful, my defenses snap into place.
My chest pulls tight and my stomach churns with nerves.
Not much has changed since he shut me down.
I pull in a deep breath. I didn’t expect those old memories to still smart.
“How long are you in town for?” Hudson asks.
“Through the weekend,” I reply. I tip my head toward his house. “Still living here?”
I know he plays for the Ottawa Huskies now. Mom told me he was traded two years ago, and I felt a flare of pride. My former best friend always wanted to play in the NHL, especially for his hometown and favorite team. Mom also told me he’s here all the time.
And I can see that too.
Hudson Page likes to keep his life uncomplicated. I’m sure Sandra cooks for him and does his laundry. He probably spends his evenings playing cards with Steve. And his late nights dating, hitting restaurants and clubs downtown, with the multitude of women who effortlessly throw themselves at him.
I mean, come on? Look at him. Plus, he’s a hockey player in a town that reveres hockey the way other locales prescribe to a religion.
Hudson narrows his eyes and dips his chin. “Yep.”
I roll my lips together.
He tilts his head. “You good, Pipe?”
I snort. We haven’t talked in years; I have nothing to say to him and yet… “Yeah. All good.”
Hudson’s jaw clenches. His eyes flash, his own frustrating flaring.
“Ooh.” Sandra pops up between us, placing a hand on each of our backs and pushing us closer together.
I avert my gaze as Hudson peers over my head.
For a second, it reminds me of when we were in an argument as kids.
We’d avoid each other, sometimes for an entire afternoon, even as our parents chatted and hung out around us.
By dinnertime though, we would make up and carry on as if a rift never occurred. Until we didn’t.
“You guys will have a chance to catch up tonight. I’m thrilled you’re home for Christmas this year, Piper. Remember how close you and Hudson used to be?” She glances from me to Hudson. “It will be like having your best friend home for winter break again,” she tacks on, chuckling.
Sandra’s lost in her own memories. She doesn’t note the tension between her son and me.
“See you later, Piper,” Hudson says, turning away with his mom and walking up the path to the front door.
I don’t reply. Instead, I turn on my heel and, with my boots crunching the snow, stomp back to my parents’ house.
Hudson’s presence brings back a flood of insecurities I’ve tried hard to overcome.
Besides, even though we haven’t spoken in years, he shouldn’t have this effect on me. I’ve seen his gorgeous face in gossip magazines and on ESPN plenty of times. Mom keeps me informed on the newsworthy aspects of his life.
Still, my cheeks blaze and the base of my throat pinches uncomfortably.
The easy way he greeted me, like we’re old friends, like nothing awkward and hurtful transpired between us, bothers me. Doesn’t he realize he broke a part of my heart the night he callously rejected my advances? Doesn’t he realize how painful it was to lose my best friend?
After years of being my confidant, the fact that he would joke at my expense hurt more than the snide comments other girls made throughout high school.
He’ll never see you as more than a best friend, Piper.
You’re like his kid sister. A little puppy dog following him around.
You only get invited to these parties because we want Hudson to show up.
And then, when I tried to kiss him, in his playful, flippant voice.
Come on, Pipe. You know you’re not my type. Let’s not ruin a good, easy thing.
Good. Easy. That’s always been me. Along for the ride, uncomplicated, one of the boys.
Well, I’ve been gone a long time. Long enough to grow into a woman who feels complicated, messy emotions.
Sure, I may not have a great track record with men. Or time to date. And yeah, my social life sucks. But I never would have hurt Hudson Page the way his callous words cut me.
And I would’ve skipped Christmas if I knew it meant sharing a meal with him.