Chapter 20
#SNOWMUCHTOHOPEFOR
MADDOX
The Legacy Community Ball Park looked like it had been taken over by an elite alpine warfare regiment. If the regiment had been run by five-year-olds with a sugar kink.
The SERA team had transformed the place into what could only be described as organized chaos—thermoses of hot cocoa and bags of leftover marshmallows and candy canes were lined up on picnic tables like soldiers, hastily built snow forts lay scattered across the field, and the sound of laughter echoed off the mountain beyond us.
I stood at the edge of the parking lot, camera bag slung over my shoulder, taking in the scene.
Foster Blake, his boyfriend, Tommy, and a couple of the SERA guys were already locked in a heated battle with some of the high school kids, while Rosie Marian directed traffic like a tiny, bossy general in a purple parka.
And there, right in the middle of it all, was Adrian Hayes.
He was wearing what he claimed was the latest craze in winter hats—a “Nordique Chasseur with ultra-luxe earflap detailing” that would have made anyone else look like a cross between Sherlock Holmes and Kyle from South Park but somehow just made Adrian look hotter.
He shrieked with laughter as someone nailed him square in the ribs with a perfectly aimed snowball, and something inside my chest loosened, a knot I hadn’t even realized was there unraveling as I watched him stumble backward, arms windmilling dramatically before he toppled into a snowbank.
His hat popped off and he laughed again, clear and bright.
God help me, but I could see it. All of it.
Family holidays with Maya rolling her eyes at our ridiculous snowball fights.
Lazy Sunday mornings with Adrian wrapped in one of my old flannels, complaining about the coffee while secretly loving every minute of it.
Hot cocoa by the fire after days like this, his cold feet pressed against my calves under a blanket.
A life that felt full instead of just functional.
“Maddox!” Maya’s voice cut through my daydreaming. “Get your ass over here! We’re picking teams, and I refuse to be stuck with Adrian. He’s already proven he can’t throw for shit.”
“I heard that!” Adrian called from where he was attempting to extract his hat from the snowbank and jam it back on his head. “And for the record, that was a tactical retreat!”
“Your tactical retreat looked a lot like getting your fancy ass handed to you,” Maya shot back, grinning wickedly.
I made my way across the field, dodging stray snowballs and trying not to smile too obviously at the banter flying between them.
They’d developed an easy sibling-like relationship over the past week, all affectionate insults and shared conspiratorial looks.
It made that distracting wanting in my chest grow even stronger.
“Alright, alright,” I announced, setting down my camera bag and pulling out the equipment. “Before anyone gets seriously injured, let me get some footage. This is supposed to be content, remember?”
“Buzzkill,” Rosie muttered, but she was already posing dramatically with a snowball cocked and ready to throw.
I spent the next twenty minutes capturing what had to be some of the most genuine content Adrian had ever been part of.
No careful poses or strategic lighting—just pure, unfiltered fun.
Adrian getting absolutely demolished by a fourteen-year-old’s surprise attack.
Maya building a snow fortress that would make military engineers weep with pride.
Foster and his boyfriend Tommy engaging in what could only be described as indecent snowball warfare.
“Teams!” Maya announced once I’d gotten enough establishing shots. “Maddox, you’re with me, Rosie, Robyn, and Foster. Adrian gets Alex, Tommy, Jasper, and…” She scanned the group. “Marco, if he ever shows up from that emergency call.”
“This seems deeply unfair,” Adrian protested, brushing snow off his absurdly expensive jacket. “I’m being discriminated against for my obvious athletic superiority.”
“Your what now?” I couldn’t help asking.
“I told you I was a three-time prep school snowball champion,” he said with mock dignity. “Remember? I’ll have you know these hands are weapons of mass winter destruction.”
The laughter that escaped me was unexpected, and I saw Adrian’s expression soften as he caught it. There was something in his eyes—warm and pleased and just a little sad—that made my chest tighten.
“Weapons of mass destruction,” Rosie repeated flatly. “Right. This’ll be good.”
What followed was thirty minutes of the most ridiculous winter combat I’d ever witnessed.
Adrian turned out to be surprisingly scrappy, diving behind snow forts and pop-up attacking with gleeful abandon.
His form was terrible, his aim was questionable, and his hat was downright ridiculous, but his enthusiasm more than made up for it.
The best moment came when Foster managed to nail Adrian right between the shoulder blades with a perfectly packed snowball. Instead of just stumbling, Adrian threw himself forward with the drama of a Shakespearean actor, arms spread wide as he collapsed face-first into the snow.
“I’m hit!” he cried, voice muffled by the snow. “Tell my followers… tell them I died as I lived… extremely photogenic!”
I was laughing so hard I nearly dropped my camera. This ridiculous, dramatic, beautiful man was lying spread-eagle in a snowbank, making death rattles for the entertainment of a bunch of small-town locals, and I was completely gone for him.
“You’re supposed to be filming this!” Maya scolded, but she was laughing too hard to sound serious.
“Can’t film when I’m busy watching Adrian’s Oscar-worthy death scene,” I managed, wiping tears from my eyes.
Adrian lifted his head just enough to shoot me a snow-covered grin. “Did I mention I was also in the drama club?”
“Of course you were,” I said, offering him a hand up. When he took it, his fingers lingered against mine just long enough to send heat shooting up my arm despite the cold.
“You okay?” I asked softly, brushing snow from his cheek.
“Better than okay,” he replied, and something in his voice made me want to pull him closer, crowd him against the nearest tree, and kiss him until neither of us could think straight.
Instead, I settled for letting my hand rest on his waist a beat longer than necessary, my thumb brushing against the strip of skin where his jacket had ridden up.
“Ugh, gross,” Maya announced from across the field. “Get a room!”
“We’re literally standing in a public park,” Adrian called back.
“Then get a tent!”
After the snowball war ended in what could generously be called a draw—mostly because everyone was too cold and too covered in snow to keep accurate score—Maya suggested we build a snowman.
“You go ahead,” I said. “I’m way too cold. These hands are begging for hot chocolate.”
Adrian held up his own hands, showing his damp gloves. His hat was missing—probably buried in a snowbank, thanks to his dramatic performance. “These hands are begging for something too,” he said in a low voice. He bounced his eyebrows at me and opened and closed his fingers as if trying to grab me.
His gloves were trashed. I reached out to grab them and began pulling them off. “Give me these. You can wear mine. They’re nice and warm.”
Adrian looked at me with heart eyes, but before he could say anything, Maya shuddered dramatically. “Ew! I changed my mind about matchmaking the two of you. You’re super cringe.”
I began laughing again—that helpless laughter that seemed to happen more and more around Adrian. When I caught him watching me with another soft smile, my heart did something complicated in my chest.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said, but he was already pulling out his phone. “Just… you should smile like that more.”
He showed me the photo he’d captured—me mid-laugh, covered in snow, completely relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen myself in years.
“You look free,” Adrian said quietly.
The words hit me harder than they should have.
Free.
When was the last time I’d felt free? Not just from responsibility or obligation, but free to want something for myself? Free to imagine a future that included more than just surviving day to day?
“C’mere,” I said, grabbing his hand and towing him toward my truck.
We sat on the tailgate, legs swinging, sharing a thermos of cocoa that was spiked with enough peppermint schnapps to warm us from the inside out. The rest of the group was focused on building the world’s gayest snowman, their laughter carrying across the field.
“Today was good,” I said, my knee bumping against Adrian’s. “Really good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I turned to look at him, noting the way the cold had flushed his cheeks, how his hair was sticking up at odd angles from his hat. He was beautiful, but more than that, he was here. Present and real and mine…
At least for now.
“You’re good for me, Adrian. This… whatever this is between us. I want it.”
Something flickered across his face—pleasure, but also something that looked almost like pain.
“You okay?” I asked, reaching out to touch his cheek.
“Just tired,” he said, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Too much hot chocolate, not enough sleep.”
It was true we hadn’t gotten much sleep last night.
Every time we drifted off, one of us would shift and wake the other, and then wandering hands would turn into another heated encounter until the sheets were on the floor and our breath fogged the windows by my bed.
It was like we were caught in an unspoken race against time, trying to wring every last drop of happiness from the moments we spent together.
But whatever was troubling Adrian now seemed like something more. Something different.
Before I could question him further, Maya called us back over to help with some finishing touches on our snow sculpture, and the rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of laughter and stolen touches.