Chapter 3
3
RONAN
More Christmas Eve shenanigans…
I groan, struggling to shift around in the tight backseat. I tried to bribe my little sister, Karli, to switch me seats so I could sit in the front, because these legs just aren’t meant to be squished and folded like this.
But Karli doesn’t care about my discomfort. Because Karli and her fiancé, Mason, only care about making out like horny teenagers at every red light we roll up to. In fact, I’m starting to think that Mason is driving slow on purpose, just so he gets to fool around with my sister at every street corner.
It’s weird. And cringey.
Slurping-sucking-tongue-smacking sounds emerge from the front seat and my breakfast flips over inside my stomach. I’m one red light away from putting my head through the glass window.
Horns start honking from behind us. But the lovebirds don’t even notice.
With a balled-up fist, I thump the back of Mason’s headrest. “Bro. The light changed.” I struggle to shift around my duffel bag and this big ass Christmas gift basket to make more room.
They reluctantly pry themselves off of each other and Mason throws a quick glance at the green light. “Oh shit. Didn’t notice.”
Karli giggles and Mason grins at her like she hung the freaking moon.
My future brother-in-law puts his foot on the gas and immediately rests his hand back on my sister’s thigh as he drives. It’s like he can’t stand to not be touching her.
Damn—the two of them are so in love, it’s downright nauseating.
I shake my head. “You guys have been together for months now. Aren’t you sick of each other yet? I thought people only did the nonstop PDA thing when they were in new, exciting relationships.”
I’m only half-joking. Mason is a great guy. He genuinely appreciates Karli and he’s smart enough to treat her like a princess. My brothers and I all agree that it’s nice not having a reason to kick his ass all over town for hurting our sister.
Karli half-turns to shoot me a slicing look. “We’re getting married, knucklehead. We have a lifetime of hot make-out sessions ahead of us. Get used to it.”
A lifetime. Geez. That’s a long time.
I imagine what it would be like to love somebody that much. The way our dad loves our mother. The way Grandpa loves Grandma. I can’t quite wrap my head around it.
I’ve never even been in a serious relationship. I like telling myself that my career makes romantic commitment hard. What I mean is, with all the traveling and practice and other requirements of my career, it would be too difficult to throw a serious girlfriend into the mix.
Plus, as a professional athlete, I get an unending stream of female attention. It’s hard to weed out the girls with genuine intentions from the ones just trying to secure the cushy lifestyle of a professional hockey player’s girlfriend.
That’s why I haven’t made romantic relationships a priority. At least, that’s the practiced answer I spew out every time Grandma calls and asks why I don’t have a girlfriend. It helps me to not feel too shitty about all the booty calls and one-night stands in my bed.
That sassy girl from the train returns to my thoughts. I could definitely picture myself having a hot fling with her. She not only caught my attention but, she left a mark, too.
She was breathtaking, and that’s a word I don’t use too often. From the minute she hustled onto the train, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. With her mahogany curls and her big, honey-colored peepers and her tiny button nose, all red from the cold. She was the most alluring woman I’d ever seen. I instantly wanted to know everything about her.
And that was before I read her horny text messages.
Goddamn—the woman has a dirty mind. I know those text messages will be living rent-free in my brain for the foreseeable future.
I’m not a complete barbarian. I understand the concept of privacy and personal space. I didn’t mean to read through her phone. But the device had been unlocked when I picked it up off the ground, and the words on the screen had jumped out at me like a jack-in-the-box.
Cock…Wet…Throat…Choke…Swallow …
Fuck. How was I supposed to look away from that? So, yeah. I read the messages. Sorry, not sorry.
She and I could have had a really fun night together. Too bad she chose to give me lame excuses instead of just giving me her damn phone number.
Oh, well. You win some, you lose some.
All I know is, hours after our brief run-in, she’s still the reason for the smile lingering on my face now. Adjusting the knitted toque on my head, I chuckle ruefully to myself.
Karli glances into the backseat and squints her eyes at me. “What are you laughing at?”
I give my head a slight shake. “Nothing.”
I’m not in the mood to share my inner dialogue with Karli. She wouldn’t understand. My younger sister thinks I’m a manwhore. I never like admitting that she’s right. It goes to her head.
As he drives, Mason throws my sister a grin. “I don’t know how much longer I can wait to make you my wife.”
Shooting stars and cartoon hearts swirl around Karli’s big head. “Aw, baby. I’m dying to get married to you, too.” She leans over and kisses his cheek.
“Just say the word and we’ll turn this car around and go find a chapel in Sin Valley right this minute.”
Karli giggles. “We’d have to swing by and pick up your Grammy first. She would never forgive us for leaving her out of our wedding.” My sister locates my eyes in the rearview mirror to explain. “Mason’s Grammy has been slowly losing her vision. It’s her dream to see all her grandchildren married off before…” Her words trail off and a forlorn expression comes to her face. “Anyway, that’s why it’s so important to Mason to make this Christmas Eve dinner even more special for Grammy.”
“Shit. I feel that.” I rub a palm over the sudden ache in the center of my chest. Family is so important.
Spending the Holidays with our tight-knit Brighton crew is something I look forward to all year long. Time for family and sports and Mom’s homemade bread and drunken board games to finish things off…
But this year? I don’t get any of it.
The things that mean the most to me are all screwed up right now. For the first Christmas ever, us Brightons won’t be having our traditional holiday plans. We’re all separated this year and everyone’s off doing their own thing.
Our dad retired from his medical practice last spring, and he and mom have been galavanting around Europe ever since. As for my brothers? Felix is spending Christmas Eve with his girl, Daphne, and her family. My twin, Nolan, is taking his five-year-old daughter to spend time with his ex-wife’s relatives. I’m not sure what Darius and Archer are up to, but knowing those grumpy assholes, I’m sure they’re not doing anything festive.
Anyway, Karli took pity on me and invited me to tag along to the Westbrook family dinner. My stomach growls loudly in anticipation. Hopefully, we’ll be there any minute now. If Mason and my sister can manage to keep their faces to themselves for two whole miles.
“Thanks again for the invite,” I say as Mason turns onto a narrow bumpy road. “You two are doing me a huge favor. I really didn’t want to spend Christmas Eve alone watching old hockey tapes.”
Mason gives a curt nod. “Of course, man. You’re family.”
My chest squeezes.
Sometimes, I forget how intertwined our families are, now that Karli is engaged to Mason, who’s a Westbrook.
Karli claps excitedly as Mason pulls his car into his grandmother’s gravel yard. “Everyone’s here!”
For a moment, I’m taken aback. The Westbrook family is about as big as the Brighton’s, and tonight, they’ve turned out in numbers. The yard is so full of vehicles, there’s hardly anywhere to park. Christmas decorations are everywhere. The house is lit up in multi-color string lights. Music and laughter spill out of the thin-paned windows.
The Westbrooks are a fun gang. I met most of them back in the fall at Karli and Mason’s housewarming party. We all had a blast that night and I expect this evening to be the same.
Mason helps Karli out of her seat. Then the two of them hustle up the icy walkway to the rustic cottage and eagerly shove open the front door. I follow them in, carrying the large holiday gift basket with me. I’m instantly salivating at the different aromas fragrancing the air. I can smell cookies and apple pie and some sort of buttery potato dish.
The second we step inside, a wave of warmth rushes in our direction. Each family member greets us, one by one, on our way down the crowded hallway.
Whoa. Mason has a lot of fucking cousins.
There’s Cash who happens to be one of the billionaires who co-owns the Saints hockey team with Darius. He and his wife, Meghan, are all sly smiles as they stumble out of a dark bedroom, picking cat fur off of each others’ Christmas sweaters.
There’s Davis, a.k.a. the new mayor of Honey Hill. He’s busily clearing a path through the crowd to make way for his pregnant wife, Alana, who’s rushing to get to the nearest bathroom.
In the living room, I spot Harry who plays football for the Sin Valley Paragons. He’s dressed up in a Santa Claus outfit. His doting wife, Nadia, is seated on his lap as he feeds her a candy cane.
Then we run into the mechanic, Jasper, as he and his wife, Emma, chase after a cute, chocolate-covered toddler who’s trying to stick a too-big cookie into her face.
Out of nowhere, an explosion of pink erupts down the hallway. Mason’s four younger sisters crash into us, swarming their brother and Karli with hugs and excited chatter.
The hectic energy of this gathering is already hyping me up. I decide here and now that I’m going to make the best out of tonight. It would be impossible to sulk like a bastard at a dinner party like this one.
Mason and Karli get pulled into the kitchen. I head in that direction, too. But then I freeze.
Across the distance, I catch sight of a girl icing gingerbread cookies at the counter. Her curly mahogany hair is the first thing that grabs my attention. And then her smile that dazzles brighter than the Christmas lights. Her head snaps up, and her honey brown eyes lock onto mine.
Holy shit. It’s the girl from the train.
The girl who nearly dropped her suitcase on that sweet granny’s head. The girl with the dirty-as-fuck text messages on her phone. The girl I’d accepted that I’d never see again.She’s standing right there in the Westbrook family kitchen.
My heart beats a whole lot faster and excitement ripples in my blood. My eyes stay on her as I follow Mason and Karli down the hallway. I can’t look away. And I don’t want to.
She’s staring at me, too. Those eyes say so much, but I can’t tell if they’re saying that this is a pleasant surprise, or if she still wants to wring my neck. Things between us didn’t exactly end on a high note on the train.
Either way, I am so ready to shoot my shot again.
But right as I’m about to step into the kitchen, a tiny woman wielding a rolling pin blocks my path, squinting up at me. It’s none other than Mason’s infamous grandmother.
“Oh, hi Mrs. Westbrook. Merry Christmas.” I offer her the gift basket. I put on my shiniest smile and turn up the intensity to the max. Let me tell you—old ladies love that shit.
Except, this old lady isn’t impressed. “It’s Grammy to you, young man.”
I flinch.
Her words should sound sweet and welcoming but the scowl on her weathered face doesn’t exactly leave me feeling warm and fuzzy. In fact, today, Mason’s grandmother is way scarier than I remember her being at the housewarming party where we met. That night, she’d been warm and happy, carrying around a tray of cookies and squeezing my cheeks. Tonight, she’s blocking the entrance to the kitchen like a tiny, rolling-pin-wielding gladiator.
One of Mason’s sisters discreetly slips the gift basket from my hands, setting it on a nearby table. Meanwhile, Grammy continues our face-off.
“Food allergies?” she barks at me.
I blink. “N-no, ma’am.”
She holds out her hand, and I stand there like a fool.
“Take it.”
I do, and Grammy sets a hot-from-the-oven cookie into my hand. Then, with a scoot, she sends me marching toward the living room.
Huh? What did I do wrong? I’m getting flashbacks to high school. I feel like I just got sent to detention.
At least this one comes with snacks.
I trudge down the hall, biting into my fresh-baked molasses cookie.
Mason catches up to me, draping an arm around my shoulder. “Sorry, man,” my soon-to-be brother-in-law mumbles sheepishly. “I should have warned you. Only family members are allowed in Grammy’s kitchen.”
“Dude—you just said I was family,” I argue.
He rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean. Anyway, Grammy has a thing about her secret recipes. Those recipes are guarded better than the oval office.” He chuckles.
Mrs. Westbrook owns the most popular bakery in Honey Hill. I think it’s called The Wildberry Bakery. People come from all over for her famous sweets. I’ve tasted her chocolate mousse pie. That shit was divine. I’m not surprised that she’s protective of her recipes.
Still, I frown. “But Karli’s in there,” I complain.
A proud smile spreads across Mason’s face. He shrugs. “Like I said… family .”
I get the message loud and clear. My sister is practically a Westbrook now. I won’t complain about that. This seems like a pretty great family to be a part of.
When I turn on my heel, Mason’s father and his uncle welcome me into the living room for drinks. I can’t say no to that. Soon, the rest of the guys are filing into the living room, too, and we’re clinking together glasses of whiskey in front of the roaring fire place.
Still I can’t help but throw a glance over my shoulder at the mystery train girl.
This time, I catch her staring at me .