Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
GABE
Now she really has to be fucking kidding. “Oh no. No. Absolutely not.”
Did it feel good to make Natalie secretly giggle behind her coffee mug? Yes.
And being responsible for turning her expression from distraught at the theater fire to full of enthusiasm at the idea of a solution is not an entirely unpleasant experience either.
And yes, the ridiculous story about the nobleman and the woman and the piglet was fucking hilarious in the way only small-town legends can be. And it was true that it made me laugh more than I recall laughing in a long time.
But there’s no fucking way I’m getting involved in some community festive kids’ play when I came here to get away from Christmas and people.
“But you know more about doing things on ice than anyone.” The air of pleading in her voice mixes with the excitement in her blue eyes as she walks around the island toward me, limping only slightly.
“I came here to have the first Christmas of my life away from Christmas. And to rest and fix this.” I point at my left shoulder.
“But wouldn’t it be much more fun to actually do something while you’re here?” Her enthusiasm is borderline infectious. “To contribute something? To feel useful?”
“I already feel useful. I scored fifty-one goals last season.”
She shrugs, causing the Apollos’ rocket ship to rise and fall on her chest.
“That’s a lot ,” I explain.
“Right. Great. Anyway, half the kids are in the skating club, so they’ll be fine. For the ones who can’t skate yet, is there something we could put on the ice, or spikes on their shoes, or something so they could still be involved?”
“You could put mats down. Like we do for the anthem singers and presentation ceremonies.”
The video call noise comes from my phone, so I pull it from my back pocket.
“See,” she says. “You know everything, and I know noth?—”
“My parents.” I hold up the phone. “Got to take it.”
Two steps into walking away to find some privacy it dawns on me that wherever else I move to it’s going to be obvious I’m in a house. Standing where I was, in front of the kitchen window, with the non-specific landscape as a backdrop, is the best spot to be.
Dammit, that’s right behind Natalie, who’s resumed her baking tasks. But I return there anyway. To save my own ass. And just in time to answer.
“Look at us!” Mom and Dad squish together into the frame—Mom holding up a mimosa with a chunk of orange on the rim, Dad a tall glass mug of coffee with a thick layer of cream floating on top.
The sky behind them is cartoon blue and the tips of their noses are a bit pink.
“Well, it looks like you’ve taken to cruising pretty quickly,” I say.
“Oh, we love it already.” Mom beams and turns the camera around to give me a wonky, slightly-too-fast look across the deck of the ship and out to the Caribbean Sea, which is somehow even bluer than the sky.
Natalie lets out a little aw sound and continues mixing whatever is in the bowl.
Mom turns the camera back on herself, Dad peering over her shoulder.
“The cabin is beautiful,” she says.
It’s actually a suite I got them, but never mind.
“Oh yes,” Dad chips in. “It has a flashy TV, so I won’t miss the game this week.” He’s referring to the Apollos’ upcoming clash with Miami, which I obviously won’t be playing in. “How’s it going?”
“Oh, you know.” I roll my shoulder to show them it still exists. “Getting there.”
“Well, it does look like that rehab place is in a beautiful location.” She’s peering at the picture-perfect snowy scene out of the window behind me.
“The what place?” Natalie pipes up as she moves things around on the island.
“Yes. Well. It’s not quite as peaceful as I’d hoped.” I try to give Natalie a quick shut the fuck up look, but she’s too focused on creating a clear space to notice. “But hopefully it will be soon.”
“I hope they’re serving you good meals and the staff are treating you well,” Mom says.
“The what ?” Natalie repeats louder, tipping out the brownish dough onto the counter, a questioning crinkle in her brow.
“Yes,” Dad adds. “With all those specialized treatment experts, they should have you back on the ice before you know it.”
Natalie turns her head to look at me so sharply she sends a cookie sheet crashing onto the tile floor.
“Oh, what was that?” Mom asks. “Thought you must be in your room. Are you with other people?”
Natalie rushes over as quickly as a person with a slightly injured ankle can.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Woods,” she says loudly, while stretching up tall and smashing herself as tight to my side as she can to get in frame on the call. “I’m taking…I mean, we , the whole staff”—she turns her eyes up to meet mine for a fraction of a second—“are taking excellent care of Gabe.”
“Oh, are you one of the specialist physical therapists?” Mom asks.
“Absolutely I am,” Natalie says with gusto. “I am one of the top shoulder injury manipulation and repair specialists in the hockey world. I just came to collect Gabe for his next treatment.”
Jesus fucking Christ, what is she doing?
“I should go.” I angle the phone away from Natalie so she disappears from my parents’ view.
But damn her if she doesn’t grab my hand and turn it back. I definitely wasn’t ready for that.
“I just have to tell you, Mr. and Mrs. Woods, that you have raised a remarkable man. He’s shown such kindness to everyone here at the…” She does that looking-up-at-me thing again, “The…Exceptionally Specialist Rehabilitation Center for Sportspeople. He’s bright and charming and always has a smile. He even chatted to my aunt on the phone last night because she’s such a fan.”
“Aw.” Mom gets a proud, gooey look on her face.
“Anywa—” I try to turn away again, but Natalie’s grip is firm and determined.
“Yes,” Natalie goes on with a sugary cheer that would make cotton candy think it wasn’t quite sweet enough. “And he’s really entering into the Christmas spirit. Has your son always been such a fan of the festive season?”
My parents nod enthusiastically and speak at once. There’s an “Oh yes” from Dad and an “Always” from Mom.
“I can tell,” Natalie says, tipping her head back to look at me and this time holding my gaze. “I could see the Christmas spirit coursing through his veins like twinkling fairy lights the moment I met him.”
I break contact with her fake adoring gaze before it enrages me to the point I can’t hide it from my folks.
“Oh, he’s always loved it,” Mom says. “He gets just as excited now as he did when he was a little kid opening his presents first thing Christmas morning.”
“This will be our first ever Christmas not all together,” Dad says.
“Yes, but it’s for the best.” Mom looks wistful. “So lucky he was able to get a last-minute spot at your amazing center. Even if it is over the holidays.”
My skin is crawling with the awkwardness of this. It has to stop. “Anyw?—”
“Yes.” Natalie prevents me from wrapping this up. “Such a very big stroke of very big luck, huh, Gabe?” She digs me hard in the ribs with an elbow so inhumanly sharp it makes me jump.
“And so generous of him to send us on this cruise so we’re not moping around at home without him,” Dad says.
“Yes, no moping,” Natalie says. “We’ll have no moping at Christmastime will we, Gabe?”
This is a nightmare. It was all supposed to be so simple. But one woman in a bunny costume later, and I’m sucked into a hellish nightmare.
“All right, thanks for calling, folks.” Let’s wrap up this torture. “Glad you’re having fun already. Bet you have to get to a game of deck darts or whatever it is you play on cruise ships.”
“Shuffleboard,” Dad says. “Starts in twenty minutes.”
“Great, okay. Have a fabulous day. And we’ll?—”
“And don’t you worry about this guy.” Natalie stretches up on the tiptoes of her good foot to put her arm around me. Her hand hooks around the side of my neck, bringing with it the sugary aroma of cookie dough and something resembling a pleasant tickle. “We, that is me and all of our extremely expert experts here, will be working our hardest to get that naughty, naughty shoulder back in action and barging into other players on the ice just as soon as we can.”
“It’s good to have met you, Natalie,” Mom says. “Great to know Gabe’s in such excellent hands. I’m glad you just happened to be there when we called.”
“Oh, so am I.” Natalie’s voice is full of a tone that’s all for me. “I could not be more delighted that I was here to meet you. It’s been very, very enlightening.”
She finally releases her grip on my phone hand and waves goodbye to Mom and Dad as I end the call .
“Well, well, well.” Natalie drags her hand from my neck and plants it on her hip, nipping my T-shirt in at her waist. She has the sort of smile on her face that self-satisfied movie detectives wear when they announce they’ve figured out who the killer is. “So, you’ve sent your parents away and lied to them about where you are so you can spend the holidays alone and not have to do any Christmas things with them, which you’ve pretended your whole life that you enjoy but have always hated.”
I ignore her alarmingly accurate assessment of the situation. “What the holy fucking hell was that performance all about? You’re a top shoulder injury manipulation and repair specialist at the Exceptionally Specialist Rehabilitation Center for Sportspeople?”
“I am an actress, remember?” she says with a dramatic toss of her hair as she turns back to her baking. “And you are welcome .”
She shapes the dough she tipped out into a mound, then flattens it.
“Welcome for what?”
She picks up the rolling pin and gets to work on the mound. “Me saving your ass. Backing up your story. Not telling them you’ve engineered the whole thing so you can spend the holidays alone, away from all festivities, and them, for the first time in your life.”
Definitely a quick learner. “You might be extrapolating a little enthusiastically there.”
“I think I’m extrapolating exactly the right amount.” She gives the dough a quarter turn. “Which bit did I get wrong? Or overextrapolate?”
“Is the tree off the road yet?” I drain my mug of tepid coffee.
She sprinkles a bit more flour on the dough, then gets back to rolling. “You are totally helping stage the play on ice.”
“Oh no, I am not.”
“Do you want your parents to find out you’re not having any treatment at all, other than a dose of solitude in a house you just bought?” The dough gets another quarter turn.
“You wouldn’t know how to get a hold of them.”
“Well, I know their last name.” She waves the rolling pin in the air. “And behind them was a giant banner saying, ‘Welcome to The Maiden of the Blue, the jewel of the Caribbean Cruise Lines’ fleet,’ so I don’t think it would be too tricky to track them down.”
Would she do that? No, of course she wouldn’t. Why would anyone go to the effort to contact a cruise ship? And she’s not a bad person. In fact, she is probably an extremely good, if extremely irritating, person.
“You’re blackmailing me to help you with a kids’ Christmas play?”
“I prefer not to think of it as blackmail.” She gives the dough a pat, appears satisfied with it and picks up a gingerbread man cutter. “More like encouraging your previously untapped community spirit.” She cocks her head toward me and raises her eyebrows.
“You don’t need me. I’m sure the town will rally around.”
“All my volunteers are busy. We worked hard to get everything done in advance, before they all either left town to visit family or had to start prepping for family to visit them here.” She moves the cookie cutter around the dough, slamming it down with her palm each time. “And now all the scenery and costumes have burned to a crisp and I have no help. So who better to help me put on a show on ice than a world-famous hockey player?”
“I’m not world famous.” It’s not like I get recognized in the street. Well, not unless it’s by someone who’s a major fan.
“How disappointed would your mom and dad be if they found out, Gabe?” She sounds like she’s threatening a kid in her class with telling their parents how badly they’ve behaved.
Tragically disappointed, that’s how disappointed. But I’m not giving in. “Stop. I’m not getting involved.”
“You owe me.” She gives the cutter an extra forceful thump into the dough.
I can’t help but laugh. “ Owe you? I don’t owe you. Why would I owe you?”
“You attacked me. You hurt my ankle.” She lifts it out in front of her and points at it in case I might not be certain what an ankle is. “You owe me.”
Even if I don’t believe she’d rat me out to my parents, she’s definitely got me there. That’s true. And I do feel bad about it. I’ll hurl my entire body weight at a dude on the ice without batting an eyelid. But throwing a woman to the ground and spraining her ankle is definitely not cool.
But I was justified. “It was actually you who attacked me. I was defending myself from a mugger bunny.”
“You threw me to the ground and sprained my ankle, and you should see the giant bruise on my thigh.”
She wipes her hands on the nearest cloth and, right before me, she starts to unbutton her jeans. At the first sound of the zipper I turn away and raise my hands as if protecting my eyes from the dazzling light of a thousand suns—or the lights she’s covered my house in.
I definitely do not need to catch the slightest glimpse of her underwear or what is undoubtedly an extremely tantalizing thigh to verify whether it’s bruised or not.
“All right, all right. Please keep your pants on.”
“You mean you will do it?”
I turn back to see a pair of wide blue eyes filled with more hope than I could ever have imagined. Hope that’s pinned on me.
Oh for the love of fucking God. “A bit. I’ll help a bit . But I can’t do anything that might aggravate my shoulder because that’s the thing that’s actually important.”
She hops up and down. “Yay. I knew you would. I knew there must be a good guy under all that”—she gestures at my general presence—“beardy grumpy stuff.”
What the fuck have I gotten myself into?
“Now could you please pick up that cookie sheet from the floor so I can bake these gingerbread men?”
“Certainly. Then I’m checking if the road’s re-opened.” And trying to stop myself from wondering what her panties might have looked like.