Chapter 12
Penn
The pond gleams beneath the low winter sun, its edges banked with freshly shoveled snow.
A dozen kids wobble across the ice, sticks flailing, cheeks flushed with excitement.
Jaxon and I were supposed to be on opposite lines, but the kids had other plans.
Twelve against two, no goalie—Dylan didn’t show up. Totally fair.
Coach blows his whistle. “All right, let’s play by the rules I taught you.”
I glance at Jaxon and grin. “There are rules?”
He gives me a shove and laughs, the sound carrying across the ice.
“Remember, it doesn’t matter who wins or loses, it’s about having fun,” Coach reminds us.
Fun. Jeez. When’s the last time I played hockey just for fun?
At center ice, Jaxon squares off against a girl half his size. Coach drops the puck, and she whacks it straight to me. A cheer rises as the entire team swarms. Kids fly at me from every direction, and I want to skate, but hesitate. What if I knock one over?
“Go, Penn!” Jaylynn’s voice rings from the sidelines.
She bounces with the others, one mittened hand raised, the other wrapped around a steaming cup of hot chocolate.
That smile, that wave, yeah, it distracts me.
One second is all it takes for a kid—Jeremy, I think—to steal the puck and pass it off. Another kid buries it in our empty net.
Not legal. But whatever.
The crowd erupts. Jaxon shakes his head at me. “Dude!”
I just grin. “We’ll get the next one.” Their laughter and stick-banging is infectious. When I was a kid I was too serious on the ice, but right now? This is pure Christmas magic.
The puck drops again. A five-year-old shoots straight through Jaxon’s legs, cackling as he goes. Jaxon makes a half-hearted chase, but I intercept before he can catch up. Another wild stick clatters against my shins. I glance at Jaxon, send him the puck, and it lands tape-to-tape—perfect.
The kids scatter like bowling pins. Jaxon dangles the puck with ease until a pint-sized defender plows right into him.
He gives up the puck, and the little guy spins in gleeful circles, snow spraying everywhere.
I lunge for the puck at the same time Jaxon does, and we collide mid-slide, tumbling into a spray of cold white.
The onlookers roar as tiny Emily snatches the puck. Her name echoes in a chorus of cheers as she carries it down the ice and passes it off—goal.
Jaxon grins as he pushes to his feet and holds his hand out to me. His glove is warm as he hauls me up. “All part of the plan.”
Coach skates over, still laughing, and tosses the puck to another kid. “Show ’em how it’s done.” The boy takes off, trips over a stray stick, and sends the puck flying toward Jaxon. He swerves, the puck ricocheting off a snowbank and bouncing back to me.
I line up a shot, but a flying snowball—definitely Coach’s doing—smacks me in the back. I stumble, and the puck slides right past me, straight into our own net.
The kids erupt into cheers while Jaxon and I freeze, staring at each other.
“I can’t believe you scored on our own net,” he laughs, shaking his head. “We’re doomed. Absolutely doomed.”
The whistle blows again. Coach claps his hands. “Well done, kids. Quick hot chocolate break, then we add snowball penalties and extra pucks.”
I groan and strip off my gloves. “You hear that? Snowball penalties. I’m never surviving this.”
Jaxon leans in with a smirk. “Oh, come on. Snowball penalties are the best. And let’s be real. You probably deserve a couple to the head after what you did to Santa.”
I shove him playfully. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to fight you right now.”
“Seriously,” he says, softer now, “I’ve never seen you have this much fun.”
I shrug. “Kids are fun.”
He bumps his shoulder against mine. “Yeah. And you showed them what you’ve got.”
I groan. “By scoring on my own net?”
We fall quiet as we skate toward the edge of the pond. Just before stepping off, Jaxon turns to me, his expression shifting. “It’s going to be okay, Penn. We all make mistakes. Suspensions happen. And honestly, I’m sure Santa deserved it.”
“He did,” I admit. “But still. I risked my career.”
“Would you do it again?”
I let out a humorless laugh. “Probably.”
“Good.” His grin flickers back, but there’s something steady underneath it. “You didn’t mess anything up. Once Jaylynn cleans up your image, you’ll be fine. I’m looking forward to playing with you again.”
“Yeah?”
“When you get back. Let’s run some practices. You and me. Winger to winger.”
“I’m not—”
“Not yet,” he cuts me off, skating toward the table piled with donuts and hot chocolate.
I trail after him, grabbing a cup of my own.
Across the way, Jaylynn catches my eye, grinning as I lift my drink in a small salute.
Warmth slides through me despite the cold.
After a quick drink and a donut, we’re back on the ice, getting our asses handed to us—and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
When the little ones score again, making it double digits to zero, Coach blows his whistle.
Good thing too. The kids are flagging, and who knows, we might have actually found a scoring chance.
“Great game,” Jaxon says, clapping me on the back. “See you tonight.”
“Tonight,” I answer. “Beer and pool.”
Jaxon’s a really great guy. Easy to be around.
Honestly, I’d love to play on the same line as him sometime.
As he heads toward one of the benches to take off his skates, I notice the woman from the dining area this morning standing there, waiting for him.
I can see him tense, and I’m about to head over when Jaylynn calls me to her.
The sky has grayed since we started playing, and I know she’s anxious to get to the country club before the snow starts falling. I skate over, and she must sense my distraction. She glances around and frowns when she sees Jaxon.
“He doesn’t look happy,” I say, stating the obvious.
She crinkles her nose like she’s debating whether to intervene or not when suddenly another woman walks up to them and slides her arm through Jaxon’s.
“Whoa,” Jaylynn breathes.
“What?”
“That’s Rowyn Perry. She and Jaxon are great friends. The two go way back. She helped him out and did a real journalist story on Rip Hart’s wife, Charly…AKA Indie Rhodes.”
I scrub my face with a hand. “You’re really tuned in, aren’t you?” I drop onto the bench and start unlacing my skates.
She laughs. “I’m out of work. I have to find something to do with my time.”
“I actually heard about what went down with Rip’s wife. Charly seems really nice.” Not that I’ve had a conversation with her. I watch Jaxon and Rowyn for a moment. “Looks like she’s coming to Jaxon’s rescue this time.”
Rowyn laughs and places her hand on Jaxon’s chest, like she’s claiming him as her own. “Yeah, she knows what Theresa did to him,” Jaylynn whispers, practically snarling.
Apparently, everyone knows but me. I open my mouth to ask, then it clicks. “Rowyn’s a reporter, huh?”
“Yeah. From here, but lives in Boston.” Jaylynn sighs, no doubt remembering her own thriving career there. “Do you remember her?”
“Not really.”
“She’s back home to cover the festivities.”
I finish unlacing my skates. “That could be good for both of us.”
Jaylynn seems a mile away. “That’s the plan.” She refocuses and checks the time. “Okay, hurry up. I want to beat the snow.”
I slip into my boots. As we make our way to the SUV, she says, “Playing with the kids is good for your image. I saw Rowyn taking pictures.” She grins as we reach the car.
I hit the fob to unlock it. “That was actually a lot of fun, Penn. The kids love it,” she says.
Her cheeks are pink, her little nose red, and the way she smiles at me makes my chest tighten. I want to kiss the hell out of her.
“That was chaos,” I tell her, then nod. “But yeah, definitely fun.”
“You and Jaxon…slayed.” She laughs. Hard.
“Ah, so that’s what made it fun for you? Watching us get slayed?”
“A little. Maybe I should get you a sweatshirt that says Slayed All Day. Spell it SLAYED instead of SLEIGHED.”
“I get it. No need to spell it out. Honestly, I had no idea you were a comedic genius.” I shake my head, laughing at how happy she seems. “Honestly, we were doomed from the start. Those tots and your dad had it in for us. We never stood a chance.”
She laughs again as I open her door, and she slides into the passenger seat and buckles in. “Jesse is going to be bragging all night about scoring on you.”
I throw my hands up. “We didn’t have a goalie.”
“Aww, is the NHL player butt-hurt he lost?”
“It’s just…” I stop and laugh. “It’s not like I could knock any of them into the boards. They were kids.”
“There were no boards. Where was Dylan, anyway?”
“Beats me.”
“Maybe he was too afraid you’d emasculate him.” She shrugs, then adds with a smirk, “He probably snuck off to our room to plot something sinister with that damn elf.”
I give a mock shiver. “Probably.” I walk around the SUV and slide into the driver’s seat. “Where to?”
“We have to set out the ballot boxes and get our ugly sweaters for tonight’s event.”
I groan. “Whose idea was that?”
“Mine, of course.” She pokes me in the ribs. “And you’d better like it.”
“Best idea I’ve ever heard,” I lie with a grin.
I back out of the lot and chuckle quietly to myself.
“What’s funny?” she asks, arching a brow.
“Just thinking about how much fun Jaxon and I had. I mean, I know it was just a silly game, but…we actually had fun playing together.”
She grins, the light catching her eyes. “Yup. Maybe you ought to try it more often back in Boston.”
“It’s not that easy, Jay.” I scrub my face. “He mentioned something about that, but Coach would never put me on the first line.” Or even the second. He doesn’t have a clue what else I can do.
Then show him, dude.
But what if…
Enough with the what-ifs.
“You’re really considering the PR job?” I ask, partly because I want to change the subject, and partly because it’s an amazing opportunity for her. And yes, I’m a selfish jerk who kind of likes being around her.
“I am. But I don’t want to get too excited.” She points. “Turn here.”
I follow her direction and see Stowe’s department store ahead. I don’t see any decorations, so she can’t be dropping off ballots. “What are we doing here?”
“This is where we’re going to get some ugly sweaters for tonight.”
I ease into a parking spot, and before I can cut the engine, she’s already halfway into the store. I follow, and find her rifling through racks of sweaters with a grin. She holds one up. I shake my head.
“Nope. Not going to do it.”
She laughs, the sound bouncing off the walls, and I feel a tug in my chest. Part amusement, part something I can’t quite name. She’s playful, teasing, and yet there’s a warmth in her I can’t ignore.
“Come on, it’s perfect.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I like the candy cane.”
“Yeah, but it says, ‘It’s not going to lick itself’.”
“Okay…maybe that’s not the one.” A glint lights her eyes as she drapes it over her arm. “Or…you can just wear it in private.”
“What are you getting?” I ask, eyeing her over the rack.
She holds up a sweater that reads, Dear Santa, Can I Have Your Naughty List?
“Seems like you,” I tease.
She playfully whacks my arm. “I’m only on that list because of you.”
I grin. “I don’t know about that. You seemed like a willing participant, and if I remember correctly, you were the one who told me you wanted to be on it.”
She rolls her eyes and laughs. “Right. Okay, so my Yelp rating is 10/10. Would do again.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. Jesus, she’s funny…sweet…smart. And somehow, she’s got this way of making my chest tighten without even trying.
“How about this one for you? Seems fitting,” she says, holding up another ridiculous sweater.
Before I can even protest, she strides to the counter to pay for them all. I shake my head, watching her, a little breathless. But seriously, what is with her taste in ugly sweaters? I don’t know, but I can only hope that last one is for wearing in private too…