Chapter 3
THREE
Rourke
Five Months Later—November
My muscles burn as I lower the weights to the rack.
I grab my towel to wipe my face, the music in my AirPods blasting.
Five months since that first dance at Boots and Buckles, and I still can’t get Janie Bennett out of my head.
What’s even worse? All my attempts at trying to get her to give me a chance have failed spectacularly.
Five months since I said the stupidest thing of my life.
I don’t really love Christmas. What kind of idiot says that to a woman who lights up talking about Christmas lights?
I pick up another set of weights and hiss through my teeth as I get in another twenty reps, punishing myself for being such a moron.
Yeah, I have issues with Christmas—things I’ve never told anyone about—but seeing the way her face fell when I said it? I should have backtracked immediately. Should have said something—anything—to take back those words. Instead, I stood there like an idiot and watched her walk away.
And I’ve been trying to make up for it ever since.
When I found out she was a kindergarten teacher, I showed up at the summer reading program with balloon animals, thinking if she saw me with kids, she’d realize I’m not the Christmas-hating grinch she thinks I am.
But she barely acknowledged me, like I’d confirmed every negative thing she’d ever thought about me.
But the final nail in the coffin was at the hospital when Jaz and Brax had their baby.
Janie had texted me back for the first time in months, and I’d thought maybe we were finally getting somewhere.
Then she showed up and found me at the nurses’ station, all smiles as I tried to charm the staff into letting more than two visitors into Jaz’s room at once.
She took one look at me with the nurse, her face turned pink, and she walked away without a word.
She thought I was hitting on the nurse. I was just trying to get the team in to see baby Rosie. But Janie didn’t stick around long enough to find out.
And that was it. I decided I’m done with Janie Bennett.
“Easy there, Hulk,” Leo, our left wing, calls from the bench press. “You’re gonna break something.”
“Already did,” I mutter between sets. My pride—and whatever chance I had with that kindergarten teacher who hates me.
Brax walks past carrying two water bottles, looking like he hasn’t slept in a week. Probably because he hasn’t. Dark circles ring his eyes, and his usually perfect hair looks rumpled, like he just rolled out of bed.
Tate glances up from his hammer curls. “You look terrible.”
“I feel terrible. Rosie had us up every two hours last night.” Brax collapses onto a nearby bench. “I’d pay good money for one night of uninterrupted sleep. The only thing that seems to get her to stop screaming bloody murder is when I make fart noises on her stomach.”
“I think the official term is raspberries,” Tate corrects.
“And then yesterday I tried to put a diaper on backwards. Twice. Jaz just looked at me like I was a special kind of stupid.”
Miles, our rookie goalie, wrinkles his nose. “Wait, there’s a right way up for diapers? I thought they were like socks—as long as it stays on, you’re winning.”
“Uh, no.” Brax shakes his head. “Not even remotely like socks.”
Just then, the door to the weight room swings open, and Lauren Williamson strides in. She catches Tate’s eye and gives him a quick wink before planting herself in the center of the team. “Okay, Crushers,” she announces. “I have some exciting news.”
Jaxon leans over to me. “When Lauren says ‘exciting news,’ it usually means extra work.”
Lauren ignores him and pulls out her iPad. “We’re launching the Crushers’ Volunteer Christmas Challenge,” Lauren says. “And Mr. Marco has decided that all players on the Crushers will commit to forty hours of community service between now and January first.”
“Forty hours?” Miles groans.
“It’s three hours fifteen minutes a week,” Tate says, automatically. “Basic math, rookie.”
“Thing is, I have a lot to do this season,” Miles says. “I’m the new guy around here. I need to spend all my time practicing.”
“You think you have a lot to do?” Brax says, his eyebrows rising. “How about you’re drowning and someone hands you a baby? Because that’s my life right now.”
Lauren puts her hands up to stop the arguing.
“Let me assure you that we don’t want this to cause more problems. Any volunteering you’ve put in so far this month will count.
Mr. Marco wants the Crushers to lead the league in volunteer hours, so he is turning this into a contest among our team.
He will pick one winner for the challenge who goes the extra mile.
The winner gets a substantial Christmas bonus, as will the charity they’re working with. It’s a win-win for everyone.”
“And if we can’t get in all our volunteer hours?” Miles asks.
“There will be a penalty fee for non-participation and you’ll be benched for seven games.”
A low murmur erupts across the room.
“Plus, what Mr. Marco’s calling a donation fee given to the charity,” she adds. “From your own pocket.”
“How much?” Jaxon asks.
“Let’s just say it’s big enough to hurt,” she says.
Leo gives a low whistle.
“I have a list of charities for you to choose from.” Lauren holds up her iPad. “Just remember, this is really about giving back at Christmas.”
Tate raises his hand. “I’ll take the animal shelter since I already volunteer there.”
“I assumed as much, Sheriff,” Lauren says with a smile, adding her boyfriend’s name first. Last summer, she convinced Tate to be her fake boyfriend for her family reunion, and now they’re practically joined at the hip.
Everyone crowds around Lauren, and by the time I get to her, most of the assignments have been taken. I study the list, scanning for something that could score me a Christmas bonus. One entry stands out: Help children with a theater production.
Should be easy enough. Kids love athletes, and I’ve always been good at performing—whether it’s on the ice or off. Give me an audience and I can work a crowd. Make them laugh, keep things moving, and everyone walks away happy.
It’s what I do best.
I sign my name as Leo looks over my shoulder. “You sure about that?”
I glance back at him. “I’ve got this in the bag. Kids loved me at the reading program this summer.”
“But did you read what you’ll be doing?” Leo says.
“No. What?” Before I can find out, Lauren moves the iPad away.
“Excellent choice, Rourke,” she says, looking over the form. “You’ll be fantastic in the Christmas pageant.”
My stomach drops. “Wait…what did you say?”
“The Sully’s Beach Elementary Christmas Pageant,” Lauren says cheerfully, scrolling through her notes. “You’ll be working with the K–2 grades to put on their annual holiday show. It’s a community favorite—the whole town comes out for it.”
The words feel as painful as a puck to the face. A Christmas pageant?
Absolutely not.
“One more thing…” Lauren continues, oblivious to my mounting panic. “You’ll be playing one of the lead roles. How fun is that?”
I feel the color drain from my face. “Lauren, I need to change assignments. Now.”
“What’s wrong?” She tilts her head, thoroughly confused. “I thought you enjoyed working with kids.”
“I do. But Christmas?” I run a hand through my hair. “I don’t do Christmas.”
“Because of religious beliefs?” she asks.
I hesitate. I can’t tell her why I’m against Christmas—because no one knows the truth. “I just think it’s a commercialized, over-hyped holiday that sucks joy from people’s lives.”
Leo starts laughing. “Oh, this is perfect. Mr. Anti-Christmas forced to work alongside a bunch of five-year-olds singing ‘Jingle Bells’ and ‘Silent Night.’”
“It’s not funny,” I snap, but even as I say it, I know I’m trapped. The irony is so perfect, it’s almost cruel.
“Sorry, Rourke,” Lauren says. “All the other spots are filled now. Look at it this way, maybe a little Christmas spirit will be good for you.”
I stare at her like she’s suggested I perform in the Nutcracker in a pair of tights. Knowing my luck, the teacher running this disaster will probably be some overly cheerful Christmas fanatic who’ll want me to give a jolly ho-ho-ho on command.
“How many hours did you say this was?” I ask weakly.
“Forty. Minimum,” Lauren says. “Rehearsals start Thursday.”
Forty hours of Christmas pageant hell. With kids who still believe in Santa and magic and all the holiday crap I’ve spent years avoiding.
I’m so screwed.
“Who’s running this thing?” I ask, hoping against hope it’s some elderly grandmotherly type who’ll take pity on me. I can probably talk my way out of it. Maybe get Miles or Jaxon to switch with me.
“Let me see.” Lauren scrolls on her tablet. “Okay, your contact person is…” She pauses, squinting as she reads. “Janie Bennett.”
I stop breathing for a solid three seconds.
Lauren tilts her head. “She’s the kindergarten teacher, remember? The cute one.”
Like I haven’t already figured that out.
“I need to change assignments,” I demand. “Right now.”
“You can’t. There aren’t any other spots—”
“Lauren, I’ll take any assignment. I’ll clean toilets at the animal shelter. Read to senior citizens. You name it, I’ll be there.”
“What’s wrong with working with Janie?” Brax asks, clearly enjoying watching me squirm in misery. “Scared of getting shown up by a bunch of kindergartners and their teacher?”
“It’s not the kids,” I say through gritted teeth. “It’s—” I stop myself before I admit the whole humiliating truth. That she’s the woman who ghosted me.
“It’s what?” Lauren asks.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “The teacher and I have…history.”
“I know. But she probably doesn’t even remember the hospital incident,” Lauren says.
“Oh, she remembers. And the dance in the bar when I told her I didn’t like Christmas. She hates my guts,” I say flatly. “And now I have to spend forty hours convincing a bunch of five-year-olds that Christmas is magical while working under a woman who thinks I’m pond scum.”
“Good luck,” Lauren says. “Your first rehearsal is this Thursday at six. And don’t be late. Janie has to pick up Aria right after, so she needs to start on time.”
“Who’s Aria?” I ask.
Without even looking up from her tablet, she replies, “Her daughter.”
I nearly choke on the words. “Wait, she’s married?”
Her head snaps up. “No, she’s not married. She went through an ugly divorce when she was pregnant with her daughter. Guy cheated on her with one of her friends. You knew that, didn’t you?”
“No.” I can barely get the admission out. No wonder she’s been dodging my attempts to flirt with her. “Why didn’t anyone think to mention this? You know, before I made a fool of myself?”
“We thought you knew,” Brax says.
“Well, I didn’t.” I drag a hand through my hair. “Now what am I going to do?”
“I don’t know, but you’d better figure out a plan before Thursday,” Brax says.
“Well, a plan isn’t the answer. I need to switch assignments. I don’t do Christmas.”
“So you’re saying this is going to go well?” Tate says with a smug smile.
“I’m saying Lauren just sentenced me to forty hours with a woman who would rather see me eaten by reindeer.”
Jaxon snorts. “At least you’ll look good in a Santa suit.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s a Christmas pageant, Rourke,” Tate says. “Everyone gets a costume.”
I stare at him in horror. “That’s it. I quit.”
Miles shakes his head. “You can’t. If you don’t fulfill your hours, you’ll get penalized.”
I let out a sigh. The only way out of this is to force Janie to fire me—by being the worst Christmas pageant volunteer in the history of the school. “Then I’ll get myself kicked out of the pageant instead.”
Because if Janie Bennett doesn’t kill me, I’m pretty sure Christmas will.