14. Holly
14
HOLLY
Scrolling through hashtags #BlizzardBestTree and #HollyJollyContest brings a smile to my face. There’s a buzz of contagious electricity around the stadium grounds, charged by laughter, holiday music, and the occasional jingle of bells tied to hockey sticks.
Weaving through the crowd and rows of decorated trees, clipboard in one hand, phone in the other, I watch with a sense of satisfaction as fans snap photos and cast their votes online with enthusiasm that rivals game night.
It’s all a strange, wonderful mix of Christmas magic and hockey madness—twinkling lights tangled with mini hockey sticks, and garlands laced with pucks— like Christmas threw up on a hockey rink, and somehow, it works.
Making the rounds, chatting with fans and business owners who’ve participated has been fulfilling. Everyone’s raving about the event, and my heart swells a little with each compliment. Okay, Holly, maybe you pulled this off.
One of the kids from a local school runs by, his tree practically drowning in glitter and miniature hockey sticks. “Miss Holly! Miss Holly! We’re winning!” He waves his phone excitedly, the screen flashing with votes piling up for his team.
It’s hard not to smile as the boy beams, eyes wide with excitement. Crouching down to his level, I ruffle his hair. “Well, you’ve got the best glitter game I’ve seen today. Your tree might blind the competition.”
The boy grins, then runs off, shouting something about adding more tinsel. Energy like that should be bottled and sold.
Lauren breezes by, radiating calm in her usual– floating on a cloud of peppermint-flavored confidence –style. “You’re killing it, Holly. Seriously.”
"Killing it,” I repeat, more to myself than her. Because let’s be real—underneath my calm-event-manager exterior, there’s a tiny little ball of panic bouncing around like a rogue Christmas ornament.
I wonder when the regular good-energy-ruining ruffle will come and it doesn’t take long. It appears in the form of the team director.
Jonathan Reid materializes from somewhere in the shadows, his perfectly pressed suit somehow standing out amid the festive chaos. He doesn’t smile—he never really does—but his neutral expression says everything. He’s impressed, or at least, not disappointed.
“Holly,” he calls over, motioning her toward him with the slightest nod. “A word?”
There’s a brief moment where the stadium and all its cheer fades, replaced by the sudden weight of Reid’s presence. Here we go.
Crossing the space between us, my clipboard gets held just a little tighter. “Jonathan. How’s it going?”
“The event is running smoothly,” he says, though it’s delivered with his usual flat tone. “Fans are engaged. Online votes are flooding in. Good work.”
It’s not a glowing review, but that rarely exists in Reid-speak . But if even the Blizzards tough-to-please director has no passive-aggressive comments to throw my way, that’s a win – in anyone’s book.
“Thank you.”
“We’ve had such a good turnout from the players, too.”
A smile splits my face. That was the most difficult hurdle I was glad to cross. “Everyone’s worked hard, especially the players.”
A nod, but the small twitch of his eyebrow gives away that it’s time for the real reason for this conversation. “Speaking of the players ... Ethan Carter? His usual ... engagement with these things is limited.”
Limited is putting it kindly. “Ethan’s been great,” my smile’s unwavering. “Really involved. Helped out with decorating, mingling with the fans—he’s been fantastic.”
Reid’s gaze sharpens, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of surprise. Reid is a man who lives in facts, and Ethan Carter being a willing participant in a fan event? That’s probably a fact he struggles to believe.
But before I can fully enjoy the small victory, he gives a small sigh, looking around. “Good. That’s good. But, uh, there are a few paparazzi lurking near the press area. You might want to come over and explain a few things to the media.”
“The media?” Brows lifting, I internally curse whoever decided it was a good idea to let reporters into this happy place— aka my Christmas Wonderland. “Is there a specific issue?”
“They just want to ask a few questions. You know, the usual—how the event’s going, how it’s bringing us closer to the community.” Reid’s tone is too smooth, like he’s trying to convince me he’s not tossing me into a den of paparazzi. “Nothing you can’t handle.”
Reid offers a thin smile that says, better you than me .
“Right,” muttering to myself as I nod. Of course, it’s nothing I can’t handle.
“You’re doing great work, Holly. It’s natural that you be the one to take the plaudits.”
“No problem. I’ll handle them.”
“Good work, Holly. Keep it up.”
Following Reid to the far side of the rink, I see them. A small group of reporters, hovering like vultures circling a fresh story carcass. The closest one of them is leaning against the boards, wearing the journalistic equivalent of a smirk. The sleaze practically oozes off him, and he looks like he’s been waiting for this moment all day.
Okay, Holly. Deep breath. Let’s go.
“Ms. Bennett!” Blue calls, his voice somehow managing to sound friendly and slimy at the same time. “I’m Raymond Blue. Got a few questions for you about today’s event!”
Raymond Blue— Now why does that sound familiar? His slicked-back hair and too-white smile makes my skin crawl.
Flashing my best I’m-so-happy-to-be-here smile, I step forward. “Of course! I’ll have to answer to everyone at once to save some time please.”
“No problem,” he nods.
I step up on a little podium and questions come at me like rapid fire. “Can you tell us more about how today’s event is helping connect the team with the community?”
Perfect. A softball question to start with. “Absolutely. This event is all about bringing the Chicago Blizzards closer to the community. The fans love it, and it’s a great way for everyone to bond over hockey and the holiday season.”
Another reporter pipes up, not missing a beat. “And how do the players feel about participating in an event like this?”
“The players have been fantastic,” I say, nodding toward the rink where Liam and a couple of kids are currently hanging tinsel on a tree like it’s a gold medal. “They’ve really embraced the opportunity to give back, and the fans appreciate seeing their favorite athletes in a more personal, festive setting.”
“Miss Bennett!” The man who called himself Blue calls out. His voice cuts through the noise, his tone far too smooth to be anything but trouble. “Today’s event seems like quite the success.”
“It’s been wonderful. The turnout from fans and local businesses has been fantastic. The players have been really engaged, and it’s been a great opportunity for the community to connect with the team.”
He gives a sly grin, already angling for something more. “Sounds like it’s been a win for the Blizzards community outreach. So, are all the players participating? No one shirking their duties today?”
Oh, here we go. I keep the smile in place, even as my patience thins. “Yes, all the players have been wonderful. Everyone has participated fully.”
“Even Ethan Carter?” Blue’s question drips with faux innocence, but there’s no hiding the sharp edge beneath it. He leans in just slightly, like a shark circling blood in the water.
A small pause, but not long enough for him to latch onto. “Yes, even Ethan. He’s been here all day, helping with the decorating.”
Blue’s eyes gleam, but the smile stays in place. “Interesting. He’s not usually one for these kinds of events, is he? Maybe we could see him in action, just to, you know, confirm his enthusiasm?”
The urge to roll my eyes is strong, but professionalism wins out. “I’m sure Ethan would be happy to stop by.”
With a quick signal, one of the staff heads off to fetch Ethan, who, moments later, arrives with his usual cool expression in place. He steps up, looking like he’s got ice in his veins and not a single care in the world.
“Everything good here?” Ethan’s voice cuts through the tension, and for a moment, I’m relieved. He’s here, ready to back me up. Until I remember that we’re dealing with Raymond Blue, who’s never just asking for an innocent interview.
“Mr. Carter! Good to see you,” Raymond Blue greets him with that overly-friendly tone that sets my teeth on edge. “Just wanted to confirm that you’re participating today. Fans are curious, since you don’t typically attend events like these.”
Ethan shrugs, hands in his pockets, looking as nonchalant as ever. “Yeah, I’m here. It’s been fun. Great to connect with the community.” His words are smooth, but there’s an edge to his tone that tells me he’s not thrilled about this little interrogation.
“So, you’re saying you enjoy these events?” Raymond presses on, like a bloodhound who’s just caught a scent. “Even though, traditionally, you’ve stayed away from them?”
Ethan’s jaw tightens, and I can practically feel the tension rolling off him in waves. “Yeah. It’s good for the team. For the fans.”
Mr. Blue smiles in a creepy I’ve got you where I want you, way. “Interesting. Because there’s been some speculation that you’re not the biggest fan of the holiday season. In fact, there are rumors that you ... hate Christmas .”
And there it is. The bomb, dropped right in the middle of our Christmas tree wonderland.
My eyes fly to Ethan. He freezes. There’s a tightness to his jaw, the kind that says get me out of here.
The air around us seems to thicken, and for a split second, I can see the cool mask slipping. His eyes darken, and I know—this is not a question he wants to answer.
Before he can even think about responding, I step forward, cutting in. “That’s enough,” my voice sharp, leaving no room for debate. “Ethan’s here, and he’s been fully involved in today’s event. Whatever rumors you’ve heard are just that, rumors, and we’re not here for that today.”
Raymond Blue’s eyes flick between me and Ethan, clearly enjoying the tension he’s just created. “Well, it’s good to hear Ethan’s in the holiday spirit. I’m sure the fans will appreciate knowing that.”
“We’re done here,” I announce, making it crystal clear that this interview is over.
Ethan doesn’t stick around for the aftermath. He walks away, shoulders stiff, and I can practically feel the anger radiating off him. Watching him leave, a pit forms in my stomach. This was supposed to be a good day. Now it feels like everything’s unraveling.
As the reporters disperse, I turn to head back to the rink, hoping to catch up with Ethan and maybe—just maybe—try to fix this. But before I can make my escape, Raymond steps up next to me, his voice low, accompanied by a slow, smug grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Always good to see players getting into the holiday spirit. But, Miss Bennett, do you really know the man you’re defending?”
There’s something in his tone that sends a shiver down my spine. I cross my arms, standing my ground. “I know him more than some reporter looking for clickbait.”
Mr. Blue chuckles, that same oily laugh that makes skin crawl. “We’ll see about that.” He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a manila folder like some cartoon villain unveiling his evil plan. “You might want to read these.”
He hands over a heavy folder and his smile widens as if he’s just delivered a death blow.
“You might find it ... enlightening,” he says, stepping closer, voice lowering. “People aren’t always who they seem.”
For a moment, the world feels off-balance, like the ground is shifting beneath my feet. But there’s no way I’m letting him see that. The folder gets clutched tighter, but the response is calm. “I trust Ethan a hell of a lot more than I trust someone like you.”
Blue’s smile wavers, just for a second, but it’s back in place by the time he turns to leave. “Enjoy your event, Miss Bennett. I’m sure it’ll be ... memorable.”
As he saunters off, I stand frozen, the folder clutched in my hands. The stadium around is still buzzing with laughter, Christmas cheer, and fan excitement, but it feels far away now. Ethan’s already disappeared into the chaos, and a gnawing sense of unease settles in the pit of my stomach.
The folder remains unopened. There’s no rush to read it. Not yet.
Whatever’s in there, it can wait. Because right now? The only thing that matters is getting through the rest of this event with my head held high. And, more importantly, figuring out what the hell to do about Ethan.