Chapter 12 – Home Ice Advantag
Holiday Shif t
December
Day Before Christmas
Amelia
The rest of the week goes smoothly. I spend most of it preparing for the holiday with Bash.
It's a tradition in my family to make Christmas cookies to share.
So, I bake an assortment of cookies to take.
Since I don't know Bash's family, this will be my gift to them.
It took me a long time to figure out what to give Bash since he's been a great friend over the past couple of months, but I think I've found the perfect present. I hope he likes it.
His family and friends will start arriving early on Christmas Day and stay through Boxing Day. Bash is pickin g me up this morning, and we'll spend the day and evening together. He says he has a surprise for me, and I can't wait to see what it is.
My friends couldn't make it since they wanted to spend the holidays with their own families. I get it. Honestly, some quiet time with Bash sounds kind of perfect.
As I'm boxing up the last of the cookies, Bash's SUV rolls into the driveway. He climbs out as I head for the door.
“Hey, Amelia,” he says, hugging me. “Happy Christmas Eve.”
“Happy Christmas Eve to you, too, Bash,” I sigh happily in his embrace.
“Here, let me help you get your things,” he offers, opening the hatch and tucking everything inside. “I didn't realize you had such a huge house. What does your husband do for a living?”
“Please,” I plead, my mood already sour as I think about Jaxson and what he's up to. “I don't want to talk about him right now.”
“Sorry, curiosity got the best of me.”
We jump into his SUV, and before long, the mountains come into view. The cabin is nestled among a grove of trees next to an outdoor ice-skating rink. It's at least two stories, with floor-to-ceiling windows on each level. A wrap-around porch and balcony give the place a wide-open, exposed feeling.
The wood is dark and well-loved, almost black in places, but shines with a high-gloss finish. The side porch is stacked with chopped firewood, as is the sheltered building beside it. There's no one else around, just trees, snow, and the quiet, low hum of the mountains.
We step out of the SUV, crunching snow beneath our boots as our breath fogs the cool air around us. For a moment, I simply stand here taking it all in.
As we climb the steps onto the porch, the wind shifts, carrying the faint scent of pine. The solid wood door is adorned with a giant Christmas wreath. Bash unlocks it, and the door creaks slightly as we step across the threshold.
Inside, the cabin smells faintly of woodsmoke and evergreen, warm and inviting. A massive stone fireplace is the focal point in the great room on one side, while the adjacent wall of windows brings nature in on the other side.
Beyond the windows, snow falls, spiraling slowly from the sky, and I'm entranced.
“If you'll follow me, I'll show you to your room and get a fire going,” he says as he slips off his boots. I do the same, and we leave them at the front door.
He grabs my bags and starts up the stairs. I follow closely behind.
“We have central heat and air here, but it's always nicer with a cozy fire,” he explains.
“Then we can head out to cut down a tree.
The ornaments and decorations are in the attic.
I'll bring them down when we've got the tree set up. I thought you might like to help me trim it while we snack and drink hot chocolate.”
“That sounds amazing, Bash,” I smile broadly. “I'd love that.”
He leads me to the end of the hall to a room tucked away upstairs.
“With all my family and friends invading tomorrow, I figured you'd appreciate having this one more than any other. It's off to itself, right next to my home office.”
He opens the door to a gorgeous space that's quiet and warm, almost like a hidden sanctuary.
This room isn't what you'd expect from a cabin in the woods. The walls are creamy, whitewashed wood, with vaulted ceilings that elegantly open up the space. Instea d of heavy, dark, and rustic, it's light, airy, and calming.
As I enter the room, my feet sink deeply into the thick, soft carpet, so I luxuriate in the sensation.
The floor-to-ceiling windows on the south-facing wall let in the soft, grey light reflected from the snow.
Next to the window is a reading nook with a full bookshelf and a plush chair draped with a blanket.
The bed is large, with a thick white-down comforter.
Through the open doorway, I glimpse the spa-like bathroom.
A huge sunken tub, big enough for two, sits beside an enormous window overlooking the snow-covered woodlands surrounding the cabin, bringing the outdoors in.
A large rain shower is adjacent to the tub, with actual pebbles for the shower pan and creek rock adorning the shower walls.
It's the only dark spot in the room, but it's so close to the window that it feels open and seamless.
The double sinks, large fluffy towels, and candles lining the edges of the tub all radiate a sense of relaxation and luxury.
I'm speechless, standing here, just taking it all in.
“Bash, this place is lovely.”
“I'm glad you like it,” he says, smiling again. “Why don't you get settled in. I'm going to start a fire and rustle up something to eat. The fridge and pantry are stocked for the holiday, so I'll set us up with something to snack on.”
“That sounds great.”
After a light meal by the fire, we leave to get the Christmas tree. Bash takes us to a popular U-cut farm nearby that offers white, Black Hills, and blue spruce varieties. Nestled in a snow-covered valley, Frosty Ridge Tree Farm has been a holiday tradition for generations.
It doesn't take long to find the ideal one.
Bash leads us to the back of the farm, near the edge of the property, where the larger trees grow.
This area is still full of tall, majestic blue spruces that haven't been picked over yet.
With the cabin's high ceilings and oversized windows, we need something big, and it's perfect.
Its branches are full and strong enough to hold heavy ornaments.
The color is just right, a soft bluish tone that evokes winter and Christmas.
In no time, Bash has the tree chopped down and piled onto the SUV so we can haul it back to the cabin.
As we struggle to drag the bundled tree inside, Bash and I keep slipping and falling in the snow.
When we finally manage to get the door shut behind us, we collapse onto the couch, laughing and trying to catch our breath as we take in the disaster around us .
Pine needles and snow leave a messy path from the door to the windows, where the tree still lies trussed up. The fire has died down, leaving only cherry-red ashes, and a lingering chill creeps in after keeping the door open so long.
“I'll sweep up while you get the tree stand,” I tell Bash once I can speak.
“Deal,” he replies, jumping to his feet. “I'll get the ornaments out while I'm at it.”
The next hour feels like a scene from a Hallmark movie.
I sweep the floor and make us hot chocolate while Bash brings down boxes of Christmas decorations from the attic and rebuilds the fire.
In front of the roaring flames, we decorate the tree and laugh.
I haven't had this much fun in a long time, and for a while, I actually forget the trainwreck my life has turned into.
I watch Bash hang an ornament as he tells me stories of his childhood Christmases. He speaks warmly of his family and their traditions.
“Most everyone will be arriving first thing in the morning,” Bash says, “and after we get the turkey cooking, we'll open gifts. Speaking of which, I have something for you that I want to give you tonight.”
He leaves the room and returns with a tiny, gift-wrapped box. He hands it to me, and we sit on the couch. Inside is a thin gold necklace. The pendant is a pair of ice skates with a small diamond sparkling in the center.
“Bash, it's beautiful,” I coo. “Here, help me put it on.” I remove it from the box and hand it to him, pulling my hair to the side. His fingers softly brush my neck, and I have to stifle a shiver. I turn around, holding the pendant between my fingers, admiring it.
“Thank you, Bash.” I wrap my arms around his neck and hold him for a moment.
When I pull away, I head toward the stairs. “I've got something for you, too,” I shout over my shoulder.
He yells something back that I can't quite hear. I'm already at the door to my room, my heart pounding in my ears. I grab the small brown package off the nightstand and head back downstairs.
“It's not really much,” I confess shyly. “But it's special to me, and I know how much you like hockey…” I spill the words out in a rush, slightly embarrassed to be giving him something so personal.
He slips off the raffia, removing the holly sprig as he pulls the string free. The rough brown paper crinkles as he unwraps it slowly, almost like he's handling something precious. I inhale sharply, watching his face, hoping he feels the same way I do about what's inside .
As he opens the box and stares at the hockey puck nestled there, his face is unreadable. He squints at it, lifting it closer and turning it slowly in his hands. Then, he looks at me in wonder, the broadest grin on his face, that darn dimple popping.
“Is this autographed by Gord Smith?” he asks incredulously, holding the puck almost reverently.
I nod, smiling.
“He was a beast back in the day as the right wing for the Thunder Bay Titans. He led the league in 2001 with fifty-two goals and forty-nine assists,” he shouts eagerly.
I watch Bash as he stares at the puck. My smile lingers, softer now. I'm pleased that the puck I had Dad autograph means something to him.
“And he won the league MVP in 2004,” he adds. “How did you get this? He's been retired and basically in hiding for years.”
“Um… he's my dad.”
Bash jerks his head up. “What? Gord Smith is your dad.”
“Yep.”
“That's fantastic. I grew up with posters of him in my room. My parents and I followed his career and watche d every game. The wrist shot he perfected, no one could touch it.”
“I know,” I agree as he excitedly continues fangirling over my dad.
“I didn't realize he had a family. You grew up with him?”
“Not exactly,” I murmur. “Why don't you read the card?” I tilt my head toward the box, trying to distract him from his line of questioning.
He looks into my eyes. “What am I missing, Amelia?” he asks softly, his smile fading. He waits.
“I… my mom was a hockey groupie… a puck bunny.
.. whatever it's called,” I stutter, embarrassed.
“She followed various teams from city to city.
Ultimately, she got pregnant. But when it became apparent that a baby was a hindrance, she accepted a payoff from my sperm donor and abandoned me shortly after I was born.
I don't know where she is, and I've never met her. "
I glance away. Saying it out loud makes it feel uglier.
“It could've been any one of multiple players, but a paternity test confirmed it, he was the father . The unlucky one who got left holding the unwanted baby. He was resentful toward my mother, but I paid the price. "
His jaw tightens, and the silence stretches for a beat, but I force myself to keep going. Why stop now?
“He was always on the road or away, so my grandmother raised me. He was around occasionally, but never as a father, just someone who coasted in and out of my life. I don't think he wanted to acknowledge me, but he couldn't avoid his mother."
My hands twist in my lap as I laugh derisively.
“When I was younger, I worshipped the ground he walked on… I idolized him. He barely noticed me; he didn't even try to go through the motions of being a father."
Bash shakes his head, still holding the puck but now looking as if it's offensive to him.
"Ugh," I groan, putting my head in my hands, "you didn't ask to hear all this.”
“It's all good,” he breathes, voice low. “I want to get to know the real you, Amelia. I don't want you to hide anything from me.”
I look down at the floor, my neck burning with shame.
“I'm sorry if I ruined the moment. That wasn't my intent when I gave you the puck. I know you look up to him. He was an incredible athlete, just a crappy dad."
I shrug .
“He was a player, on and off the ice. It's not his fault he got stuck with a daughter he didn't want.”
Bash shakes his head again, firmer this time. “No. It is his fault. His irresponsibility made him your father, and he should've treated you like you mattered. His choices are on him.”
I look away again, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.
“That's one of the reasons I'm so mad at my husband,” I whisper.
“He knows how I feel about how my dad treated me, and women in general as if they're disposable, unimportant, or merely a means to an end.
And yet, he's callously modeling after him. He knows the damage that kind of man can do… has done… to me. And then he turns around and does something even worse… to me.”
“You deserve better,” he growls, his voice grounding me. “From both of them.”
He pulls me into his arms as tears trickle down my cheeks. I don't say anything, I melt down into his strength, letting those words penetrate. Letting myself believe them.
I pull back, wiping my eyes. “Anyway, read the card. ”
Bash picks up the envelope, pulls out the card, and reads it.
I just want to thank you for reminding me what it feels like to laugh again. Merry Christmas, Bash.
Love, Amelia