Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Dean parked a short way from Victor’s house, silently counting ten cars in his driveway and on the street.
Reaching into the back seat, he grabbed the case of beer and pumpkin pie he’d picked up from the twenty-four-hour grocery store last night.
The pie wasn’t as big as a Costco pie, but it didn’t look bad.
He was sorry he hadn’t asked Victor how many people were on the guest list. He didn’t realize there would be a houseful, though he probably should have.
Victor and Vivian had opened their home to Stingrays players who couldn’t make it home for the holidays—Thanksgiving and Christmas—since that first year after their parents died.
Victor had later admitted he’d only issued the invitation that year because he couldn’t stomach the thought of him and Vivian sitting in a quiet house alone on Christmas Day, aching for their parents.
Apparently, that was what they’d done for Thanksgiving, and Victor had abhorred the idea of a repeat.
Dean had been hoping to find a way to pull Vivian to a quiet spot in the house today, so they could talk in private. However, given the noise already coming from the house, he feared quiet might be hard to come by.
He knocked at the door with a bit of force, concerned no one would hear him over the din of voices and laughter and music.
Dean froze when it was Vivian, not Victor, who opened the door.
She looked beautiful in blue jeans and a soft sweater, her dark hair falling around her shoulders. Her smile disappeared instantly when she saw it was him.
“Hello, Vivian,” he said.
“Hi. Victor said he invited you.” Her tone was neutral enough he didn’t have a clue how she felt about that. Although the tightness around her mouth was offering enough insight to let him know she wasn’t pleased.
For one suspended moment, neither of them moved or spoke again.
Then a little voice shouted from somewhere behind her.
“Coach Dee!” Pip came flying down the hallway. Dean barely had time to put down the beer and hand the pie off to Vivian before she launched herself at him.
He caught her, chuckling when she gave him an effusively tight hug around the neck.
He glanced up at Vivian and caught a soft expression on her face. One she wiped away instantly when she realized he was looking.
“How’re you doing, Pipsqueak?” he asked.
Pip released him, then tilted her head in the same way her mother did when she was annoyed. “It’s been forever,” she drawled.
Dean laughed at her dramatic tone, even though he felt guilty about the distance he’d created between him and Pip.
He’d spent less time with Victor—and by extension, Pip—the past few months.
He’d been determined to spend every free moment with Vivian, whether it was in person or texting or FaceTiming, or even just fantasizing about her. “You’re right. It has. So catch me up.”
Pip didn’t need an invitation to talk, but when she was offered one, damn if she didn’t take it. She grasped Dean’s hand, guiding him into the house as she filled him in on all her kindergarten adventures, as well as assuring him that she was still the best bike rider ever.
As she talked, they walked to the kitchen, where he delivered the case of beer to Victor.
Vivian put his pie on a table already overloaded with a bakery’s worth of pastries and cakes and pies and cookies.
Pip released Dean’s hand when Preston arrived fresh on his heels, with his fiancée, Chelsea, and their young son, Lennon.
Preston had hung up his skates at the end of last season, opting to be a stay-at-home dad while Chelsea launched her new business—a bakery, where it appeared over half of today’s desserts had come from.
“Yay! Lennon’s here!” Pip called out, dashing over to hug the toddler, who was much steadier on his feet than the last time Dean had seen him.
“Coach!” Andrew called out from across the kitchen, holding up a beer. “Want one?”
Dean nodded, walking over to Andrew, who was chatting with Rook and Jordan.
They attempted to draw him into their discussion on what was the better holiday meat—ham or turkey—but Dean’s contribution to the debate was limited at best. He couldn’t stop himself from looking at Vivian.
She and goalie Coulton’s girlfriend, Ainsley, were peeling and chopping vegetables for the big salad they were preparing, laughing and chatting as they worked.
He would have happily stared at Vivian all day, but he was interrupted when Tank arrived. He asked everyone to join him in the living room, where McKenna and Victor were pouring and handing out glasses of champagne. Once the drinks were in hand, they announced their engagement.
After that, the party kicked into overdrive as everyone chatted excitedly about the wedding, and Erika’s pregnancy, his players all in great moods, thanks to last night’s win and the end of the losing streak.
He wasn’t sure if Vivian was simply busy trying to help Victor and Belle with meal prep, or if she was giving him a wide berth.
For two hours, Dean attempted to be social, drinking a beer with the players in attendance, helping to set the table, even coloring a picture with Lennon and Pip, when all he was really doing was watching Vivian, searching for an opening to pull her aside to talk.
Dean growled under his breath when Victor announced that dinner was ready, because his nerves were shot and the idea of sitting at the same table as Vivian, with everything still so uncertain, was fucked.
“Coach Dee,” Pip yelled, when he walked into Victor’s dining room. Because he loved to host the holidays, Victor had invested in a large farmhouse-style table that easily sat twenty people. “Sit with me!”
Pip was next to her mother, but she had obviously saved a spot for him.
Dean saw the way Vivian’s shoulders fell briefly before she stiffened her posture once more. He could practically hear the pep talk she was mentally giving herself, like sitting so close to him through the meal was something she had to prepare herself for.
He hated that, but there was no way he could refuse Pip’s invitation without hurting the little girl. So, Dean claimed the seat, smiling at her, then briefly glancing over her head at Vivian, who refused to look in his direction.
“Bet I can eat more mashed potatoes than you,” he teased.
Pip giggled but took the bet. “Mashed ’tatoes are my favorite.”
“Don’t like to bet against you, Coach,” Victor said from the head of the table, “but at least half of Pip’s body weight is mashed potatoes and French fries. You’re going down.”
Everyone within hearing distance on that end of the table laughed, except Vivian, who was staring at her empty plate like it was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen.
Victor started passing dishes, beginning with the turkey platter, and for a few minutes, the only sounds were the scraping of utensils against porcelain as everyone piled up their plates.
Then Jordan started a discussion on how he was certain the cornbread dressing he’d brought—a family recipe—was far superior to Victor’s more traditional one.
And because the table was primarily comprised of hockey players, and they were competitive as fuck, Tank insisted they should all try both, then vote for their favorite.
Dean had expected dinner to be a tense affair, with him sitting so closely to an angry and hurt Vivian, but it was basically impossible to hang with these people and not have fun.
One of the first things Dean had noticed when he took over as head coach for the Stingrays was how close-knit the team was.
He hadn’t expected the camaraderie he’d seen on the ice to transfer to real life, but there was no denying the men—and now their significant others—had forged strong friendships.
While she’d been quiet at first, Vivian was soon pulled into the party atmosphere as well, she and Chelsea both admitting they’d started listening to Christmas music the moment November arrived.
That led to everyone saying what their favorite Christmas song was.
Then Pip began to rattle off her rather extensive Christmas wish list for everyone, proclaiming she’d been extra good this year and she was certain Santa had noticed.
Dean wasn’t sure about Santa, but he was damn sure Victor Claus was taking notes…and ignoring Vivian, who subtly shook her head and shot her brother a warning look when Pip included both an iPhone and iPad on the list.
Dean laughed softly at the silent exchange, until McKenna—who hadn’t noticed the Victor and Vivian undercurrents—chimed in, letting everyone know she’d been the first in her class to have both of those things, thanks to Dean.
“I’ve since learned the error of my ways,” he said, talking to the table, even though his words were meant for Vivian. “Your mother set me straight on age-appropriate gifts, Kenny.”
McKenna giggled. “I bet she did. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when I unwrapped that brand-new, latest-edition iPhone. I was in second grade.”
Dean sighed, because he really had been a clueless wonder back then.
Pip lit up. “Second grade!” she said to Vivian, making it clear ages had already been assigned as far as when Pip would be allowed tech, and the little girl now expected some changes.
McKenna raised her hand. “I didn’t get to keep the phone, Pip. I was too young for one, so my mom held on to it for me. Gave it to me when I was in middle school.”
Pip deflated. “Oh.”
“Told you that you were too young,” Vivian said, first to Pip, then to Victor. “No phone until sixth grade.”
McKenna, who was sitting on Dean’s other side, leaned toward him to whisper, “Mom actually claimed that phone. At the time, hers had a cracked screen that was miraculously repaired come Boxing Day. Plus, the one I got in middle school was a different color.”
Dean chuckled. “Nice to know Ellie called me up with my own gift to give me holy hell.”