The Penalty Box (Vancouver Wolves Hockey #3)(61)

When she got into the car, I resisted the urge to lean over and kiss her.

She turned and looked at my face critically. “The swelling around your eye has gone down. Does it hurt?”

It stung like a son of a bitch. “Nah. This is just a scratch.”

Her lips twitched. “Why do hockey players have to always play it so tough?”

“We are tough.”

“Why don’t hockey players show they are hurt?”

“We don’t want to get pulled from the game.”

“Why not?”

“We want to win and we want to play, so we work to not get pulled from the game.”

She looked at me. “Do all players think like that?”

“Pretty much.” I changed the subject. “Do you like Christmas?”

Her voice was soft. “My mom and I used to love Christmas. It was our favorite holiday.” She looked down at her lap. “But after she passed away, I did my best to avoid the holidays. It felt too painful, you know?”

I was going to kill Ryan. I tried to think about how I could get rid of the tree before she came into the house, but the damn thing was so big, there was no way I would pull that off.

“Oh.” I cleared my throat. My best bet was to warn her about it and tell her I would get rid of it.

She kept talking. “Lately, though, I miss Christmas. It’s a nice reminder of her, you know?”

Thank fuck. We were back in the game. “I know it’s late in the season, but maybe we should try to celebrate the holidays.”

She twisted in her seat to look at me, asking in a hopeful voice, “Would you mind if I cooked a turkey dinner for the three of us?”

“I’d love that. I can help.”

Her smile lit up my car. “Thank you. It’ll be a nice tribute to my mom. She used to decorate every inch of the trailer. She was so over the top.”

Yup, we were totally back in the game.





*



Charlie came in the house and stopped short when she saw the tree. She covered her mouth with her hands and slowly walked towards it. When she looked back at me, tears were in her eyes.

“Did you do this?”

I wasn’t sure if the tears were a good thing or a bad thing. “If you don’t like it, we can get a different tree.”

“Are you kidding?” She flew towards me and wrapped her arms around me. “I love it.”

She spun out of my arms to go touch one of the branches. “My mom would have loved this tree. It’s so perfect.”

“Want to help decorate it?”

She sounded excited. “Do you have decorations?”

“I’ve got decorations.”





*



After dinner, Charlie was like a bubbly kid, exclaiming over the contents of each bag filled with decorations. I pulled Sasha away from chewing on one of the plastic bags while Charlie unraveled a set of lights.

I got a stepladder and together we worked to string the lights and hang ornaments from every branch. Charlie had put on Christmas music and pure joy radiated out of her as she decorated. I spent more time watching her than I spent helping decorate the tree.

My mom held Sasha in her arms, sipped vodka and watched from her seat on the couch. She spoke in Russian. “Love looks good on you, Mica.”

I responded in Russian. “I think the vodka is hurting your vision.”

She laughed and shook her head. “It’ll get easier when you stop fighting it.”

Charlie turned around, a smile on her face. “What are you guys talking about?”

“I was telling my son that he did good buying such a beautiful tree for his beautiful wife.”

Charlie’s eyes were shy as they moved to me. “It really is the most beautiful tree I’ve ever seen.”

That night, when we got into bed, she lay on her side, looking at me. “Thank you for your gift.”

We didn’t touch, we didn’t kiss, but the fact that she was facing me had made today worth the effort. She was no longer pulling back from me. “You’re welcome.”

She smiled as she shut her eyes. “I can’t wait for our Christmas dinner.”





Chapter 19





CHARLIE





I had the rest of the week off work, since Krista was going away for the holidays and she had decided to close the office a few days early. Tonight was Mica’s last game, and then he had four days off.

Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and Yelena and I had secretly decided we would make a traditional Russian meal together for Mica. On Christmas Day we would cook the turkey.

I had already bought a gift for Mica and one for his mom, and they were wrapped and under the tree. This morning, I had driven Mica to practice, so I could take the car to get groceries for our meals.

I watched as Mica walked across the parking lot. His eye had opened, and the bandage was off his cheek. His bruised black eye and the row of angry stitches below his eye gave him a badass appearance.

I moved to the passenger seat, and he got in beside me. Only he didn’t drive. He just sat there, looking out the windshield.

“What’s wrong?”

He looked at me as if debating how to tell me his news. “So, I was talking to Logan. He’s one of the rookies and he’s from out east. He’s not going home for Christmas, so I invited him over for Christmas dinner.”