Open Fire, page 9
Finally she gasps. “Ohmygod, you met a man!”
My jaw drops. “How did you figure that out?”
“You’re smirking.” She points at my face. I immediately try to drop my lips into a more neutral position. “And you’re wide awake.”
“Because your child is louder than the freaking smoke alarm.”
“Nuh-uh. You have that flirty glow about you.”
“There’s a flirty glow?”
“Yes. It comes from the endorphins released into your brain when you’re in like with someone new. Not to be confused with the caffeine glow I sport from no endorphins and even less sleep. Now spill.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie smoothly.
“Come on, Sloan,” she whines. “We’re about four seconds from Jim taking over the coffee and Kylie getting Mom up. At least give me a little something before our attention is divided by flying wrapping paper and toys that need batteries we forgot to buy.”
“You forgot to buy batteries? What kind of mother are you?”
“Stop trying to distract me. Are you guys dating now? Is he wonderful? Does he live here in Chicago or in Tampa or somewhere amazing you’re going to visit?”
Turning Jude to face his mom, I sit him on my knees and begin bouncing him up and down. “Fine. His name is Becker and he came to my rescue when the bag my presents were in ripped while going through security.”
“Oooh. A knight in shining armor.”
I snort a laugh. “Hardly. He’s a professional hockey player.”
Tracy’s jaw drops and her eyes get wide.
“For the Florida Glaze,” I add.
Her face immediately falls. “Well, that’s disappointing.”
“I know. But no man can be perfect, right?”
“I suppose, but the Glaze? In Tampa? Florida people don’t know how to play ice hockey. It’s biology.”
“Well, he is from Chicago. He grew up on the Southside.”
“Okay fine. I’ll allow it. So you guys what, just hung out all day or something?”
“Basically. We shopped and ate and got to know each other.” I try really hard to keep a dreamy look off my face. From the look of Tracy’s narrowed eyes, I’m pretty sure I fail. “He’s a really great guy. Invited me to a game when we get home.”
“You told him you’d only go if Chicago was playing, right? I’m giving him a pass on the team he gets paid to play for, but we still have to set some boundaries.”
“Sure did. But I don’t know. I don’t know if he’ll even follow through. It was a weird day, ya know? We were forced together by circumstance. That doesn’t exactly equal a love match.”
“No, but there’s no harm in seeing where it goes, right?”
“I guess. I just don’t want to get my hopes up—”
“IT’S TIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMMMMEEEEEE!” Kylie comes screaming into the room, her dad dragging at a snail’s pace behind her, effectively shutting down our conversation.
Jim glances over at me, scratching his chest, bleary eyes barely open, and nods. “Hey.”
I point across the kitchen. “Coffee’s going.”
He grunts and pads that way, settling next to the counter, hands placed solidly on top as he stares at the coffee pot, quite possibly willing it to go faster.
I turn my attention back to Tracy. “He’s still not a morning person, I see.”
“Not even a little,” my sister agrees.
Our mother, on the other hand, comes wafting in like a 1940’s movie star, complete with the fur-lined robe that flows behind her as she walks, pink slippers quieting her steps but helping her make a grand entrance.
“You made it!” She comes straight to me and kisses the top of my head. “I finally gave up waiting at about ten and left the night watch to your sister. What time did you get in?”
“A little before two.”
“In the morning!” She says it like it’s the most outrageous thing she’s ever heard. “How in the world are you awake already?”
In an example of the world’s most perfect timing, Kylie squeals again, yelling something about having so many presents. I point at my very loud niece and suddenly my mom nods in understanding.
“Ah yes. She’s a bit excited this morning. And for good reason. It’s Christmas!”
Mom glides out of the room and plops herself down next to the tree, eliciting Kylie’s help passing out the presents. I meander my way over to the couch and claim my spot, still holding my sweet nephew who I already don’t want to leave. The presents are all passed out about the same time as Jim gets his coveted caffeine allotment and then there’s no slowing down family time.
It’s fun and exciting and heartwarming. Everything I knew Christmas with my family would be.
And yet, I can’t help wondering if Becker is having the same amazing morning that I am, and wishing he was here to tell me all about it.
Chapter Nineteen
Becker
I startle awake, not sure what happened to interrupt my sleep. And then I hear it.
The sounds of a car or two honking and drivers yelling back and forth at each other to “Get outta the way!”
Nothing like a little road rage to really make Christmas feel cheerful.
I roll over and stare at the ceiling, hoping to fall back asleep, but it’s no use. Once I’m up, I’m up. And it’s only eight in the morning.
Sighing, I toss the covers off me and head toward the kitchen and hopefully a ready pot of coffee.
No such luck. The coffee maker still needs to be run, but at least there’s a note next to it from my pops. As soon as the coffee maker is started, I take the time to read it.
* * *
B-
Wasn’t sure if you’d make it in last night so I picked up a morning shift since someone got sick. Should be back by noon or so. I told them I couldn’t work tonight under any circumstances, so if you need to sleep this afternoon, that’s fine. I’ll see you at the game. Wouldn’t miss it.
Love you, kid. Merry Christmas.
Pops
* * *
I’m not as disappointed as I could be. I know my dad loves me. I also know he doesn’t make a ton of money and a Christmas shift means holiday pay. For a man who is too prideful to accept money from me, the least I can do is give him grace when he tries to make the best decision he can when my flight keeps being delayed indefinitely.
Besides, I don’t have to be at the arena until four. We can hang out for a couple hours when he gets home and I can still get a pre-game nap in.
As I wait for my morning nutrition to finish brewing, my thoughts wander back to Sloan and the day we had yesterday—riding around on the tram, the scavenger hunt for wrapping paper, the disheveled way she looked as she tried to figure out how to cram all her presents into a computer bag.
It was one of the best days of my recent life.
Grabbing my phone, I swipe it open on the off-chance Sloan texted me again. She didn’t, but that doesn’t mean I don’t take a few minutes to stare at the picture of a half-eaten cookie. And then I go to my pictures where there happens to be a selfie we took in front of a nicely decorated tree in front of the airport.
I’ve got my hat on backward and I’m making the weirdest face, like I pressed the button while I was mid-sentence. But Sloan, she looks beautiful. Her blue eyes are narrowed from how big her smile is. She’s laughing at something. Probably whatever I was saying. And there are stray hairs framing her face. No matter how many times she pulled her hair back, it just never did stay put.
I’m not even sure why we took the picture. We ran into the decorations during the art walk and there was some conversation about memorializing the longest day of our lives. I don’t even really remember. You can only stay within the same small area for a certain amount of time before things get fuzzy.
I feel pathetic for running my thumb over it more than once, but an idea starts niggling in the back of my brain.
“Only a visit from Santa himself would cement my sweet niece’s belief permanently.”
“Only a visit from Santa…”
The idea continues to percolate just like my coffee. I’m not sure how well received it’ll be but I have nothing to do, and I’m still as in love with Sloan as I was yesterday. Or in like. What the hell do I have to lose besides my dignity?
With a little more pep in my step than the lack of caffeine and sleep should allow, I quickly make my way to the storage closet in the back room. For all his messiness, my dad does a really good job of keeping this part of the house organized. Maybe my mom actually straightened it years ago and he just keeps it up. Regardless, I know exactly what I’m looking for and sure enough, almost everything I need is where I expected it to be.
“Perfect.”
I only need one more thing before I can put my plan in action, but it requires my phone which is sitting by the coffee pot.
I pull everything I’ll need to make my grand gesture out of the closet and toss it all over the back of the couch before grabbing my cell and dialing.
“Why the fuck are you calling me at nine on Christmas morning?” Tiger’s grumpy voice has the exact amount of cheer I expected.
“Well Merry Christmas to you, too, Sunshine.”
“Fuck off. What do you want?”
“Shouldn’t you be headed toward the airport?”
“Flight doesn’t leave until noon. I’ve got at least two more hours to sleep. Which is what I plan on getting back to as soon as you tell me why you’re calling me so early.”
I chuckle good naturedly. He’s going to be pissed when he finds out he’s done sleeping for the day.
“I need your help. It’s an emergency.”
Tiger pauses and for a second I wonder if he fell back asleep. “Is this about a woman?” he finally asks.
“How’d you know?”
“Fucking hell.” I hear the rustle of what sounds like sheets, probably as he throws them off his body to get up. “I’m getting real tired of everyone going bat shit over women lately.”
“Consider it banking a bunch of favors so when it’s your turn, we have to help you, too.”
Tiger snorts a laugh. “Yeah, no. Not happening. So again, I ask, what the fuck do you want?”
“Just a little favor…”
Chapter Twenty
Sloan
It took Kylie all of thirty minutes to rip open all her presents. We tried to slow her down, even tried to implement taking turns, but we finally gave up when we found her hiding behind the tree, quietly peeling tape off the wrapping paper so we wouldn’t hear her opening more gifts. She’s exactly like her mother was as a kid.
The nice thing about how fast presents were opened is it gave me time to shower off yesterday’s travels. I was so exhausted last night I didn’t bother showering before falling face first into my childhood bed. Now I feel clean and refreshed and ready to spend the day relaxing and playing with my sister’s kids. Maybe I’ll even squeeze in a small nap.
“Can I help with anything?” I ask my mom as I beeline for the coffee pot again. Between the four of us, I think this is already our third pot.
“Oh no, dear. I’m almost done.”
One of my mother’s favorite things about the holidays is cooking, and we always reap the benefits. My mouth is practically watering just looking at the freshly made cinnamon rolls she’s icing.
“How are you feeling anyway?” she asks in that motherly way of hers. “Any pain? Do you need some medicine?”
Taking a sip from my mug I carefully shake my head. “No, I’m good so far.”
“Your arms?”
“No pain.”
“Oh good. I would have thought all the stress of the delays and carrying those bags around the airport for a whole day would have made it flair up faster.”
I smile behind my mug but don’t tell her someone else was carrying my bags all day. That’ll just lead to twenty questions, and I don’t have twenty answers for her. I don’t even have one answer—whether or not I’ll ever see Becker again. I know we talked about it but that was at two a.m. Things can change after a good night’s rest.
“The delays weren’t as stressful as I thought they’d be. Maybe I’ve just trained myself to go with the flow better.”
“You are doing so much better than me,” my mother says as she bustles around the small kitchen. “I still get travel jitters. Even when we come see you over the summer and have no schedule, I get nervous I’m going to miss even one minute of our time.”
I almost laugh at how familiar that sounds. I guess I’m more like her than I thought.
The doorbell rings, interrupting our conversation. Mom and I look at each other and shrug.
“Are you expecting someone?” I ask because it’s her house after all.
“No. You think there could be carolers out this morning?”
“Do people actually carol when it’s snowing and windy? That’s some extreme Christmasing.”
“You’ve gone soft since you’ve settled in Florida, dear,” she chides, making me snort a small laugh. “Do you mind answering? I don’t want this icing to harden before it’s on these cinnamon rolls.”
“Sure.” I set my mug down and push away from the counter. “Is Tracy still getting ready for the day?”
“She went to shower just before you came out.”
Darn. I was hoping she’d get the door. I have no desire to feel that cold air. My mom’s right. I have gotten soft.
I grab a blanket off the couch and quickly throw it over my shoulders before opening the door. What greets me is not at all what I expected.
“Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!”
Kylie, who was oblivious to the world around her just a few seconds ago, too hyper-focused on some book that reads the story to her, comes shrieking toward the door. “Santa!! Santa, you came back!! Aunt Sloan, it’s Santa!” She’s tugging on the blanket and jumping up and down, all her Christmas adrenaline back in full force. She’s not the only one who’s heart is thumping wildly.
I can’t believe he’s here. I can’t believe with eight hours’ notice, Becker found a Santa suit and remembered my mom’s address so he could come back and make my niece’s dreams come true. And maybe mine, too.
Becker, er, Santa crouches down in front of Kylie. “I did come back. I heard you are a big hockey fan.”
“Yeah! The Chicago Blaze is my favorite!”
I snicker, while Santa harumphs his displeasure. If Kylie only knew exactly how entertaining this was for me.
“Well, there’s an even better team playing tonight.”
Kylie’s eyes go wide. “Really? Is it the North Pole team?”
Santa glances up at me and smirks before turning back to her. “That’s right. Since the North Pole is so far away, when Christmas is over, they have to stay closer to town, so they play with the Florida Glaze.”
“Oh, that’s rich,” I grumble with a laugh under my breath.
“Now, now, little girl,” Santa says to me. “I haven’t given you your present yet. You don’t want to get on the naughty list by dissing Santa’s team.”
“I love Santa’s team!” Kylie begins jumping again. “I love the Florida Glaze! They’re my favorite team!”
My jaw drops at how easily her loyalties are swayed. Although I guess in her defense, no one, not even the family’s favorite team, will ever come before all things Santa.
“That’s what I like to hear!” Becker slaps his thigh and draws a piece of paper out from inside his red coat, handing it to her. “This is a very special paper. It has one ticket for each of your family members to come see Santa’s team play hockey tonight. And it has a voucher for you and your brother to each get a jersey with the name of my favorite player on the back. It’ll say Bell.”
Kylie’s eyes widen again. “Like Christmas bells?”
There’s an unmistakable twinkle in Becker’s eyes. “Exactly.”
Kylie pauses for a few seconds, her brain likely trying to catch up with all the information she’s just been given. Then she lets out yet another high-pitched shriek and takes off down the hall screaming, “MOMMY! DADDY! SANTA’S TEAM IS PLAYING HOCKEY AND WE GET TO GO!”
Becker stands up and turns to me, white beard askew, likely from the wind outside.
“Well played, Bell. I’ve never seen anyone turn traitor so quickly.”
He closes the door behind us now that he can actually get inside without a four-year-old in the way. “Seemed like the best way to make her day, and mine at the same time. Question is, has it made yours?”
“It has,” I admit. “It was such a whirlwind day yesterday, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again.”
“But you wanted to, right?”
I nod shyly. The smile that lights up his face is brighter than, well than the vibrant red suit he’s wearing.
Pulling his beard down, he steps closer to me and pushes a lock of stray hair behind my ear. The graze of his finger sends an electrical charge through my whole body.
“Is this okay?” he whispers, eliciting another nod from me.
Placing his giant hand on the back of my neck, he leans down, our mouths getting closer and closer until finally we touch. His lips are plump and soft and when they move to open, I follow his lead, allowing his tongue to swipe inside my mouth. I feel a tightening in my core as he pulls me flush to his body—
“Who was at the — oh.” My mother takes this exact moment to finally take an interest in who rang her doorbell.
Becker pulls away, clearing his throat while I try not to giggle.
“Mom this is, well, Santa.”
“Grammy!” Kylie yells, because of course she’s there, too. “I saw Aunt Sloan kissing Santa Claus!”
“I did, too, dear.” The amused look on my mom’s face says she’s enjoying our embarrassment, as only a mother can.
“I guess his elf name is Becker Bell,” I explain so there’s no confusion on who he really is. “We met yesterday during our delay and spent the whole day together at the airport.”
