I said the family lake hockey match was my favorite part of Christmas, and it is, but this is my second favorite part. Even tonight, when I’ve endured a lot of sympathetic pats on the back and words of encouragement so sugary and peppy that I swear some of my relatives should start a motivational poster company. Or print that shit on T-shirts and make millions on Etsy. But still, everyone gathered together Christmas Eve, getting tipsy on spiked egg nog and mulled wine, grazing over a dining room table full of charcuterie and appetizers, tucking away in little groups to share stories and laughs and memories of prior Christmases, while a cycle of classic holiday specials older than me and even my parents plays on the TV, that’s my second favorite part of our family holiday.
So why am I not relaxed?
We always do Christmas Eve at Grammy and Gramps’ house, which is the same modest three-bedroom seventies bungalow that my dad and uncles grew up in. Every single adult person in the family has offered to buy them something else and they refuse every time.
They have let Callie and Devin renovate the kitchen, Jessie and Jordan put on a new roof, and Luc and Rose renovate the bathrooms, but they will not actually move. You could fit this entire house inside the garage of my family home, but I actually love it. I will admit though, I don't know how they raised my dad, Uncle Jordan, Uncle Cole, and Uncle Luc in such a confined space without someone being murdered.
Now, after stuffing our faces and getting tipsy, it’s almost midnight. Gramps is asleep in his recliner, same as every year. Grams went to bed and told us all to lock up when we were done and she’d see us in the morning. Right before my dad wakes Gramps we do our usual family tradition. Tate, Grady, Theo, and I pose with an unaware, snoring gramps, making ridiculous faces, making rabbit ears up behind his head, and being idiots. We’ve done it every year since I was like ten and he first started dozing off.
Jordan and Dad chuckle as they snap the pic on their phones. “Definitely one for the Gram.”
“Uncle J don’t say stuff like that.” Theo rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t make you cool. It makes you weird.”
Uncle Jordan flips his nephew the bird and we all laugh so loud that Gramps snuffles and his eyelashes flutter. Dad leans over and gives his shoulder a shake. “Time for bed, Dad.”
"Right. Sure. Where's everyone?" His age-spotted hands grip the armrests as he starts to get to his feet.
“The girls are all on their way home already, with Luc. Jordy and I are gonna clean the kitchen before heading out,” Dad explains. “The boys are probably going to end up passed out in your extra bedrooms.”
“That’s the plan!” Theo says and throws himself down on one of the sofas.
Gramps smiles down at him sleepily. “Love you idiots.”
He turns and wanders down the hall, Uncle Jordy and Dad following him a little bit to make sure he doesn’t sway too much. Gramps had four spiked egg nogs, which is two more than his limit. When he’s closed the door to his room, both my uncle and dad head into the kitchen.
Grady scoops up the last of the mulled wine and hands me a glass before keeping the other for himself. Theo has a Bailey's over ice in his hand and Tate is drinking a spiked egg nog. He's consumed much more of it than Gramps and his aqua-green eyes are glassy. He's sitting on an ottoman near the fire watching the flames dance.
I stretch out on the couch Theo isn’t on, which leaves Gramps’ recliner for Grady. He drops into it and the springs squeak in protest. “Don’t break that thing you redheaded yeti.”
He smirks at me. “Fuck you very much.”
"I think he means Merry Christmas and may the spirit of the season fill your cup," Theo replies and lifts his glass in the air like he's cheers-ing the Christmas tree in the corner of the room.
“You’re cut off,” I mumble.
“Someone please confirm that Tenley didn’t pull my name in the family gift exchange again this year,” Tate groans, pulling his eyes from the fire. “I really can’t handle another one of her ceramic monstrosities.”
“I think she got Theo this year,” Grady tells him. “I overheard her and Harlow talking about it.”
“Fuck my life,” Theo moans.
They all keep yakking about Christmas presents and who is going to score first in the family game tomorrow. I appreciate the discussion has steered clear of my career. But their efforts to not talk about the elephant in the room have kind of made the elephant feel like he’s sitting on my chest, especially when it’s just us because our careers and the game are usually all we talk about. I’m uncomfortable.
“The jet lag getting to you yet, Tate?” Theo asks him. “You look sad or tired. I can’t tell. So it’s either jet lag or you’re a sad panda because your Silver Bay bunny didn’t come home for the holidays.”
“Neither. And don’t call her that,” Tate grumbles. “She’s not a puck bunny.”
“No. Of course not,” Grady quips. “She just fucks you, a professional hockey player, every time she sees you.”
“She falls on his dick, it’s purely accidental,” Theo adds.
“You need to stop,” Tate grumbles. “Diana is officially out of the picture. She got engaged to some British dude and is staying in London. Mallory emailed me about it last week. I think I’m more upset Mal is staying with her. She’s a good friend.”
“She’s an Echolls,” Grady grumbles.
“Fuck off with that. She moved to England to get away from her family,” Tate counters. “Now change the subject before I bolt.”
“Well if we can’t pick on you, and we can’t pick on Con what the hell are we supposed to do?” Theo asks and then his brown eyes flare and he realizes his mistake.
"Why can't you pick on me?" I ask, raising both my eyebrows and letting my eyes scan the room. Grady is looking at Theo. Theo is looking at Tate. Tate is looking at Grady. No one is looking at me. "Fucking hell. Dad! What did you say to them?"
My dad’s head appears in the entryway to the kitchen. “Me? What? Huh?”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I mutter and start to stand up. “Telling everyone not to pick on me isn’t helping Dad. It makes it weirder.”
“Well, I don’t know what will help,” he replies and the angst in his voice is another new thing, like the disappointment. Fucking great.
“Con, we don’t know how to act. Not because of what’s happening with your career, but because of how you’re reacting to it,” Uncle Jordan tells me as he, too, pops his head out of the entrance to the kitchen. He’s holding a dish towel and wiping a wine glass. “You’ve never been so down.”
“Do you blame me?” I ask like I’ve just been attacked but I know, deep down, that’s not what my uncle is doing.
Theo, always the one to try and broker peace in the family, which I think he gets from his mom, my aunt Rose, sits straighter on the sofa. “Con, stop fighting with them so they can go back to cleaning the kitchen before they realize they forgot to ask us to help.”
“Now that you bring it up…” Uncle Jordan starts.
"Nope! We're busy picking on Con because he doesn't want this to be weird" Tate tells his dad, standing up and walking over to me. "So, Con, time to tell me when you started hooking up with Mac Larue."
“Oh god,” I moan, and Tate cups my shoulder and pushes me sideways so he can sit on the couch too.
“Dude, older woman. Nice score there,” Theo says. “I had no idea Mac was even on your radar. Or that anyone was. You’re a monk for hockey.”
“I’m not a monk, Theo,” I grumble as I sip my wine, which has cooled off almost too much. “I’ve had a few girlfriends in Brooklyn.”
“Oh really? Well none of them were brought to Silver Bay so none of them were serious,” Tate announces, because that is actually the standard for significant others in our family. If you bring them home to the madness, then they’re special.
“And I’m not dating Mac,” I explain as I sink into the comfy couch cushions, the wine finally loosening the knot between my shoulder blades. It only took six glasses. “I needed a place to crash and had no idea she was living in the apartment above the barn.”
“Do you ever look at the group chat?” Theo asks me, his big dark eyes wide with amazement. “Ten explained how Mac had been screwed over by Beckett and needed a place to live and she offered the barn apartment, like, months ago.”
“You people yammer so much on that thing I have it on mute,” I admit.
“I thought you learned your lesson about muting us when you showed up at the church the day of Harlow’s wedding,” Theo says, getting up and heading over to the bar in the corner to pull out another beer, even though I cut him off earlier. I know Dad and Uncle J won’t want him having a fourth. He’s not legal and we look the other way on holidays but there are limits. I don’t say anything though, because he won’t listen anyway. “If you hadn’t muted the group, you would have known she pulled a runaway bride thing.”
Right. That was a good time. Being the only Garrison to show up to a church full of the groom’s family five minutes after they found out Harlow had backed out. Zero stars. Do not recommend.
“Yeah well, you guys literally ramble on at all hours about garbage,” I say, twisting the cap off the beer. “Last time I looked at the chat, your dad was asking for step-by-step instructions on how to hook up his new modem. And Shelby was ranting on about something to do with seafood killing us all.”
"She watched a doc on how the fishing industry is destroying the ocean," Theo clarifies. "And my dad is absolutely useless with technology. Harlow ended up going over and fixing it for him. Also, both those threads were from, like, seven months ago."
"You must have terrified the hell out of Mac just walking into her place without warning," Tate says, tipping his head back into the cushions and closing his eyes. I reach over and take the half-empty glass from his hand so that if he dozes off, he doesn't spill it.
"Yeah well, it was worse for me than her, I think," I say, placing his mug on a coaster on the coffee table. It's a coaster with a Barons logo on it, hand-carved out of wood. Gramps made them himself with all the logos of all the teams we play or played for. It feels good covering this one. I might throw it into the fire later. “I was naked when she got home.”
The three musketeers all burst out laughing after the appropriate amount of stunned silence. Grady is the first to recover, and after a snort, he says, “Holy shit. So is that why she decided to date you? She got a look at the goods and decided, not bad, so why not?”
"I mean he's got to look better than Beckett naked, right?" Tate muses out loud like I'm not in the room. "That jackass is scrawny and probably a selfish lover."
“I do not want to think about Beckett in bed,” I announce firmly and take a long pull of the beer. “Or Mac in bed with him.”
The thought gets me really riled up for some reason. Must be the booze. Theo walks through the living room, dropping his beer on a side table before sitting on top of Grady on Gramps’ recliner. There’s the obligatory wrestling match that ends with a loud thump as Theo’s ass hits the floor and Grady, too drunk to keep his balance, slips out of the chair and jostles the end table.
“Boys!” Uncle Jordan hisses, poking his head out of the kitchen again. “If you wake up your grandparents, I will cut a hole in the lake and throw you all in it.”
We all grumble some sorries. Uncle J disappears again.
“How about Mac in bed with you? Can we discuss that? Was it a good time? Was it a one-night stand? Because Shelby says that the whole hospital is buzzing about how you and Mac have been an actual thing for a while. Beckett’s girlfriend is telling everyone, acting like he’s the victim now because Mackenzie cheated on Beckett with you.”
I almost choke on my beer. “The hospital is talking about it?”
I give in and pull my cell out of the back pocket of my pants. I find our WhatsApp family chat, which I’ve named Welcome to the Hellmouth, and start to scan the latest messages.
I pause to look over at Tate and glare. He tries to look innocent. “Is there an issue?”
“Fuck you, cuz,” I snark and he grins because he knows exactly what I’m referring to. I go back to reading my entire extended family gossip about my life.
"Oh Shelby, I wish you'd shut up," I mutter and take a bigger-than-normal gulp of my drink.
Theo starts to pull himself off the carpet. His nearly jet-black hair, which he's growing out and is a complete mess, somehow looks slightly less askew than it has all night. Grady's hair is equally askew but not because he's in that awkward phase while trying to grow it long like Theo.
Grady has always had questionable hairstyle choices. At the moment it’s kind of long and he fills it with product and makes it high and wavy. Earlier tonight Harlow aptly and hilariously told him he looked like he’s just been fucked… by a tornado. “My sister isn’t normally a gossip so this is a big deal.”
“It’s not a big deal. I pretended to be Mac’s boyfriend because Beckett showed up at her place and she was kind of distraught about it,” I explain as Theo crosses the living room to get himself another beer. “She got really crushed by the asshole and I thought it would give her some confidence if she could show him she’s moved on to bigger and better.”
As soon as the words came out of my mouth I knew I was in trouble. Tate starts to belly laugh. Grady gives me the deepest ‘get over yourself’ stare and mutters, “Egomaniac.”
The good thing about this family is they will always keep your ego in check.
“Wait… I thought you said she saw you naked?” Theo muses with pinched eyebrows like he’s really confused and not just being a sarcastic jack-off. “Pretty sure she knows that bigger statement is a lie.”
“Fuck you!” I bark but I’m laughing.
My dad and Uncle Jordan emerge from the kitchen. “We’re heading home. You losers sticking around?”
"Dad, you're not supposed to call your only son a loser," Tate reprimands him with a look of mock sadness like he's taken it personally. "My poor self-esteem might crumble."
"You'd have to actually listen to me when I speak to have anything I say affect you," Jordan counters and both he and my dad high-five each other over the burn, which instantly makes it less burn-y.
“I think we’ll stick around for one more,” Theo announces, and Dad immediately walks over and plucks his mostly empty drink out of his hands.
"Nope," Dad says simply. "But you all are welcome to stick around, crash in our old bedrooms, and wake up to the smell of cinnamon waffles like we did as kids."
“Sold!” Grady announces too loudly and we all shush him.
“Do not wake them up,” Dad says, pointing at each of us so we know he means business before he walks toward the front hall. “See you kids in the morning.”
We all wave goodbye. Jordan stops after he puts on his coat and catches my eye. "Mac Larue huh? You know her dad might be older than both me and your dad, but he can, and will, kick your ass. Just a friendly warning."
Everyone snickers. “Nothing is happening.”
Unfortunately.
The adults leave and we let Theo have a beer and then raid the remnants of the charcuterie board Dad and Uncle J just finished wrapping and storing in the fridge. At about two-thirty in the morning, Grady is reclined in Gramps' chair, snoring away. Tate is passed out on a couch. Theo and I walk down the hall toward the bedrooms that used to belong to our parents. I hold his shoulders, walking behind him to keep him from weaving too badly. I deposit him in the first bedroom and he immediately nose dives onto the bottom bunk. I make sure he's in the recovery position in case he pukes, which I doubt will happen but… better safe than sorry.
“Con-Con?” Theo murmurs barely audible. He hasn’t called me Con-Con since he was, maybe ten.
“Yeah, T?”
“Brooklyn is no longer my number one hope for the draft,” he slurs, half his mouth unmoving because it’s crushed into the pillow. “If they draft me, I won’t sign.”
Awe. Theo doesn't get to control what team drafts him, no player does, but we all have hopes. I honestly didn't know the Barons was his. "Don't do that, T. Sign with whoever wants you. It's okay."
“I just wanted to play for them because you were there,” he whispers.
“Fuck, kid,” I whisper to myself because he’s clearly passed out now. That was a drunken punch to the feels I wasn’t expecting.
I close the door and walk into the bedroom next door. My dad shared it with Jordan for about a decade until he moved into a room in the basement and Uncle Luc moved in with Jordan. I drop onto the bed left of the window, strip down to my undies, and pull back the covers. My phone is almost dead and I don’t have a cable because I didn’t know I’d be staying. I open up my contacts and stare at Mac’s name. And then I hit record and leave her a voice message.
"I just wanted to say Merry Christmas. And let you know if we hadn't been interrupted the other day, I was going to give you the fuck of your life." I pause and think about how good she felt wrapped around my torso and all the things I would have done to her if we'd made it to her bedroom. My free hand slips under the covers and rubs my growing cock. "But I heard you tell Ten you didn't want me. So I guess you got what you wanted for Christmas, which is not getting the fuck of your life. From me. But, Mac, princess, you missed out because damn, it would have been the absolute most earth-shattering time you've ever had."
Well, even my drunken brain can hear how obscenely bold that sounds. I swallow and sigh and close my eyes. “Seriously, though, I wouldn’t want you to regret anything. Regret me, so I am glad we got interrupted, for your sake. But can you please stop bringing your A-game? Because you kiss like you want me even though you said you didn’t. It’s confusing. Also confusing is the fact that your smile makes me forget my life is circling the drain. So anyway I’m gonna think of you tonight and do very bad things to myself. Ho. Ho. Ho, princess.”
I hit end and pass out to the sound of my cousin banging on the door and calling me every name in the book for sticking him with the couch.