Hockey Holidays Read online

  Washington, D.C.

  Kitty stood at her townhouse window, gazing at the moon and frowning. Their last conversation before he left with the team came to mind. He’d fessed up about his injury, then roared about the unfairness of it. She let him. After all, he deserved time to yell, scream, and stomp around—get it out of his system. But instead, after his initial reaction, he crumbled like stale bread.

  She’d seen Harry’s anger before. Kitty could deal with anger, outrage, fury—but not sadness, not this deflated, silent Harry who sat before her, head in his hands. Fear spiked up her spine. Harry had always been the fixer, but how could he fix this? He was broken, and she had to help him. Was she up to the task? If she loved him, she’d find a way.

  Her brows knit as she considered the solution put forth by the Huskies. Some offer—become a scout. That involved more traveling than playing on the team. And he’d be removed from hockey, always the observer, never a participant.

  Her eyes clouded, then watered. Harry on the road all the time would finish them. Grabbing a tissue, she dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. There had to be something else that could bring them together. She sighed and returned to the bedroom to finish packing. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and Christmas spirit had flown the coop.

  “Merry Christmas, Harry, you’re fired. Out with the trash. Yeah, we needed you defending our goal, but now that you’re slower than a camel, you’re gone,” she muttered to herself, her tone bitter. “Oh, by the way, we’ll throw an old dog like you a bone. Scout for us, for one-tenth of what you were making before. And one hundred percent more travel.”

  She slammed the top down on her suitcase and typed “National Airport” in on her Uber app and headed for the front door. Slipping on the mink coat Harry gave her for their third Christmas, she trudged down the stairs of their townhouse to the foyer.

  Lying on the floor was the mail. She stooped to pick it up. An envelope with her name on it accompanied an assortment of Christmas cards. She checked the return address.

  “Hmm. H. Cohen, Attorney-at-Law. Probably just junk mail. Guy looking to do a will or something,” she said. The honking of a horn drew her attention. No time to throw that letter out, so she stuffed it in her purse and rushed outside to the Uber cab waiting by the sidewalk.

  The airport was stuffed to overflowing. Kitty chided herself for flying when she could have taken a train.

  “Trains are crowded during the holidays, too. People sneeze in your face. And it takes fuckin’ forever,” Harry had said. “Fly. Go first class.”

  “It’s a waste of money on such a short flight.”

  “I don’t care. It’s Christmas. I want you to arrive happy.”

  “I’ll be spending it with you. Why wouldn’t I be happy?” she’d asked, snaking her arms around his middle.

  He’d kissed her. “First class, Kit.”

  “Okay.”

  Silently, she thanked him. He’d been right. Harry looked out for her 24/7. He took care of her with the same zeal that he defended the Husky net—all in.

  Once she’d squeezed through the line of bodies waiting to board their flights, she sank into a roomy, comfortable seat and sipped champagne. Staring out the window at the lights of D.C., her mind turned to Christmas. Every year, her family and their friends dropped in for a catered Christmas Eve buffet at their spacious home in West Hartford.

  Christmas Day, her favorite day of the year, belonged to Kitty and Harry alone, since he only had three days off. She loved Christmas Day. They’d start off by making love, then have a leisurely breakfast that stretched into lunch. They’d open their gifts, watch movies, then make love again. Kitty’d patch together a meal using leftovers from the night before.

  But this year? How would they get through it? Emotion welled up inside her. She fished in her bag for a tissue. There was that stupid letter.

  “Miss, can you toss this for me, please?”

  The stewardess took the envelope. She looked it over. “Are you sure. It looks like a personal letter.”

  Kitty took it back and studied it. The woman had been correct, it didn’t have any of the usual stuff of direct mail on the envelope. Hmm, a lawyer letter, just what she needed. Downing the last of her drink, she ripped open the envelope and read the contents.

  Harry got in his car at the arena and drove to his home in West Hartford. They lived in a beautiful house, roomy, and decorated with taste and class by Kitty. Harry spent most of his days in the great room. With two sectional sofas, a huge stone fireplace, giant plasma television, and long dining table, it served all his needs, except sleeping.

  The entire trip home, Harry focused on the Husky’s offer of a scouting job. It wouldn’t pay much, not in comparison to his multi-million-dollar contract as a top defenseman. He’d be on the road at least nine months of the year. With the divorce in the works, maybe the scouting job would work. He’d travel too much to keep their marriage together. Hell, it would be a good excuse to give Kitty her freedom. Sure beat admitting he’d failed as a husband.

  Harry had asked Timmons for time to consider the offer. He’d take the buyout and split it with Kitty. Then she’d have the financial support she needed to take the gallery to the next level. Kitty amazed him with her willingness to work hard and find a way to make an art gallery profitable enough to keep going. The last thing she needed was a has-been like him, tagging along, dragging her down.

  Alice, their housekeeper, had seen to it the snow on the front walk had been cleared. Harry put his key in the lock and entered. The scent of fresh pine greeted him. He put down his bag, ambled over to the bar and poured a Chivas on the rocks. Then he flipped on a Christmas CD Kitty had made with their favorite songs.

  His housekeeper had put up the two wreaths Kitty had sent, and the Christmas tree stood in a place of honor, waiting to be decorated. He sighed. This year, he’d have all the time in the world to dress the tree.

  A fire had been laid. He lit a piece of newspaper and held it up the chimney to create a draft, then shoved it under the logs. He toed off his shoes and sat down on the sofa, watching the fire. The crackle of the dry wood added to the atmosphere. Climbing the stairs to the bedroom, he rummaged through his drawer until his fingers found Kitty’s Christmas gifts. He padded downstairs and put the two small boxes under the tree.

  Reaching under the sofa, he pulled out a large one. Inside was the down comforter she’d coveted at the specialty shop in town. He placed that next to the more expensive gifts. Harry made his way around the room, remembering where he’d stashed each present he’d accumulated during the year. There was the coffee table book with huge color pictures of the work of her favorite artists. And the purse she’d admired but refused to buy because it was too expensive. Playing Santa Claus to his wife suited Harry.

  Once he had all the loot assembled, he poured another drink and hummed along with Silver Bells, sung by Nat King Cole. Christmas was set. All he needed was Kitty. He stood by the picture window and watched a soft snowfall. Flakes drifted down, taking their time as if waiting for the perfect spot to land. They coated dark, bare tree limbs on one side, shading them, giving them depth. Stars twinkled like tiny Christmas lights in the sky.

  The crunch of tires on the packed snow in the driveway grabbed his attention. He pulled the curtain aside. A limousine parked by the front door. The driver opened the trunk and deposited Kitty’s bags by the front stoop. She tipped him, unnecessary because a tip was included, and he doffed his cap.

  Swathed in mink up to her chin, his stunning wife marched up the steps, bags in hand. Harry opened the door.

  “Kitty! Baby! Merry Christmas!” he said, opening his arms and mustering all the holiday cheer he could.

  She stepped closer and slapped him across the face. “Don’t you Merry Christmas me!”

  Chapter Three

  Harry retreated a step. “What the hell?”

  “Exactly! What the hell is this?” she asked, waving a folded piece of paper in front of his face.