Hockey Holidays Read online

  Shane swallowed back the rest of his excuse and slowly nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

  He followed her into the dining room, holding his arms out as Mrs. Hunter filled them with colorfully wrapped gifts. He shifted, his gaze focused on the subdued colors of the landscapes decorating the far wall.

  "I—I should probably leave after carrying these in."

  Mrs. Hunter hesitated, one slim hand cradling the final package before adding it to the large pile in his arms. "Nonsense. You'll miss the gift exchange."

  "I don't think anyone is going to care. I have a feeling I've already worn out my welcome."

  "Really?" She tilted her head back and watched him, her hazel green eyes seeing too much. She finally shook her head and released a quiet sigh. "You've been paying too much attention to Wyatt and his glares. Don't."

  "It's kind of hard not to. Not when I'm the reason for them being there in the first place. Not when I'm the reason..." His voice drifted off and he looked away, no longer able to face the woman who had been like a second mother to him.

  She sighed again and placed a hand on his arm, her touch featherlight but still warm and comforting. "Shane, that was a long time ago. And it was an accident."

  "Doesn't change what happened. What I did."

  "No, it doesn't. But it's time to move on. To put the past in the past, where it belongs." She moved her hand and stepped back, her serious gaze still holding his. "When Chloe first told me she wanted to invite you tonight, I almost said no. Not because I didn't want you here, but because I was worried about Wyatt. I still am. But it's time you both came to terms with what happened. Time for both of you to settle this, once and for all."

  "Mrs. Hunter, I don't—"

  "Listen to you. Mrs. Hunter. I remember when you used to call me Mom. Or have you forgotten that?"

  "No." Shane swallowed, cleared his throat and shook his head. "No, I haven't forgotten. But that was a long time ago. Things have changed."

  "Then maybe it's time to change them back, don't you think?" She gave him a steely look, one he didn't understand, then led the way from the dining room, leaving him no choice but to follow.

  Chloe rushed to his side, helped him arrange the gifts in the middle of the floor as Mrs. Hunter explained the rules. Not that anyone needed them explained—this game had been played for years, ever since the first Christmas party he had been invited to, that first year he had moved here to live with his aunt and uncle.

  "We'll roll the dice to see who goes first. Highest roll to the lowest." Mrs. Hunter moved to an end table and rummaged through the drawer, pulling out a pair of dice. "Whoever goes first picks a present from the pile. Whoever is next can either pick a new present, or steal one that's already been opened."

  Mrs. Marilyn sat up a little straighter, her mouth pursed in sudden disapproval. "Steal? That's not very nice, now is it?"

  "It's just a game, Mrs. Marilyn. We're not really stealing," Chloe explained.

  "Oh. I guess that's alright then."

  "And remember, a gift can only be stolen three times. After the third time, it's safe." Mrs. Hunter passed the dice to her husband then stood back as he rolled them across the scarred surface of the coffee table. The white cubes were passed around the room, everyone taking their turn until Mrs. Hunter was the last one. She frowned, gave them a quick shake, then tossed them on the table.

  "Does everyone remember what they rolled? Because I lost track."

  Chloe retrieved the dice and held them in her hand. "Mom, why don't you just start and we can go around the room that way?"

  "I guess that will work." Mrs. Hunter smiled then stepped toward the pile of gifts, studying them for a long minute before picking one. The game continued, taking longer than Shane expected because of the bantering and stealing back and forth. Then it was Wyatt's turn. He placed one hand against the arm of the chair and stood, his left leg sticking out at an awkward angle. He leaned down and adjusted the prosthesis then looked up, their gazes colliding.

  The breath froze in Shane's lungs. Guilt ripped through him, followed by remorse. He wanted to look away—needed to look away. But he couldn't, any more than he could draw breath into his struggling lungs. This was his fault. All of it. There was nobody to blame but himself.

  And the expression in Wyatt's eyes reassured him of that, let him know that he held Shane responsible for what had happened, what he'd become. Just as much as it let him know there would never be forgiveness.

  Then Wyatt looked away, breaking the awful tension that had gripped him. The guilt was still there, though. It always was.

  "Let's see what Mr. Hotshot Hockey player brought." Wyatt reached out, his hand closing over the hastily-wrapped gift. Shane wanted to lunge for the present, to rip it from Wyatt's hands before he could open it. But he was frozen, helpless to move, helpless to do anything but stare in mortification as his former friend tore the bright paper and tossed it to the floor.

  Silence settled over the room as Wyatt held the hooded sweatshirt in front of him. An eagle was emblazoned across the front, its wings spread, a pair of hockey sticks crossed behind it. The words "Baltimore Banners" circled the ferocious eagle in bold red, the letters outlined in bright blue.

  Wyatt's hands fisted in the heavy material. His shoulders hunched around his ears, his chest heaving with angry breaths. Nobody said anything for a long minute, not until Wyatt finally looked over and laughed. The sound was sharp, bitter, full of angry resentment.

  "I guess this is the only way I'll ever wear a Banners' sweater, huh?" Wyatt's furious gaze met his for a brief second. He balled the sweatshirt in his hands and threw it on top of the remaining presents then turned, hobbling from the room with his awkward, straight-legged gait.

  Chapter Four

  "Wyatt!" Chloe called for her brother, his name echoing as her mother did the same. She pushed up from the sofa, motioning for her mom to stay where she was. This was Chloe's fault, she needed to be the one to take care of it. To fix it.

  She hurried from the room, ignoring the stricken look on Shane's face. She couldn't do anything about that, not now. Not when she needed to make things right with her brother.

  She pushed through the swinging doors leading to the large country kitchen, skidded to a halt when she saw Wyatt leaning against the granite counter. In one hand was a large glass; in the other, a bottle of bourbon. He raised one brow in her direction, silently daring her to say something as he filled the glass. He raised it toward her in a mock salute then tossed the contents down in one swallow and refilled it.

  "I thought you weren't drinking anymore."

  "Really? No idea why you thought that."

  "Because that's what you told me."

  "Imagine that. Guess I lied."

  Chloe folded her arms in front of her and frowned as he tossed the contents of the second glass back. Anger went through her, followed by frustration and pity. She pushed all three emotions away, knowing she couldn't afford to let Wyatt see any of them.

  Too late.

  She should have known better, should have known he didn't have to see her face to know what she was thinking or feeling. They were twins, so attuned to the other, they didn't need words. At least, not until recently. Not until Wyatt had started sliding back into the deep hole it had taken him years to crawl out of.

  "I don't need your pity, little sis, so just stop."

  "No? Then what do you need?”

  "Nothing." He tilted the bottle over the glass once more, hesitated then lowered it without pouring. "I don't need a damn thing."

  Her anger melted away, replaced by concern. She took a step toward him then released the breath she'd been holding when he waved her away. "Wyatt, talk to me. Tell me what's going on."

  "There's nothing going on."

  "There is. I can feel it."

  "Yeah?" He turned toward her, a smirk twisting his features. "Then why do you need me to answer, if you already know?"

  "Because I don't know. I only know you're hurting. That