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Jeremiah
The only reason I answer the call that lights up my cell as I drive to Whistler is because I want to take a break from mentally berating myself for taking Jayden up on his offer. But the caller is my brother Abel, who is the last person who will get my mind off my troubles.
“Hey, gimpy!” Abel’s deep baritone fills the car through the speakers. “How’s the wing?”
“Better,” I mumble and focus on the winding road with snow-covered rock on either side.
“We both know that’s bullshit,” Abel replies then pauses. “Well, no. Maybe we both don’t know. You aren’t a doctor, but I know that’s bullshit. After just a couple weeks, with an injury like that, you’re likely still experiencing muscle tightness and weakness as well as sporadic pain.”
“So then why did you ask?” I snap and take a deep breath, holding it as long as I can before I exhale.
“Just making conversation, bro,” Abel says. He’s such a weirdo. We’ve never been close. We spent our childhoods very differently. I loved sports and video games, and being involved in school activities. Abel loved reading alone in his room and going to science camp and kissing my parents’ asses. We didn’t fight as kids, but we just kind of lived around each other. But since we’ve become adults, he acts like we’re long-lost best friends. Like we have some kind of bond that never existed. “I’m worried about you. We all are, to be honest. Especially since you bailed on Christmas.”
“I didn’t bail on Christmas,” I correct him as I slow the car on a particularly sharp turn. I’m extra careful driving with one arm. “I bailed on getting on a six-hour flight and hauling my ass to the other side of a different country, in a sling, for three short days.”
“It’s not another country, it’s your country. And you could stay longer,” Abel reminds me. “I mean why would they need you in Canada if you can’t skate around slapping at a rubber disc? Do they even celebrate Christmas in that frozen tundra?”
That’s another weird bone of contention with Abel. He hates that I live in Canada now. I smirk because he is being purposely obtuse. Every single member of my family has too high of an IQ to think Canada is the North Pole. “Yeah, I mean there’s no Santa, just a beaver with a white beard, and the elves are Canadian Geese, but it’s similar.”
He laughs, and I can’t help but smile. “Seriously Abel, why the hard-on to see me at Christmas? You know where I live. You could come visit. Or, you know, come to a game next time we play New York. I know a guy who can get you tickets.”
“Mom and Dad are kind of…”
“Pissed off at me?” I finish his sentence for him and roll my eyes. “Yeah. I know. Dad was super clear in his email. And I quote: You know you’d have two good working arms and be able to spend time with your family this holiday season if you’d stayed in school. You’d be halfway through med school by now.”
“He’s not wrong,” Abel murmurs, and before I can tell him I have to go (because I am done with the guilt shaming over my life choices) he adds, “But I was actually going to say worried.”
“What?” I say.
“Dad fell down some Google rabbit hole and read all about the long-term effects of concussions from hockey. It’s all he talked about when I had lunch with him today. And Mom said she wanted you to come home so she could get a look at your shoulder herself. You know she isn’t satisfied with any medical diagnosis unless she’s reviewed the case. Remember that time in high school I had a sore throat and the swab came back strep, but she still dragged me to her office for more blood work and a second swab because there’d been a meningitis outbreak a couple towns over?”
“The Comets have a world-class team of doctors and specialists and therapists. I’m in great hands,” I assure my brother. “And my head is fine. I know the risks of concussion, but there are risks with any sport.”
“Which is why we all think you should have stayed on track and become a doctor like the rest of us,” Abel replies. “And there’s still time. If you quit this season and went back to medical school, you would be practicing by the time you’re thirty-five. And no medical school debt because of all the cash you made skating.”
“Thanks but no thanks,” I reply tersely because I am so sick of this conversation. “This is the exact reason I’m not coming home, Abel. I don’t need to hear how disappointed you all are. Again.”
“We’re not… disappointed.”
“Shut up. You are,” I say flatly. “Not one of you has even gone to a fucking game in the four years I’ve been doing this professionally. So excuse me if I’m pulling away. Now I hope you guys have a great Christmas. I’ll call you on the day. Bye.”
I end the call and turn up my music, singing along to eighties rock to pull me out of the mood my family always puts me in. At least now I’m not regretting saying yes to Jayden’s invitation. I’m still a bit shocked he asked me to join his family.
He didn’t exactly sell it hard. His invite was “Look, I don’t like the idea of anyone spending the holidays alone. My mom is more than happy to take in a stray. Ariel likes you. So just come to Whistler with us. It will be low-key, and the food will be off the charts. My mom loves to cook. We’ll have spiked eggnog and watch shitty Christmas movies.”
Now, as I follow the signs for Whistler up the sea-to-sky highway, I wonder why I’ve never met Jayden’s mom before. I mean, officially. I saw her once, talking with him in the parking garage after a game. She’s a tiny lady, probably mid-fifties. A streak of grey in the front of her dark hair. She was pulling him into a proud hug because he’d gotten a hat trick that night. I didn’t want to interrupt the sweet moment, so I slunk away to my own car. Jealous. My parents were never proud of my hockey achievements.
I should have asked Jayden a little bit about his mom and his girlfriend because I wasn’t sure the token gifts I brought would suit their tastes. But I couldn’t go without giving them something on the big day.
I turn down the radio so I can hear my GPS better as I make my way through Whistler Village. It’s a cute but slightly ostentatious mountain town in British Columbia. It’s renowned for its world-class skiing and snowboarding but also partying if you ask some of my single teammates. I am not big on partying, even when I’m healthy, but definitely not on painkillers and muscle relaxants. The GPS politely tells me to take the next right, and I start up this winding, gravel road. The trees are thick on either side, and the road is incredibly narrow and not fully cleared of snow. It’s so weird to be around this much snow when Vancouver, just two hours away, rarely gets any. By the time the white stuff makes it down there, it’s usually turned to rain.
I like snow. It’s calming. And I need that because I’m weirdly nervous about this whole trip. And I think I’m lost. I haven’t seen a house on this road at all. I think the GPS must be drunk, and I’m about to head back down to the main road and ask someone for directions when the trees become a little more spread out and get so tall the branches start well above the roof of the car. And then I see it. An absolutely amazing stone and wood mansion.
“He calls this a fucking cabin?” I whisper to myself staring out the windshield with awe.
The house is a mix of stone, wood, and glass. Like giant freaking stones in shades of gray as the base and chimney and entire tree trunks made into logs to make the walls. The peaked roof is black metal. The part of the design with the highest peak is all window in the middle, the kind of glass that looks black and almost mirrored on the outside, so you can’t see in.
Holy fuck, I guess this is how the highest-paid athlete in the NHL lives. I am middle of the pack. I could probably squeak out a mountain house from my paycheck, but it would be less impressive. There’s a car in the drive, which is completely clear of snow despite the piles of it all around. It’s a Mercedes G-Wagon. I guess it’s his mom. He did say she would be here.
That’s my plan, to get here before Jayden and kiss up to his mom. If she likes me, he’ll like me. He doesn’t talk about his family much, but I know she raised him on her own. The bond between a single mother and son can be very tight. It looked tight when I saw them in the parking lot. So if I can woo Mama Bear, then Baby Bear —my captain — might finally warm up to me.
I get out of my car. The air is crisp and fresh with an essence of burning wood wafting through it. I see the curl of smoke above the chimney. Someone is definitely home. I decide to leave my bag and get it later and start toward this hulking castle of a ‘cabin’. As I climb the stairs to the wide, front porch I hear chopping sounds coming from behind the house. I see footprints, in the snow to the left of the porch.
I didn’t wear my snow boots, so it takes me a precarious minute to make my way around the side of the house. The last thing I need is to tip face-first into a snow bank and injure something else.
A few feet from the house, at the edge of a three-sided shed-type structure filled with wood, is a woman. A tall, lithe woman with dark, glossy hair and light brown skin and hips that make me want to reach out and grab onto them. She’s wearing black leggings, heavy-duty snow boots, not those silly Uggs most women call winter boots and a tight, white t-shirt that is clinging to her large chest and narrow rib cage. On top of that, open and blowing in the chilly breeze, is a red plaid shirt jacket. It looks like a flannel shirt, but it’s lined with white fluffy shearling-type stuff. If I was into lumberjack porn, she’d be the star.
She lifts the axe she’s holding way above her head and swings. It slices through a log like it’s butter, and as she reaches for one of the new halves of wood, she finally notices me. She lets out a sharp, short squeak.
“Hi! Sorry!” I say wondering who the hell she is. She isn’t Ariel. Jayden’s girlfriend wouldn’t be doing manual labor. Besides, I know what she looks like, and it’s not this gorgeous woman. Does he have a hot older sister? “I’m Jeremiah. Waller. I’m a frien… I’m a teammate of Jayden Diaz. I’m here to hang out with him and his family.”
Maybe she takes care of his place when he’s not here. Like a property manager or something? She drops the axe and smiles, wiping her forehead with the back of her shirt but she seems flustered to see me too. “Oh right. Of course. He mentioned you were coming today instead of tomorrow like he is.”
She starts toward me. I smile my best smile. The one that usually makes girls blush. And, bingo! She blushes. I extend my hand. “Are you staying for the holidays with the Diaz family as well?”
She nods slowly, I can tell she’s fighting the pink that blooms on her cheeks. “Yes. Of course.”
“Let me get the wood for you,” I say after we shake hands. Her grip, I note, is firm, but her skin soft and warm. “Are you cutting it to bring into the house?”
“Yeah. Supposed to get pretty cold tonight, and I prefer a fire to the central heating system,” she explains. “I’m Hannah by the way.”
“Hey Hannah,” I bend to collect the wood, but I only have one good wing. Luckily she has a basket she was loading. I finish piling it in. All but three logs fit.
“I won’t be able to carry that,” she says pointing to the overloaded basket. “We should empty it some more and make two trips.”
“I’ll carry the basket,” I say, and her big brown eyes fly to my sling. I grin and flex my good arm, thankful I left my jacket and picked an old, slightly too small white Henley.
She smiles but bites it back immediately for some reason. She simply nods and collects the remaining wood in her arms. We make our way toward the front of the house. “So…” I say casually. My eyes slide over her, quickly and I hope subtly. “Are you his… sister? Jayden’s sister?”
She almost stumbles. I drop the basket of wood, narrowly missing my foot, and grab her arm to keep her from tumbling over. A log slips from her arms. I pull her closer so it doesn’t land on her foot. Our hips bump. My blood surges through me on a wave of attraction. She lets out the hottest little gasp.
“Are you okay?” I ask softly.
“No.” She swallows.
“You’re not okay?”
“I’m not Jayden’s sister. I’m his mother.”
“No. Fucking. Way!”