“You do?”
I tug him inside, letting the door click shut behind us, and point toward the bed.
“Oh,” he says, waggling his brow. “I like the way you think.”
I burst out laughing, shaking my head. “That’s not what I was thinking.” Well, that might not be entirely true. I hand him the neatly wrapped box on the desk.
His fingers tremble a little as he rips the paper, and his eyes go wide when he sees what’s inside. An old board game—Trouble. A laugh bubbles up from deep in his throat. “My favorite.”
“I wanted to recreate your quiet Christmas morning,” I say softly, smiling. “You said you loved them.”
“I do,” he murmurs, his voice low and full of something that makes my chest flutter. “Maybe with this one, I’ll get lucky and pop a damn six.”
I nudge him playfully. “Oh, I think you might get lucky.”
He chuckles, but then his gaze drifts across the room, and a look of horror flashes in his eyes. “What the hell is he doing back here?”
I tilt my head toward the elf perched on the shelf, its tiny eyes staring at us. “Judging,” I say simply, smirking.
Penn’s laugh rumbles against my ear as he pulls me toward him, and before I know it, we’re collapsing onto the bed together, tangled limbs and laughter spilling through the room.
“How about we give him something to judge,” he murmurs against my hair, his voice low and playful, “And really secure our spot on the naughty list?”
“Now I’m the one who likes the way you think.” I snuggle closer, letting the warmth of him and the absurdity of the elf fill the room.
“Wait, I think your dad wants us to come over to watch the Grinch.”
“We don’t need to go anywhere. Not when I’ve got my own Grinch in my bed.” I wink at him. “I mean, you did deck Santa.”
He smiles back. “Twice.”
I laugh. “Maybe there’s something else you can do twice?” I tease.
“No maybe about it.”
Epilogue
Penn
* * *
The puck smacks my stick and I take off down the wing, Jaxon right there with me. He gives me a quick pass, I send it back, and for the first time, it’s not about brute force or clearing a path. It’s about rhythm. Timing. Trust.
It’s about connection.
Being part of this team. Part of the play.
The scrape of my skates cuts sharp against the ice. The cold air bites at my cheeks. The crowd’s roar vibrates through my chest like a drumbeat. Jaxon barrels toward the net, pulling the goalie with him, then threads it back to me in the slot. Instinct takes over. I wind up and snap the puck forward.
It rockets past the goalie’s outstretched glove. The goal light flashes and the alarm blares.
Goal.
The horn blasts so loud it rattles my ribs. The crowd leaps to its feet in a sea of jerseys and foam fingers, the noise crashing down like a wave. Jaxon pumps his fist, looping back and slamming his glove against mine.
“Not bad for an old enforcer,” he grins. The chirp feels more like brotherhood than anything else.
I laugh, breathless, heart pounding for reasons that have nothing to do with the win. Because when I look up into the stands, I find her.