Christmas Beau (Christmas Falls: Season 2)

Chapter 13

Chapter

Thirteen

“ W hat do you think?” Scott said. “Simple but classy, right?”

Hank paused next to him on the sidewalk and took in the boxy three-story house. Under a starry sky, the house was tastefully decorated with white Christmas lights along the roofs of its three stories, as well as around every street-facing window. A tall pine tree in the front yard was festooned with the same lights, as were the bushes lining the walkway.

“Pretty,” Hank agreed, tugging his scarf up to cover his chin to fight the cold. “But I don’t think it’s enough to win the holiday house light competition.”

“Probably not.”

It was the first day of the Holiday House Light Tour, and the streets were packed with people bundled in their warmest clothing. Reindeer pulled sleighs guided by a driver who took couples and families from sleigh stop to sleigh stop, which were identified by red-and-white striped poles. One of the drivers had even been wearing an elf costume.

It was all very festive, if cold, although watching Scott’s eyes light up with every wacky decoration—like the inflatable T-Rex family—was worth Hank’s frozen fingers and toes.

They’d started the night off at Rudolph’s pub for cocktail hour, this evening’s festival season event, which, in hindsight, hadn’t been a great choice in date locales. It had been loud and crowded, and Hank and Scott had spent more time making small talk with other attendees than with each other.

Hank had enjoyed Rudolph’s five-dollar signature cocktail, though, so it hadn’t all been a loss. The poinsettia was a mix of orange liqueur, cranberry juice, and champagne that was way more up Hank’s alley than the sugary drink Mik had thrust upon him at the Thanksgiving Single Mingle.

“How was your day?” Hank asked now that they could actually hear each other. He took Scott’s gloved hand in his as they strolled down the sidewalk.

Scott groaned. “I’m so ready for the fair to be done. Every day is the same, and the carolers sing the same twelve songs over and over and over . I really wish they’d diversify.”

Hank began humming “Good King Wenceslas,” which he’d heard more times in his five days at the fair than he had in his entire life.

“I will end you,” Scott threatened.

Chuckling, Hank kissed his cheek and veered them out of the way of an oncoming hoard of teenagers.

“How was your day?” Scott asked.

“Well, one of the nearby communities rejected my proposal to pool our resources to start an official hockey club, my U7 coach is going on last-minute maternity leave because reasons, my brother texted me an old blog post he came across that called me a waste of a spot on a hockey team’s roster that could’ve gone to a more talented player, and I somehow fucked up the chicken chewies I made last night even though I’ve been using the same recipe for years.”

Scott’s mouth hung open, and he stared at Hank with something akin to awe. “Here I thought you had everything figured out. But you’re just as messed up as the rest of us.”

He said it so guilelessly, Hank couldn’t be offended. “Isn’t everyone messed up to some degree?”

“And why would your brother send you that article? That’s just mean.”

“It’s his way of yanking my chain.”

Scott scowled as a reindeer clopped by, pulling a sleigh. “That’s not teasing if he’s the only one laughing.”

Yeah, Hank couldn’t lie. Being reminded of everything he’d failed to accomplish during his unimpressive minor league career hadn’t been welcome. He’d never been a lead goal scorer, hadn’t won any awards—and being voted “most likely to arrive on time” didn’t count, no matter what his brothers said—and he’d only played two pre-season NHL games before being sent back to the farm team.

He was better than that—he knew he was. So... why couldn’t he get there?

That unimaginative article paired with this afternoon’s failure at convincing a small nearby hockey club to join forces with him made him feel...

Stuck.

They were passing a house with a dozen mini fake Christmas trees in their yard when Scott said, “Tell me about this hockey club.”

Hank gave him the rundown, and when he finished, Scott gazed at him with wide, hopeful eyes. “That’s awesome. It means I don’t have to take Teddy into Peoria for hockey next year.”

Hank winced. “This is a multi-year project. You’ll still need to take him into the city, I’m afraid.”

“Aw.” Scott pouted for a moment, but he brushed it off quickly with a wave of his hand. “Oh well.”

Hank admired Scott’s ability to not sweat the small stuff. Hell, he admired Scott’s ability to not sweat the big stuff. Honestly—the man was jobless, yet he wasn’t freaking out about bills or gas prices or feeding Teddy or being unable to afford his mortgage payments.

Why wasn’t he freaking out about all of that?

Hank didn’t have a chance to ask—Scott swung their arms between them and said, “Speaking of hockey... do you know anything about the AAA Youth Hockey Camp?”

“Sure.”

A couple of mechanical elves on the front lawn of a house giggled creepily.

Side-eyeing them, Scott steered Hank off the sidewalk and onto the street, giving them a wide berth.

Stifling a laugh, Hank waited until they were back on the sidewalk on the house’s other side before continuing. “It’s a premiere development camp in Chicago. Attendance is by invitation only.”

Scott nudged him in the ribs. “Guess who got invited?”

It took Hank a moment—for a second, he thought Scott was talking about himself—but then it clicked. “Teddy? No shit!”

“Shit,” Scott said with a laugh. “I’m surprised you didn’t know about it. The invitation was sent through his coach. I just found the letter in Teddy’s backpack yesterday.”

Frowning, Hank thought back, trying to recall if Coach Cooley might’ve mentioned this to him and he’d forgotten. “Invitations to the camp do often go through an athlete’s coach. Coach Cooley isn’t technically required to talk to me about it unless he has concerns. He should’ve talked to you about it, though, before he extended the invitation to Teddy.” He made a mental note to talk to Cooley about that next week. There was no sense getting a kid excited about something their parent or guardian either didn’t want them participating in or couldn’t afford to have them participate in.

“I’ll admit, I was surprised to find the letter. I would’ve liked for him to talk to me about it first,” Scott said, echoing Hank’s thoughts. “Do you know if they offer financial support? I couldn’t find anything about it on their website, and the deposit is due by the end of the year to secure Teddy’s spot.”

Huh. Maybe Scott was freaking out about not having a job, but, like, low-key freaking out. Hank knew how much the AAA Youth Hockey Camp cost. It was no joke.

“I can find out for you. Actually,” Hank added, an idea forming. “I’ll trade you. I’ll find out about financial support if you’ll find out how to register a charity in the state.” Surely that was something a lawyer would be able to figure out, right?

“Oh, that’s easy.” Scott waved a hand. “You register with the Charity Bureau of the Attorney General’s Office by submitting a couple of forms as well as your articles of incorporation, your nonprofit bylaws, and your IRS exemption letter if you’ve got one. The president and chief financial officer have to sign the registration.”

Hank stared at him so hard he almost tripped on nothing. “You just happen to know that off the top of your head?”

Scott chuckled, his cheeks pink in the cold. “Uh... yeah? One of my former clients split from her husband because of clashing values. She wanted to start a charity aimed at helping new immigrants find jobs, and he thought their time would be better served sailing the coast on a party boat. She asked me to help her figure out how to incorporate and register a charity, so...” He shrugged, all so I did.

“You’re very cute when you talk about law stuff, counselor.”

Scott preened. “Damn right.”