Mistletoe Face Off (Chicago Blizzard Hockey #1)

Chapter 3Harrison

Chapter Three

Harrison

I watch as Holly and her cute kid walk hand in hand away from me, memories of her in high school Senior Year playing like a movie reel in my mind. She ran the paper and was politically active within the school, always pushing some agenda, always passionate about some cause or another. It shouldn't surprise me she's a journalist these days.

I throw my gaze over her as she stops to talk to one of my teammates. She was always cute back in high school, and that sure hasn't changed. But these days she's a grown woman, beautiful yet understated—not thrusting it in your face in low cut tops and short skirts the way a lot of the women I meet do.

No. She’s classy. Refined. Understated.

Pity she’s married with a kid.

If she worked out who I am she sure didn't give it away, playing along with the whole Santa thing, probably for the sake of her kid. Part of me wanted to reveal who I am so I’d get to watch her beautiful face for her reaction. But another part of me enjoyed the anonymity wearing this red suit gave me with her.

I'm often judged the moment people meet me. They see Harrison Clarke, defenseman for the Chicago Blizzard. To them, I'm quite literally a number, worn on my jersey and theirs. They see me as a hockey player and only that. Which is fine most of the time. Women love that side of me, the famous pro athlete with the fancy car and fancier home.

But the thing is, you never really know whether someone’s interested in you or the fact you're a player when you’re in the NHL.

And yeah, I hear it. It’s the same old story, what you get from people in the public eye all the time. Poor me, the famous person everyone recognizes. The last thing I want to do is have some whinge over people not liking me for me and only liking me for my income and status.

But the fact of the matter is I don’t get to meet people much without them already knowing who I am.

I haven’t laid eyes on Holly since Senior Year. Would she treat me that way? I glance over at her. She's interviewing Hunter Adams, who towers over her, her kid clutching onto her hand like it's a lifeline. It should be Holly clutching on to her kid as a lifeline really. Known on the ice as “The Enforcer,” Hunter isn't exactly an easy going, friendly guy. Pick a fight between a Blizzard team member and the opposition, and I would bet my week’s wages on the fact Hunter would be in the mix. Probably even causing the ruckus.

It's something I intend to get on top of if I get the captaincy. When I get the captaincy. I need to keep up the positive self-talk.

I can tell Holly has to work hard to get much out of the guy. But she’s trying, I’ll give her that much.

I spend the next few minutes handing out candy canes to the kids, ho-ho-ho-ing with all the belly wobbles I can muster.

“Where are your elves?” one of the kids, a boy of about five or six with tight black curls, asks.

“I left them at the North Pole, building toys for all the kids on the Nice List,” I tell him.

“I want to meet an elf,” he replies, and his sentiment is echoed by several of the kids nearby.

I land on an idea. “Do you want to meet Mrs. Claus as well?” I ask, picturing a certain journalist in a sexy Mrs. Claus outfit.

Sue me. The woman I have in mind for that costume is hot, even if she is with another guy.

“Yeah!” the kids reply in unison.

“I'll go grab her, and see if I can get you an elf, too.”

“Thanks, Santa!”

I make my way through the crowds of people, showering them all with “Merry Christmases,” over to Holly and Macy. She's still trying to get Hunter to talk, but he’s busy grunting his monosyllabic responses. Neanderthal much?

Lorcan is standing beside him now, answering most of his questions for him, and I’m not the least surprised to find he’s flirting his butt off with Holly.

It makes me want to shove him away.

But then I get that instinct with the guy most days of the week.

If Lorcan Stanbridge wins the captaincy over me? Well, let’s just say I won’t be the happiest defenseman on the ice.

Macy tugs on her mom’s sleeve, her eyes on me. “Mommy, look. Santa’s here again,” she says urgently.

Hunter lifts his chin at me in greeting.

Lorcan shakes his head, his habitual smirk plastered across his face. “Nice outfit, Santa. What are you doing here? Don’t you have some chimney to get your fat belly wedged in somewhere?” he sneers, laughing at his own joke.

Did I mention how much I like this guy?

“I’ve come to see if Macy here would like to be my elf helper?” I ask, ignoring Lorcan, instead focusing on Holly’s daughter.

Her big eyes widen. “Can I, Mommy?”

Holly looks at me. “What does being an elf helper involve exactly, Santa?”

I've got to do some quick thinking. I haven't thought this through. “Help me spread Christmas cheer among everybody here today,” I reply, happy with my non-specific response. “What do you say, Macy? Will you be Santa’s super special elf helper?”

She scrunches up her face, and I can tell she both wants to do it, but is feeling afraid, too.

A furtive glance at Holly’s left hand shows no ring—yes!—and I’m spurred on to say, “How about I get your mom to be Mrs. Claus? That way all three of us can spread the cheer.”

Nice move, Harrison. I pat myself mentally on the back.

Holly’s face is a study in surprise.

“Trust you to lay it on thick with a hot girl,” Lorcan scoffs. “You’re such a try hard, Harr?—”

Before he outs me in front of her, I jump in with my best Santa booming line. “Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas! I think I’ve found my elf helper and my Mrs. Claus!”

Lorcan pulls his lip into a sneer, shooting me a look that tells me exactly what he thinks of me.

But I couldn’t care less.

“Can we, Mommy? Can we? Please? I’ve never been an elf before,” Macy says, staring up at her mom.

Holly seems to deliberate for a moment, before she replies, “Sure thing, honey.” She looks back at me. “Do you have costumes?”

I grin at her. “I sure do.”

“I’ll need to finish up my interview first,” she replies.

“We’re done here,” Hunter says before he turns and walks away.

“Ok aaa y,” Holly says, watching him leave.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s always like that,” I explain.

She pulls her brows together. “How do you know?” she asks.

Oops.

“I’m Santa. I see everything,” I reply.

“Forget this trumped up Santa wannabe. I'll talk to you. I'll tell you anything you wanna hear, baby,” Lorcan purrs, making me want to vomit, and I'm more than satisfied to see Holly bristling.

“I think we’re done here,” she replies brightly as she switches the voice recorder app off and slips her phone into her purse.

I try not to grin.

Fail.

“Which way to the costumes?” Holly asks.

“Come with me,” I reply, and together, the three of us make our way through the hive of activity in the hall, to the small room at the back, where I got changed into my own costume.

I hold the door open for them to walk through. “You’ll find a bunch of costumes in the black bag at the back. I’ll see you out here when you’re ready.”

I close the door and am immediately swamped by kids and their parents, all telling me how good they’ve been all year and that they deserve candy canes and Christmas presents. I hand out some more candy canes, and promise that the presents are coming just as soon as my elf and Mrs. Claus emerge from the room behind me, having just flown in on a sleigh from the North Pole.

The kids lap it all up, gazing at the door in wonder.

I love that about kids. They’re so open to magic. They’re not hampered by things like rational thought and real life. To them, Santa is real, and an elf and Mrs. Claus are about to walk through that door, fresh from the North Pole.

Which, incidentally, is exactly what happens—just not the coming on a sleigh from the North Pole part.

Holly is standing in the doorway and instantly, I’m hooked. That sexy red outfit pops against her long dark hair, and the way it hugs her curves is just… wow . The fur trim adds a playful holiday vibe, and her slightly unsure smile? Man, it’s the kind of smile that makes the whole room feel warmer. The belt shows off her waist perfectly, and she’s wearing black tights with boots. She’s got this effortless, festive charm, and I can’t help but be drawn to my Mrs. Claus.

And yes, I know she’s not my Mrs. Claus, but the fantasy is pretty appealing right now.

“The dress is a little short,” she says, tugging on the fabric that hits her mid-thigh, showing off her long, shapely legs.

“I think you look amazing,” I tell her, meaning it, and am happy to see color instantly rise in her cheeks.

“Thanks,” she murmurs.

Has she got a thing for Santa… or me?

I’m not going to analyze that too closely right now.

“Doesn’t Macy look great?” she says.

I throw my eyes over her daughter. She’s in the adorable elf costume, a green dress with a full skirt, with swirling candy cane-striped tights. Her hair's still in a neat bun, and she shyly tugs at the sleeves, flashing a small, nervous smile that melts my heart.

“You look just like my favorite elf back at the North Pole,” I tell her.

She beams at me. “I do? Mommy, did you hear that?”

“I did, honey,” Holly says, wrapping her arm around Macy’s shoulders and smiling down at her. Macy beams back at her mom.

It’s such a touching mother-daughter moment, the love between these two unmistakable. It makes me want to have what they have. A connection so strong it can never be severed. A deep love for someone.

Yeah, I’m getting soppy. But as I look at the two of them, my heart tells me I need what they have, that closeness you get when you love someone wholeheartedly. When they’re your world.

I may not know the adult version of Holly, but the way she looks at her daughter tells me everything I need to know.

“What do you need us to do now we’re all costumed up?” Holly asks, bringing me back to the room.

“Christmas karaoke, can you believe?” I reply with a shrug of my shoulders. With being practically tone deaf, karaoke isn’t exactly my thing. But when you agree to be Santa at a bunch of events so you can strengthen your claim to be the next team captain, you’ve gotta roll with the punches, and today’s punch, it would seem, is Santa-led karaoke.

“Are you a good singer, Santa?” she asks, her eyes bright, her full lips lifting into a smile.

Those sure are some totally kissable lips.

“As my wife, you might remember that’s a hard no,” I reply.

“Mommy’s a good singer,” Macy says, and I’m about to agree with her, remembering Holly playing the role of Sandy in our high school production of Grease senior year, but I catch myself.

“She used to sing in a caterpillar group in college,” Macy adds.

“It’s ‘a cappella,’” Holly corrects.

“’A cappella,’” Macy repeats carefully, trying to get it right.

“Did she now? Well, in that case, I might let your mom lead everyone in the singing this afternoon,” I reply.

Macy pulls her brows together. “But you need to be the leader. You're Santa.”

“How about we agree that Mrs. Claus can lead? I'm a feminist Santa, you see,” I say, and I catch Holly’s eye. She's smiling at me, and it makes my belly do a little flip. “Plus, I’m tone deaf.”

“Sure,” she replies.

“I see you've got your family here now, Santa Claus,” Daphne says. “I hope you’re all ready to sing.”

“We sure are,” I reply. “This is Holly Coleman and her daughter, Macy,” I say.

“It's great to meet you, Holly and Macy. I'm Daphne. I’m running this event today, which is why I look so frazzled right now. But thank you both for participating this afternoon.”

“You're more than welcome,” Holly replies.

“Let's get you all set up for the karaoke, shall we?” Daphne says, and we follow her to the stage where she shows us how to use the karaoke machine.

“How did you know my last name?” Holly asks.

Dang it! I messed up again.

“I, err, overheard you talking to some of those hockey guys earlier,” I reply, hoping she'll buy it.

I'm enjoying my anonymity as Santa with her, and I'm not sure how she'll react to knowing I'm actually Harrison Clarke. It's not like we didn't get on in high school or anything. We just led different lives. She was with the artsy crowd and I was with the jocks. But I always liked her.

Actually, more than that. I admit, I had a bit of a crush on her. She always looked so confident and put together, chatting excitedly with her newspaper buddies, so passionate about what she was talking about. It seemed as though she would never deign to bother with a guy like me, despite the fact our high school had a strong hockey team that I was a part of. I always felt someone like Holly would look down on me, someone who wasn’t that great at school, and really only good at one thing: hockey.

But something tells me it's better she does not know who I am—at least for now.

Her gorgeous face creases into a smile, and I know she’s bought my little white lie.

I'm off the hook.

Soon enough, Daphne has announced that Santa Claus, Mrs. Claus, and one of the elves from the North Pole will be leading everyone in singing Christmas songs, and the first bars of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer ring out around the hall.

The words flash up on a screen in front of us and Holly immediately begins to sing, her voice crisp, clear, and resonant. I watch her in awe, while Macy has an attack of the shies, and clings onto her leg. Holly places her hand on her daughter’s head to give her reassurance as she sings each line, the crowd joining in.

I’m sure that when she got here today she had no idea she would be dressed as Mrs. Claus and singing a song to a hall filled to the brim with people. But here she is, stepping up and showing us all how amazing she is, taking everything in her stride.

“You'll go down in his-tor-y,” she sings. Turning to me she adds, “Come on, Santa. Come help us sing about Rudolph, your red-nosed reindeer.”

I take a step closer to her and the microphone, say a little prayer for the ears of the audience, and sing my first line. Predictably, my voice is flatter than a pancake on a steam roller, and I can almost feel the collective wince among the audience.

But Holly is smiling encouragingly at me, which gives me the conviction to carry on.

By the time we get to the end of the song, everyone applauds, and then the next song starts up. No rest for the wicked—or the tone deaf.

“If you lift your eyebrows while you're singing it can help your voice sound more in tune,” Holly says to me.

“Really? I never knew.”

“I bet there's not a lot of call for singing as Santa usually.”

Nor in the NHL.

The words to Frosty the Snowman appear on the screen and I do my best not to butcher each line. Holly, of course sings beautifully, Macy still wrapped around her leg, peeking out every now and then at the crowd before burying her face in her mom’s skirt once more.

As Holly sings about Frosty’s adventures, I crouch down and to say to Macy, “Do you want me to pick you up so you can sing along with your mom? I bet you've got a pretty great singing voice, too.”

She pulls her lips into a line, shaking her head.

“Are you sure?” I ask. “You don’t have to sing. I can just hold you up next to your mom. She’s doing such a great job.”

She chews on her lip for a moment before she gives a nod.

“Great choice, Macy the Elf,” I say as I sweep her up into my arms, winning the most beautiful smile from her mom.

Holly and I sing the rest of the song together, while Macy clutches onto my beard, and when the next song flashes up, Holly says into the microphone, “How about we make this one a duet between me and Santa?”

Kids squeal in delight as parents applaud, probably concerned for their ear health after my performance today.

“Are you sure about that, Mrs. Claus?” I ask.

“Sure am, Mr. Claus.”

The words to Baby, It's Cold Outside appear on the screen, and Holly leans close enough to me that I can breathe in her intoxicating floral scent. “You do every second line, got it?”

“I’ll do my best.”

Holly delivers her line, and then I bumble mine, my voice sounding more like a dull drone than anything even close to as sweet and melodic as hers. But despite my lack of talent, the crowd seems to love it, and we ham it up, play acting the lines and having fun with it. I jostle Macy in my arms, and she even lets out a giggle.

By the end of the song, the crowd enthusiastically applauds us, and I wave at everyone. “I’m much better at delivering presents than singing,” I say, and the adults laugh. “Speaking of which, who wants a Christmas present? I’ve got a bunch over by my seat, but you’ll have to line up like kids on the Nice List to get given one.”

Kids squeal and stampede over toward my chair.

“I’d love your help with this,” I say to Macy. “And yours too, Mrs. Claus.”

“You got it,” Holly says.

“I told you Mommy was a caterpillar,” Macy says into my ear, looking so proud of her mom.

We spend the next forty-five minutes or so handing out gifts to kids and wishing everyone a Merry Christmas. Finally, after I've said enough “ho ho hos” and “Merry Christmases” to last a bunch of lifetimes, Holly and I find a quiet spot to sit down and enjoy a beverage, while Macy joins some other kids in coloring pictures of Santa and his reindeer.

“Thank you so much for your help. You're the best wife I've ever had,” I say.

“Oh, really? How many wives have you had exactly?” she asks.

“Well, let's see. There's you, and, well, that's it.”

I win a smile from her, and I’m itching to ask about Macy's father, but I figure that's getting a little too personal. Even if I want to know.

She takes a sip of her soda. “I would have thought a handsome man like you would have had them lining up.”

“Not everyone likes a rotund belly and a white beard, you know.”

“I do not know why.”

We lean back on the seats and take a sip of our sodas.

“See that picture up there,” she says, gesturing at the far wall where there’s a painting of a man. “That’s Harold Washington, the first African American mayor of this city. It’s a replica of the original, which hangs in City Hall.”

“You’re into history?”

“Yes, but I’m more into art.”

“An art loving journalist.”

She laughs. “I guess I am. But as you might know, I'm here covering the Blizzard’s involvement in Christmas charity events.”

“Sounds fun.”

“It is if you like pro hockey players.”

“By your tone, I would say you don't like pro hockey players?” I ask, wondering what she has against us.

She shrugs. “They're fine.”

“Convincing.”

“I don’t know. I guess they're all a little self-interested for my liking.”

“Have you met many?”

“A few. I married one, too. Big mistake.”

So she was married and now she’s not. I try not to smile about that.

“I'm sure not all of them are the same.”

She quirks a brow. “You know a few?”

“I'm just saying not everyone is cut from the same cloth, just because they happen to play hockey for a living.”

“Maybe,” she concedes, but it’s unconvincing. “Hey, I don’t suppose you know how I could get in touch with Harrison Clarke, do you?”

I almost choke on my Coke.

“You okay there, Santa?” she asks, patting me on the back.

“Went down the wrong way,” I croak. “Why do you want to talk to Harrison Clarke?”

“My boss wants me to do a story on him. Apparently, he's got something in his past he wants me to find out about.”

Instantly, my heart begins to beat like a drum. I work hard at keeping my tone neutral when I ask, “Do you know what it is?”

“No, but I need to find out. There’s a lot riding on me getting a good story from all these Blizzard Christmas events.”

“Why?”

She lets out a heavy breath. “There's this promotion I've been after at work for a while. It’s in the National News Team, which means moving from Lifestyle to hard hitting stories.”

“Doesn't her dad help support her?” I ask, and quickly add, “I'm sorry if I'm overstepping a line here.” Because I know I am.

“No, it's fine. My ex isn't exactly winning a Father of the Year trophy this year, or any other year for that matter.” She looks over at her daughter, happily coloring away. “He's not great at turning up for things when he makes promises to her, and he's not one to part with his cash too easily, despite the fact he earns a more than decent living playing hockey.”

So that's why she doesn't like pro hockey players. Her ex.

“This promotion isn't about money for me so much as getting to do what I got into journalism for in the first place. No offense, but covering what a bunch of guys who're good at hitting pucks into nets do to raise money for charity during the holiday season isn't exactly the end goal for me.”

“Weird. Your ex. Is he in the NHL?” I ask, and I realize I'm holding my breath as I wait for her response.

“He plays for the Denver Thunderwolves these days.” She twists her mouth.

Her ex plays for our team’s arch nemesis? I wonder which one her ex is. “We beat them last night.”

“We?”

“I’m a Blizzard fan,” I reply quickly to cover my mistake.

“Of course you are. You know, I went to school with Harrison Clarke?”

I can't resist asking, “What did you think of him?”

“I didn't really know him that well. We were into different things, but he always seemed like a nice kind of guy. A lot of the jocks were pretty in your face, you know? Loud and obnoxious, full of themselves. He wasn't like that.”

I bite back a smile. “So, you liked him, huh?”

I'm fishing. Sue me.

She shifts position and gets this goofy grin on her face that makes her even more beautiful—which up to a moment ago, I didn't think was possible.

“I had a little crush on him. You know, one of those unrequited things from afar?”

She did not just say that. I feel like punching the air. Who knew Holly Coleman had a crush on me back in the day. My sixteen year old self would be doing cartwheels right about now if he knew.

I'm about to ask her to elaborate further on this crush when Daphne rushes over to us with our next task. But Holly’s admission that she had a crush on me back then keeps a smile on my face for the rest of the day.