Mistletoe Face Off (Chicago Blizzard Hockey #1)

Chapter 5Harrison

Chapter Five

Harrison

If looks could kill, I would be a dead man.

“Let me explain,” I say to Holly before I shoot Chase a look that says a seriously sarcastic, “ Thanks a lot, man.”

I was onto a good thing here. Holly had no idea who I really was, and we were getting on great. More than great. And now Chase has come along and wrecked it all with one stupid comment, and I look like a total jerk in her eyes, not having told her who I am from the get go.

Chase raises his hands in the air. “Sorry. I forgot there’s a kid here,” he replies, totally misreading the room. “This is Santa,” he tells Macy. “The real one. He came in on his sleigh from the North Pole.”

Macy shakes her head, her lips pursed. “He's not the real Santa. Santa’s in the North Pole, making toys with the elves to deliver on Christmas Eve. This is Harry.”

“R iii ght,” Chase replies, watching her uncertainly. He turns to me. “If the kid already knows, what's the big deal I called you by your name?”

I risk a look at Holly. She's got her arms crossed over her chest, and she’s tapping her foot as she glares at me.

Oh, yeah, she's mad.

Looking between me and Holly, Chase suddenly seems to find the ability to engage his brain, clocking the look on Holly’s face—and wanting nothing to do with it. “Okay then. I’ll leave you to … whatever this is,” he says as he slaps me on the back once more and turns to leave.

Time to face the music.

Holly levels me with her gaze. “ You're Harrison Clarke?”

“That's me,” I reply sheepishly. “But you can call me Harry.”

She throws her hands on her hips and glares at me some more. Despite the fact I’m 6’5” and could pick her off the ground with one hand, I could wither under that glare.

So, instead of using words as my reply, I pull the fake beard off and carefully remove the prosthetic nose before I take off my wig and run my hands through my hair.

Her gaze turns nuclear. “Why didn't you tell me? You had ample opportunity when I saw you at the Community Center last week. We even sat down and talked together, just you and me! You could easily have told me then.”

“I know, and I'm sorry about that.”

Holly glances at her daughter before leaning a little closer to me and hissing under her breath, “I opened up to you. I told you about my—” She clamps her mouth shut but I know exactly where she was going. She told me about how she’d had a crush on me back in high school, and I'm fairly certain that had she known it was me she was admitting that little fact to, she never would have mentioned a word of it. People don't usually go around telling you they had a crush on you over a decade ago.

But how do I tell her that I'm glad I know? That, at the time, way back when we were just kids, I felt it to, only the social divide between us seemed too great? That now that I see her again after all these years, I feel it again, only a grown up version of a crush. Attraction. A desire to know her better.

How do I tell her I enjoyed our time together that day at the Community Center, that despite my disguise, it felt real? That having the anonymity of being in costume meant I could share my genuine feelings, unblurred by the fact I'm in the NHL? She could see the real me, not the version I project to the world. Me, Harrison Clarke, the once hockey-mad teenager with big dreams.

“Holly, that was a long time ago. A lot of water has passed under the bridge since then.” I gesture at Macy, who’s watching us with big, bulging eyes.

“But-but you lied,” Holly states under her breath.

“You can't put that on me,” I try again, even though I know I did lie, but only by omission. “I was playing a part, that's all.”

“So was I at the time. Mrs. Claus, remember? But you didn't find me leading you down a path to admit things you didn't want to admit,” she replies, her hands still firmly attached to her hips. “I should have known. How many freakishly large, burly Santas are there out there?”

“Mommy? Why are you so angry with Harry?” Macy asks.

“Because he didn't tell us the truth,” she replies.

“I knew,” Macy says, and we both turn to look at her.

“You did?” I ask.

“Oh, yes. I knew Harry wasn't Santa the moment he started to figure skate. Santa can't figure skate. Everyone knows that, and if you didn't, you should have asked me. I would have told you.”

Can this kid get any cuter?

Holly offers Macy a weak smile. “You're so smart, honey. You're right, I should have asked you.” She lovingly places her hand against her daughter’s cheek.

The atmosphere seems to have shifted around us. Maybe Holly isn't quite as mad at me as she was?

She leads me out of earshot of her daughter and levels her gaze at me once more. “But instead I got tricked by the one man I was trying to get an interview from,” she fires.

So… still mad.

I much preferred it when she was being sweet to her daughter.

“You mean the one man you were trying to dig up some dirt on,” I reply, because that’s exactly what she was trying to do. She knows it. I know it.

See? Two can play this game.

She throws her hands out to her sides. “I'm just trying to do my job.”

“And I was just trying to do mine.”

“By dressing up as Santa? Weird, because I thought you were an NHL player. Or are you doing this Santa gig on the side to make some extra coin?”

“If I told you, you wouldn't understand.”

“Try me.”

We glare at one another and I'm vaguely aware that there are some flashing lights around us. But it could just be my blood pressure popping. This woman is impossible! So what if I concealed my identity from her. It's not like I'm a spy and I've tricked her into giving me state secrets or something. And anyway, she knows now. What's the big deal?

But it would seem there's no convincing Holly Coleman. She's called it. I was guilty by omission and I know I should probably just admit to it so we can move on. And besides, I need to placate this woman in front of my team and my bosses, not to mention the press.

“Look, Holly, you’re right. I should have come clean with you from the start,” I say, but it does nothing to soften her taut features. “Can we put it behind us? Move on?”

Coach Newton appears at Holly’s side before she has a chance to reply. “Everything okay here, Harrison?” he asks, his eyes darting nervously between the two of us.

“All good, Coach. We're just having a conversation,” I reply.

“Is that what you call this? A ‘conversation?’” Holly uses those bunny ears people use sarcastically when they want to make a point.

“Yeah. That's what I'm calling this,” I reply pleasantly.

Holly shoots me another withering look. Man, she's good at those. I wonder if her ex has completely withered to nothing from her glares over the years. Looking at her now, I would not be surprised.

“Maybe you two should take this outside? There's a lot of press here. They were taking your photo a moment ago,” Coach says. “Some were filming.”

I raise my hands in surrender. “That's fine. We're fine. Right, Holly?” I hold my breath.

She seems to think on it a moment before she finally says, “Harrison is right. We're totally fine, and I for one wish to apologize for causing any concern, Mr. Newton.”

Not to be outdone, I jump in with, “I apologize, too, Coach.”

Coach’s features lift into a relieved smile. “Look, I get it. Couples argue, but it's best not to do it in public if you can.” He leans in closer to me. “Especially when half of the couple wants to be the next team captain.”

“Oh, we're not—” I begin at the same time as Holly says, “There's no way I would date this man.”

“Thanks a lot,” I say on a surprised laugh.

She shrugs. “I'm just speaking the truth, Harrison .”

“That's not what you were saying to me at the Community Center,” I rebuff. “Crush, remember?”

She purses her lips.

“Seriously, you two,” Coach exclaims, clearly exacerbated by us.

“You got it, Coach. We're all good now,” I say. “Right, Holly?

“Right,” she grinds out as though it's some great effort on her behalf.

Man, this woman.

If she wasn't so dang infuriating I would pull her into my arms right here and now and claim her lips with mine in a sweet, sweet kiss that would show her precisely what I think of her and her indignation and fascinating allure.

Yeah, that’d show her.