Santa’s Pucking Hat Trick (The Forbidden Reverse Harem Collection)

16. Sawyer

16

SAWYER

T he buzz in the locker room was electric. It always was before a game. But this wasn’t just any game—it was the first game of the new season. The Skatin’ Santas were about to hit the ice, and the anticipation was almost tangible. I could feel it humming in the air, crackling with the energy of possibility and expectation.

Maybe some of it was just the fumes from a sweaty locker room full of guys getting to my head.

Regardless, the usual nerves that plagued me at the start of a new season were intensified by something else, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I’d been trying to shake it off all day, but from the moment I woke up bright and early this morning, some no-good juju clung to me, a low hum of anxiety that wouldn’t leave me alone.

The locker room was full of noise that wasn’t helping—guys taping their sticks, lacing up their skates, cracking jokes. But amid the usual chaos, I noticed something odd. Roman, who was usually the cockiest guy on the team, was fumbling with his gear like he’d never suited up before. He dropped his elbow pads twice, cursed under his breath, and even managed to knock over a water bottle, which rolled across the floor with a lazy spin.

“Tighten up, Jett,” I barked at him, and Roman at least acted like himself in one way: he flipped me off.

Wes, on the other hand, was practically glowing. The guy couldn’t stop smiling, and he had this strange, almost giddy energy about him. Wes was usually the quiet, focused type, but today he was cracking jokes and slapping everyone on the back like he’d just won the lottery.

“What the hell’s up with those two?” I muttered to Michael, who was sitting next to me, staring intently at his phone.

Michael barely glanced up, still focused on whatever was on his phone screen. “No idea. Maybe Roman got a concussion in practice and didn’t tell anyone. And Wes…” He trailed off like he forgot he’d even been speaking.

I shifted in my seat, glancing over at Michael’s phone. He was still glued to the screen, scrolling and refreshing like his life depended on it. Irritation bubbled up inside me, the unease I’d been feeling all day twisting into something sharper.

“Jesus, Mike, are you planning to play from your phone?” I snapped, a little harsher than I intended.

Michael looked up, blinking like he’d just remembered where he was. “Sorry, man. I’m just…waiting for something.”

I raised an eyebrow, trying to tamp down my annoyance. “Something more important than the first game of the season?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, actually. It’s…I ordered a ring. For Violet. I’m waiting for the shipping confirmation. It’s stupid, I know, but I just want to make sure it’s on its way.”

The irritation drained out of me, replaced by something closer to envy. Michael had a plan. He had a woman he loved, a future he was excited about. Meanwhile, I was stuck in this limbo, haunted by the past and too damn scared to think about the future.

I forced a grin, punching him lightly on the arm. “Well, make sure you get your head out of your phone and into the game, lover boy. Violet’s not gonna care about a ring if you get benched for missing a pass.”

Michael laughed, shoving his phone into his bag. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, I’m here. Let’s get out there and show these guys why they should be scared of the Santas.”

“Ah, yes. The naughty list is a terrifying notion for many.”

Michael laughed again, rolling his eyes this time.

We finished suiting up, the banter in the locker room a comforting backdrop to the mounting tension in my chest. But when I checked my own phone before heading to the ice, all that tension twisted into a brutal knot.

Alicia.

I’d only opened the social media app for a fucking second, and immediately I was greeted with my worst nightmare. My ex-wife had posted a picture—her and her new husband, smiling like they’d just won the goddamn lottery, his arms wrapped around her. There was a blurry blue-black photo in his hand. And in the caption, the words that knocked the breath out of my lungs: Baby McCall arriving this spring!

I stared at the screen, the edges of my vision blurring as the rage and pain roared to life inside me. Alicia had always been so hesitant about having kids with me. There was always some excuse, some reason why it wasn’t the right time. But now, with him, she couldn’t wait to start a family.

Clearly, kids weren’t the problem. She’d just never wanted to have a family with me .

I shoved my phone back into my bag, the knot in my chest turning into a solid block of ice. I didn’t have time to deal with this—not now. I had a game to play. A job to do. I couldn’t let her—or anything else—get into my head.

The locker room door swung open, and we filed out onto the ice, the roar of the crowd a distant hum in my ears. I barely registered the sound of the national anthem, the announcer calling our names, the bright lights of the rink. All I could think about was that picture, that fucking caption. The anxious energy that had turned to a kinetic kind of rage.

The puck dropped, and the game began. Michael was at center, Wes on defense, Roman on right wing, and me guarding the net. I tried to focus on the game, on the rhythm of the plays, on the feel of the ice beneath my skates. But it was like trying to fight through a fog. My mind kept drifting back to Alicia, to the life she was building without me.

It didn’t take long for the cracks to show. I was barely present, but Roman was off his game too, missing passes and losing pucks like he’d forgotten how to play. It wasn’t the prettiest picture, with one of our star players fumbling the game so bad. Meanwhile, Wes was playing like a man possessed, blocking shots and delivering hits with a grin that you could see from space. I wondered idly if the two of them had body-swapped in the night, but that wouldn’t have been fair to normal Wes—he was a much more clean, efficient player than whatever version of Roman this was.

Me, though—I was a mess. My reflexes were off, my focus shot. I let in a goal early on—a weak one, something I should have stopped without even thinking. The second goal came not long after, slipping past me as I hesitated for half a second too long.

“Goddamn it,” I grunted so only I could hear. I needed something, anything to get my head in the fucking game.

That was when I caught sight of her. Rachel. She was standing near the bench, watching the game with an intensity that made my pulse quicken. When our eyes met, something shifted inside me. The fog in my mind cleared just enough for me to focus on what mattered—the game, the team, the fact that I couldn’t let them down. Hell, I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of her.

The next shot came fast and hard, but I was ready this time. I dropped into a butterfly stance, my pads absorbing the impact as I blocked the puck with a satisfying thud. The crowd roared, and for a moment, the world snapped back into focus. Everything was right again. Hockey was my touchstone.

The rest of the game was a blur of motion and noise, but I found my rhythm again. We fought hard, and in the end, the Santas came out on top. The final buzzer sounded, and the rink erupted in cheers as we skated off the ice, victorious.

But even as my teammates celebrated, slapping each other on the back and whooping with joy, I couldn’t shake the hollow feeling in my chest. I caught Rachel’s eye one last time as I headed to the locker room, and I could see the concern etched on her face.

I needed to do something to shake this off, to forget about Alicia and her new life, if only for a little while. And maybe, just maybe, I had an idea of how to do that—and how to put a smile on Rachel’s face while I was at it.