The Christmas You Crash (Going Rogue #2)

Chapter 2

two

RYDER

This is not how I planned to spend the week.

My wipers drag across the windshield of my sports car with a groan, smearing melting snowflakes and not helping all that much. I should be out with my teammates, having a beer, enjoying the post-game high, and preparing for our next match. But I’m not. I’m in my car in steadily worsening weather because I’m being punished. Like a kid in need of a timeout.

I almost started a fistfight in a bar last night. So what? I’m a hockey player. Fights come with the territory. Granted, we’re only supposed to brawl on the ice, but Chase had it coming. He knew what he was doing when he showed up at Chasers. That’s our home turf, and he had to stroll in with his dick swinging, chirping bullshit. What did he think was going to happen?

A growl rips itself from my throat. Goddamn Chase Bowen. I can’t believe I considered him one of my closest friends back in college. There was a time when we were like brothers. I’ve never understood why he turned on me.

Not that it matters anymore.

Three weeks. I’m out for at least three weeks while this massive gash in my palm heals. I can’t even fight them on it. It’s my dominant hand and, according to my doctors, if I don’t let it heal all the way and injure it again, not only could my hockey career be in jeopardy, but I could lose the full use of my hand. That would mean I could have trouble writing, driving, zipping up my pants. Hell, even eating a bowl of cereal.

Nope. Not going to risk it.

But damn. What am I supposed to do for a week, isolated from everyone I know? Normally, I’d say, at least I can spend some time jerking off, but I can’t even do that . I tried with my left hand the other night and it was not the same.

I wonder if this place will have any bars or a few good restaurants? I didn’t exactly research my destination, but every town has to have some kind of nightlife, right? If I can’t play with my team, at least I can surround myself with cheering strangers and watch from afar.

The leather of my gloves creaks against the steering wheel.

“Take a deep breath, Ryder. This isn’t the end of the world.”

Except, it feels like it could be. The team is on a roll so far this year. And my game has been on fire.

This is my first season playing professional hockey, and while I didn’t get as much time on the ice as I would have liked at the start of the season, things have changed in the last month. Coach bumped me up from a third string defensive pair to a second, which is huge. I won’t give up that momentum for anything. Even Coach banning me for a week is a good sign. It means he doesn’t want to lose me as a member of the team. If he didn’t care, or if he didn’t believe I bring value to the Rogues, he never would have tossed a set of keys at my chest and told me to get the hell out of Minneapolis while Chase and the Chicago Blizzard are still in town for a multi-game series leading up to Christmas.

So, here I am, cursing this stupid car and these garbage tires for being so shitty in the rapidly growing snow drifts blowing across the road, while I listen to Mariah Carey hit notes only a dog should be able to hear and convince myself it doesn’t matter that I’ll be spending Christmas alone. After all, it’s not like I have anyone at home who will miss me. Even though the team captain, Maddox Graves, and his girlfriend, Isla, did invite me over for dinner.

But it’s fine. This is fine. I’ve got Die Hard and a few other of my favorite holiday movies ready to go on my laptop, a bottle of expensive scotch to be savored, and several pairs of the most ridiculous Christmas-themed boxer briefs I could find. Because why not? There won’t be anyone to see me walking around with Frosty’s face on my crotch and my dick nestled in a pointed pouch that looks like his carrot nose. It’s impossible not to laugh every time I wake up with morning wood and see the carrot standing tall and proud.

I wince as the stitches on my palm rub against the thin strip of gauze beneath my leather gloves. I’m lucky I didn’t end up needing a sling or a massive bandage that would limit my mobility. Between that and Mariah’s high-pitched vocal runs blasting in the car, I’m ready to get out of this icebox, order a pizza, and veg out in front of the TV. Except, now that I’ve been driving for two hours and the snow is really sticking, I wonder if I’ll even be able to find some place willing to deliver.

Shit . Although I brought the scotch and some snacks for the road, I figured I’d go grocery shopping once I settled in. The last I heard, there was the possibility of some snow, but I’m worrying I’ve royally screwed myself over. What if I can’t get this dumb car into town?

“Always using your head, aren’t you, Ryder?” I chide myself.

I almost don’t make it up the winding drive when I arrive at my destination. There’s at least four inches of snow on the ground, and it’s coming down hard. Here’s hoping there’s a few cans of lightly expired soup here, or this will be a really miserable getaway.

My eyes lifting to take in my accommodations, I square my shoulders. I can do this. I just need to stay out of trouble for one week to show Coach I’m not a loose cannon. I need to show him he can depend on me.

At least if I’m alone and bored, there won’t be many ways for me to screw this up and lose his trust.

I grab the key out of my pocket and head inside.