The Christmas You Crash (Going Rogue #2)

Chapter 6

six

LEXI

I’m alone again, which is a relief. Ryder seemed nice—and he’s certainly pleasant to look at—but that doesn’t mean I’d want to spend a week with him. Back to my regularly scheduled program of romance novels, chick flicks, serial killer documentaries, and blissful solitude.

And bougie grilled cheese. Because I’m stupidly hungry, now.

I watch the snow fall through the windows as I chop onions. Hopefully, Ryder will make it safely to whatever hotel he’s found. If I were nicer, I would have offered to let him stay because I’m sure the roads are treacherous. But I’m not. Especially when it comes to hockey players.

The scent of butter melting in the pan distracts me from thoughts of Ryder, and my stomach growls when I drop the onions in with a sizzle. Cooking is relaxing for me. I’m no chef, but I love trying new recipes and changing up classics to make them more interesting. Like grilled cheese. It’s so good, even in its most basic form. But add some fixings, and it becomes something elevated and unexpected.

And maybe that’s why I love tinkering with old staples. Because if you tell someone you’re serving grilled cheese, they’ve got this image in their head of what it will look and taste like. Then you slide a gooey sandwich packed with surprises on their plate, and the moment they take their first bite, you see the realization that they’ve underestimated the meal, and by extension, you.

I’m in the middle of spreading a generous amount of mayonnaise on the first slice of sourdough—mayo helps the bread get extra crispy—when there’s a knock on the front door.

“You imagined it,” I tell myself as I reach for the second piece of bread. Except, there’s more knocking, and I can’t lie to myself twice. Crap. Crap . There’s only one person it could be, and I have a sinking feeling I celebrated the return of my solitude entirely too soon.

Sure enough, a bedraggled-looking Ryder stands at the door, shivering. The bottom of his sweats are drenched, and snow clings to his legs and ass. Concern momentarily overshadows my annoyance.

“Oh my god, are you okay? What happened?” I move aside and wave him in. Maybe I should have started a fire before I began cooking. It looks like he could have used it.

“S-sorry,” he says, his teeth chattering. “My car slid into the d-ditch, and I fell on my ass a few t-times trying to get myself out of it. I’m going to call a tow, but I need to change out of my wet clothes. If that’s okay.”

“Of course, it is. I think there’s still some hot cocoa left. I’ll warm it back up while you change.”

“T-thanks, Lexi.” Ryder flashes me a grateful smile before toeing off his sneakers and heading down the hall.

Guess I’m making two sandwiches. I can’t eat in front of him while he waits for a tow truck. I turn the burner beneath the hot chocolate back on before setting to work spreading mayonnaise over two more pieces of bread. I’m assembling the sandwiches when Ryder pads back into the kitchen.

“Hot cocoa should be ready in a minute,” I tell him as I spread bacon jam generously across the inside of two pieces of bread. Then I portion out the grilled onions atop the waiting bottom halves of the sandwiches and start the stove. “You hungry?”

“I’m a hockey player. I’m always hungry.”

Having grown up around hockey players, I know all too well how much food those guys can put away. I should probably make him two sandwiches, but the pan won’t fit three, so for now, we’ll each start with one. It’ll have to be good enough.

“What are you making?” he asks hesitantly as I pour some pre-made tomato bisque into a saucepan and turn on the heat.

“Bougie grilled cheese and tomato soup. It’s one of my favorite things to make when it’s cold and snowy out.”

He chuckles. “Bougie grilled cheese? What, exactly, makes it bougie?”

“You’ll see,” I say.

“You didn’t have to make any for me, you know.” Ryder shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He’s got his chin tucked close to his chest, and he doesn’t meet my eyes right away.

“It’s really no big deal,” I tell him. And it’s not. However, I appreciate that he doesn’t just assume I’ll cater to him now that he’s here. There are plenty of pro athletes that would have expected me to roll out the red carpet in this situation. At least he doesn’t seem like one of them.

“Well, thanks.” He gifts me a blinding smile when he finally meets my gaze. “I’m going to see if I can get someone out here to drag my car out of the ditch.” He wanders into the living room in a new pair of sweatpants and hoodie, with his phone in his hands. He taps away on it for a minute before lifting it to his ear.

“Hey, I was hoping you had a driver available tonight. My car doesn’t do too well in the snow, and I kinda ended up in a ditch after leaving a friend’s house. I don’t think there’s any damage or anything, so we should be able to just tow it to a hotel nearby.” Ryder listens to the person on the other end of the line, his face quickly pulling into a frown. “Are you sure? Don’t your trucks have all-wheel drive and stuff? I really need to get to a hotel tonight.”

My stomach sinks as he goes silent again. He’s pacing, now, and his jaw ticks.

“No, I get that it’s snowing and I’m not the first person to get stuck tonight. I’d be happy to pay a premium fee, if that makes a difference.” He pauses before sighing deeply. “No, no, of course. No, it’s not an emergency. Yeah, let me give you the address and my number. And I’ll be the first person on your list once the snow clears?”

Shit. Shit .

Ryder rubs a hand over his dark, tousled hair. Hair that I can now tell is just a bit wavy on the top. “Yeah. Okay, great. Yeah, I understand.” He rattles off the address of the cabin and his number before sighing again. “All right, thanks, man. Happy holidays.”

I don’t like the sound of that conversation. Not one bit. I flip the sandwiches before returning my attention to the massive man in my living room. His shoulders slump, and he looks like a toddler about to get in trouble for drawing on the walls. He takes a deep, fortifying breath, rubs the back of his neck, and meets my eyes.

“So, uh, there’s only one tow company in town, and they’re not taking any more non-emergency calls until the snow stops and the plows have had a chance to clear the roads. Since they’re calling for snow for at least the next four days, they said it could be almost a week until they can get me out.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what else to say. I mean, we don’t really have any options here. Either I kick him out to freeze to death in his vehicle, or my solitude is no more. I only consider banishing him to his car for all of thirty seconds before I plaster a fake-ass smile on my face and say, “Well, looks like you’re staying here, after all.”

Blowing out a breath, Ryder eyes me cautiously. “I’m really sorry, Lexi. I swear, I’ll do my best to stay out of your way. You won’t even know I’m here.”

I doubt that very much, but it’s a nice sentiment.

“Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to tiptoe around me all week. That would be miserable.” I want to say, Yes. Please do stay out of my way. But my mom raised me better than that. And it’s not Ryder’s fault I hate hockey players. So, despite my inner Grinch shouting about hating noise and Christmas and general merriment, my outer Cindy Lou Who can admit no one should be alone for Christmas. Especially not alone in a frozen car.

“Well, thanks, Lexi.” Ryder looks visibly relieved. “I’ll, uh, I guess I’ll just toss my bag in a bedroom so no one trips over it. Got a preference for which one I should take?”

None , I say in my head. “Any of them are fine. I already unpacked in the main bedroom at the end of the hall, but there are three others. They all have their own bathrooms, so take your pick.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Ryder rubs the back of his neck. “I’ll just be right back.”

With a sigh, I turn the burners off and grab two bowls, plates, and spoons. I dole out the soup and plate the grilled cheese, and by the time Ryder’s back, I have everything laid out on the table. I pour us both another mug of hot cocoa, and then we take a seat.

The atmosphere is decidedly less comfortable than it was when we were just drinking hot chocolate, expecting to spend an hour, tops, together. But faced with the reality of being snowed in with a complete stranger for at least a few days, we’re both stuck in our own heads. I’m mourning the loss of my peace and quiet, and who the hell knows what Ryder’s thinking? He’s probably cursing my dad for putting him in such an awkward position. I know I am.

“Wow,” Ryder says after taking his first bite of the grilled cheese. “This is amazing.”

“Oh, thanks. I’m glad you like it.”

“Thanks for making it.”

“Of course.”

We lapse back into silence, only the soft, wet sounds of chewing filling the air. He’s halfway through his sandwich when he clears his throat. “So, uh, you’re getting your MBA, huh? That must be hard.”

I chuckle. God, this is awkward. “Yeah, it can be. It’ll be worth it, though.”

After another few minutes of silence, Ryder asks, “What do you want to do once you graduate?”

“I’m not totally sure,” I admit. I’ve spent so many nights waffling between a job that will make me a lot of money or a job that fulfills me, even if it doesn’t pay the big bucks. “There’s always finance or business development, but I’m also considering non-profit work.”

Ryder’s eyebrows rise. “Oh, yeah? What kind of non-profit?”

“Ideally, something that would have a direct impact on the local community. Maybe something with kids. I’m still trying to narrow down what moves me most.”

“Well, I think that’s awesome.” He watches me while he takes a few sips of his soup. “I bet your dad is proud of you.”

I scoff before I can stop myself but manage to keep my true thoughts about that inside. “I’m sure he is.”

In truth, I doubt my dad ever thinks about what I’m doing with my life. It’s not hockey, so it’s not important. The extent of his involvement is paying my tuition and living expenses until I graduate. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate that he’s footing the bill, and I know how lucky I am that I’ll graduate without a cent of school debt. But that doesn’t mean I don’t wish he’d take an interest.

I can’t stand the weight of Ryder’s gaze, so I focus on my soup and sandwich. This turn in the conversation has significantly lowered my enjoyment of it. “So, how come you’re not spending Christmas with your family?”

Ryder’s spoon is halfway to his mouth when he goes completely still. Crap. Does he have a poor relationship with his parents like I currently have with mine?

Way to step in it, Lexi.

His gaze goes distant for a few beats as his chest rises and falls slowly. Like he’s taking in deep, measured breaths to calm himself. I’m practically squirming in my chair when he finally says, “Unfortunately, it’s not possible to spend Christmas with my family.” He sets his spoon in his bowl and pushes away from the table, grabbing his now-empty plate and almost-empty bowl, bringing them to the sink. “Are you done? I’ll do the dishes.”

Well. I definitely stepped in it, somehow, but I’m not dumb enough to ask any sort of follow-up question after that reaction. “Uh, yeah. I’m done. You don’t have to do the dishes, Ryder. You’re a guest.”

“I pull my own weight,” he replies with his back to me. “I’m sure as hell not going to expect you to wait on me when I’m the one intruding on your vacation.”

I finish my food in uncomfortable silence. Ryder’s movements are jerky as he washes his dishes and the pot and pan, but he’s still careful. I don’t know why my question set him off like that, but I make a mental note not to bring up his family again. Once I’m done, I set my dishes in the sink for him to wash. He doesn’t even acknowledge me. It shouldn’t bother me—shouldn’t affect me at all—but my chest tightens at the slight, and I rub my sternum as I busy myself building a fire. Anything to keep from dissecting why even the smallest dismissal from a complete stranger can undo me in spectacular fashion.

Ryder isn’t my dad. He isn’t anyone to me. Plus, he’s clearly upset, which is somehow my fault.

I’ve just ignited the kindling when Ryder’s dull voice makes me pause.

“Thanks again for dinner, Lexi. I’m beat. If it’s okay with you, I’m going to head to bed.”

My chest squeezes tighter. “Oh, yeah. Of course. Good night, Ryder. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Night, Lexi.”

For some reason, I hold my breath as he walks away. Only when his footsteps grow quiet and the soft snick of a door shutting breaks the silence, do I breathe again.

I have the room to myself for the night. That should be a relief, but I can’t seem to muster any excitement about it.