The Christmas You Crash (Going Rogue #2)

Chapter 9

nine

LEXI

The wind is howling.

I was prepared for some snow on this trip, but the weather has quickly taken a far more serious turn than originally forecasted. As annoyed as I am at Ryder’s presence, part of me is relieved not to be alone in this. I’d be panicking if I was by myself.

After hauling a wheelbarrow full of logs into the garage, Ryder and I slipped into a mutual silence. To call it comfortable would oversell it, but it’s also not painfully awkward. Still, there’s a tension between us. We can’t seem to shake it ever since Ryder saved me from falling on my ass in the snow. The last thing I want to do is evaluate said tension, so I’m sticking with a tried-and-true method of disassociation.

Reading.

I’m halfway through my spicy book (and trying not to blush when the characters get frisky), while Ryder flips through his third sports magazine of the afternoon. Pine logs crackle away in the fireplace, and the occasional bit of sap snaps loudly as it burns. The late-afternoon sun is low in the sky, not that we can see it. We’ve officially moved past a simple snowstorm and into blizzard territory.

A loud ringtone blaring through the otherwise silent room has me nearly jumping out of my skin. Ryder gives me a sheepish look.

“Sorry. Didn’t realize that was set so high. Guess I’m used to being around a bunch of loud guys.” He digs under the blanket he’s wrapped himself in to free the phone. His face blanches when he sees the name on the screen.

“What?” I ask, suddenly nervous. Which makes no sense. I don’t care who’s calling Ryder. It’s none of my business. “Do you need me to go into the other room?”

Ryder’s jaw flexes as he turns the phone around so I can see the name on the screen. “No, it’s not that. It’s just… Well, it’s…”

My dad. The word Coach flashes across the display, and my body goes through a wild array of responses. My stomach drops, my cheeks heat, and my chest twists painfully. Why is my dad calling Ryder?

“Well, answer it,” I whisper, as though my father can hear me.

“Are you sure? You didn’t tell him about being stuck here together, right?”

“God, no,” I hiss. “And you’d better not, either.”

“Shit. Right.” Ryder answers, then presses the speaker button, so I can hear the conversation. Every muscle in my body tenses. “Hello? Coach?”

“Ryder, how’re you doing, son?”

Son? What the fuck?

My dad’s voice is warm and colored with familiarity. “I saw the weather report and wanted to check on you. We’re getting dumped on here in the city, but when the meteorologist said the words blizzard and Two Harbors in the same sentence, I got worried.”

When my teeth grind together, Ryder notices, his brow creasing. No doubt he’s confused by my visceral reaction to my father’s voice, but I can’t help it. When was the last time my dad felt this level of concern for me? Hell, when’s the last time he picked up the phone to call me just to check in? Arthur Cross only calls me when he feels obligated to do so. The twisting sensation in my chest worsens.

Keep your shit together, Lexi .

Ryder rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, his attention still on me. “Oh, uh, yeah. It’s coming down pretty hard up here. The visibility is next to nothing.”

“Do you have everything you need to make it through?”

“Yeah,” Ryder says. He gives me a grateful smile. He would have been screwed if not for me and my haul of groceries, and we both know it. The guy would have been subsisting on a diet of canned soup and rice for the entire week. “Yeah, I’ll be just fine. Thanks.”

“I’m sorry for getting you stranded out there. I should have just had you stay with me for Christmas or something. Kept you out of trouble without banishing you to the middle of nowhere in a blizzard.”

The casual way my dad speaks about offering to have Ryder stay over the holiday straightens my spine. It sounds so easy and natural. When he’d asked me to spend Christmas with him, he’d hemmed and hawed about how my mom shouldn’t expect me to travel to Wisconsin, where Jeff’s extended family lives, so I should just spend the holiday with him. He barely put up a fight when I said no and didn’t even bother asking what my plans were. He made the obligatory offer, and that was that.

Like asking was his duty. Because that’s what I am to my father—a duty.

Maybe if I’d been born with a penis and an inclination to play hockey, he’d have asked me with the same warmth he just used with Ryder. A man he’s known for less than a year.

Ryder clears his throat. I can feel his gaze on me, but I can’t look at him anymore. I’m too busy staring at my hands as I twist my fingers together. My book is long forgotten.

“That’s okay, Coach. Christmas hasn’t really been a big deal for me for the last few years.”

My dad clucks his tongue in disapproval. “Well, you’re part of the Rogues now. We’re a family. Family supports each other. They’re there for one another.”

Oh, that’s rich.

Pushing off the couch, I stride into the kitchen. With my back to Ryder, I press my palms hard into the cold marble countertops and stare out the window at the falling snow. The snow that’s trapping me in this cabin with a man I don’t know. And the conversation he’s having with my dad is a great reminder of why I don’t want to know him.

Ryder Hanson plays for my father, and I’ve done everything I can to put boundaries in place to protect myself from being hurt by my dad. Boundaries I’ll have to work to rebuild because, after listening to one awkward minute of their conversation, I’ve been reduced back down to that devastated sixteen-year-old girl whose father couldn’t bother to show up for her first starring role. Not even for four hours. Not even for something she’d been over-the-moon excited about.

Family supports each other .

What a joke. The man didn’t even bother to show up for my high school graduation, let alone college.

“Well, listen, son, if the weather clears in time, feel free to join me for Christmas. I’ll be having a small get-together with some players and staff who don’t have family in town. I’m hoping it’ll be a new tradition. It would be great to have you.”

Ryder’s silent for a beat before he asks, “You’re not going to spend the holiday with your family?”

My dad chuckles. “Sure, I am. Like I said, the Rogues are a family.”

The words deflate me. My spine curves and my shoulders hunch because, not only does my dad sound completely unbothered that he won’t see me this Christmas, but he’s already happily planning on not seeing me next Christmas too?

“Well, sure,” Ryder says awkwardly, “but don’t you have a daughter? I doubt she’d want to spend Christmas surrounded by a bunch of obnoxious hockey players.”

Jesus, Ryder. Could you be more obvious?

Dad hums a noncommittal sound. “Alexis has her own life and traditions. I don’t worry much about her. She’s probably off, partying with her friends and having the time of her life right now.” He chuckles. “Who knows with that one? I haven’t understood her since she went through puberty.”

A scream of frustration tries to push up my throat, but I tamp it down. The edge of the counter bites into my palms. He hasn’t understood me since I went through puberty? I doubt he even remembered when that was or noticed in the first place.

I was twelve, for the record.

And whose fault is it he doesn’t understand me?

Understanding takes effort. And I’ve sure as hell put in the effort over the years. I made my mom take me to every Rogues home game until I finally woke up at fourteen to the fact that my dad loved hockey more than me. How many conversations did I redirect to hockey when his eyes glazed over because I tried talking to him about my life and interests, just so I could enjoy a few moments of his attention and a handful of bright smiles?

And off with my friends, partying? That’s never been me.

My dad doesn’t know me at all.

There’s a long beat of silence, and I’m sure Ryder’s staring at the back of my head. I can practically feel it. So, I decide to distract myself. I don’t need his pity or his judgment. After all, I’ve been just fine without my dad’s lackluster presence in my life for the last seven years. No need to pine for it now. Silently, so my dad doesn’t suspect Ryder isn’t alone at the cabin, I grab two mugs from the cabinet and measure coffee grounds out into the machine.

“Right,” Ryder says. His voice is rougher than it was at the start of the conversation. Part of me is desperate to turn around and see his expression, but I don’t. It’ll either piss me off more or make me cry. “Well, thanks for the offer, Coach, but I think I’ll stay here at the cabin for Christmas. It’s growing on me.”

Dad chuckles. “It has its charms.”

“It does,” Ryder replies softly.

A little thrill goes through me. Is Ryder talking about me? No, surely not. And I don’t want him to be. All of this is complicated enough. I don’t need to add in some stupid secret hope that Ryder has any feelings or regard for me. Because I don’t have any for him. At least, not outside of base physical attraction, and I challenge anyone who likes men not to be attracted to Ryder Hanson.

But that’s all this is. And that’s all it ever will be.

“Well.” Dad blows out a breath. The sound is fuzzy over the phone. “Have a good week. Feel free to stop by on Christmas if you change your mind. Stay safe, son.”

“Thanks, Coach. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

The line goes silent, as does the cabin. It’s heavier than the snow-covered silence outside. Though the cold of this one is more oppressive, and it freezes my heart straight through.