The Christmas You Crash (Going Rogue #2)

Chapter 10

ten

RYDER

Lexi Cross hasn’t moved for almost a minute. She’s just standing in front of the coffee machine, watching it. Except she hasn’t pressed the start button. And I’m sitting here on the couch, staring at her like an idiot.

She’s upset, that much is clear. After the way Coach brushed off my question about her, I can’t say I blame her. Some of her comments when we first met repeat in my head. I wondered why she didn’t seem close to her dad—he’s a great coach and mostly a solid guy—and I just couldn’t wrap my head around choosing to spend Christmas away from my family. But my mom was an angel, and my dad was always present and interested in my life. He showed up, cheered me on, and always did his best to meet me where I was at.

I’m not so sure Coach does the same with Lexi. The way he brushed aside her absence this week like it was no big deal… But maybe he’s simply hiding his true feelings about all of it. It’s not like I’d expect him to open up and tell me how much he misses her. That’s not something a coach would share with one of his rookie players, right?

Still, I didn’t miss the way Lexi shrank in on herself with every new word he spoke. I’m surprised by how much I hate it. Sure, Lexi’s a little prickly and she’s definitely got her quirks, but she has a fire I can’t help but admire. Hell, even when she thought I was an axe murderer, she stood her ground, squared her shoulders, and let me have it. She’s a fighter. Which begs the question, how many times has she lost the battle for her dad’s affection? Because this—the stooped shoulders and the slight shake of her hands—isn’t the posture of a fighter. It’s the posture of someone who has accepted defeat.

After a few more silent moments, I rise quietly from my spot on the couch and make my way into the kitchen. I have no clue what I’m doing. Am I planning to pull her into a hug? Give her a friendly punch on the shoulder and tell her everything will work out? I’ve learned better than most that’s not guaranteed.

What I do know is that Lexi Cross and I are going to be stuck in this cabin together for days—maybe longer—and despite my arrival throwing a six-foot wrench into her plans, she’s been gracious to me. Annoyed, sure, but gracious. Hell, she’s shared her food without uttering a single complaint. And I know she didn’t plan on feeding two people for a week. I’m an interloper. But outside of being happy to push me out the door before my car got stuck, she hasn’t treated me like one. I’d say kudos to Coach for raising her right, but I’m thinking he doesn’t have much to do with the woman she is today.

“Are you okay?” My hands twitch at my sides as I stop a foot behind Lexi. I want to pull her into a hug, but I don’t think she’d appreciate that.

There’s a sharp intake of breath and I watch Lexi inflate. Her spine straightens, her shoulders pull back, and her hands leave the counter and drop to her sides. She spins around with a painfully fake smile plastered to her too-pale face.

“Totally. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Oh, I don’t know. Because you just heard your father refer to you as that one and admit he doesn’t worry about you?

Despite the fake-ass smile, Lexi can’t make eye contact with me, and I don’t miss the way her lower lip quivers ever so slightly.

“Lex…”

“So,” she says, cutting me off in a too-cheerful voice, “what should we make for dinner? I brought stuff to make chicken cacciatore. Or hamburger stroganoff. Both are some of my favorite cold-weather comfort foods from when I was a kid. What are you more in the mood for? Chicken or beef?”

I open my mouth again to check on her, but she practically runs away from me and buries her head in the fridge, as if she needs a reminder of what ingredients she brought. She obviously doesn’t want to talk about any of this. And why would she? I’m a stranger and the guy her dad seems to have taken under his wing. In her shoes, I probably wouldn’t want to talk to me, either.

Sighing, I hold myself back from overstepping her boundaries. “Beef, I guess. But both sound great. Can I help you?”

“Sure.” She’s entirely too chipper. “Can you grab a few things from the pantry? I’ll need some cream of mushroom soup, a box of rotini noodles, and garlic powder. Oh, and two cans of sliced mushrooms.” She flashes me a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. “I hope you like mushrooms because that’s my favorite part.”

Even if I hated mushrooms, I’d never tell her. Not when that smile on her face is damn so brittle.

“Love mushrooms. I’ll grab that stuff, then you can put me to work.”

“This is really good,” I say for the third time. Anything to break up this god-awful silence.

One corner of Lexi’s lips twitch. At least she’s finding some small measure of amusement in my awkward attempts to bridge this chasm that’s opened between us.

For better or for worse, we’re stuck here together with no buffers, except for Lexi’s books, my sports magazines, which I’ve already read, the internet, and the television. I suspect Lexi is perfectly capable of sitting in silence and reading through every single one of those books she brought, but I’m going out of my mind.

Ever since my dad died, I’ve tried my hardest not to be alone. I spend most of my time with the guys on my team. But when I’m not with them, I’m out at a sports bar or coffee shop, where at least I’m surrounded by people, even if I don’t know them. It’s a compulsion—my need to fill the silence. When I don’t, I’m left with my thoughts, and that can be a dark and lonely place.

“Did you learn how to cook from your mom?” I ask.

Lexi chews on her bottom lip and shrugs. “Sort of. My mom’s an okay cook, but she’s never enjoyed the act of it. I think it got old, making all these elaborate meals, only to have my dad waltz in hours la—” She stops herself too late. As those green eyes of hers lift to meet mine, I can tell she didn’t mean to reveal something so personal. But she’s still raw after the phone call with Coach.

I never should have put the damned thing on speaker.

“Anyway”—she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, which only draws attention to the flush of pink overtaking her cheeks—“when I went away to school in Chicago, I hated the cafeteria food. It was awful . So, when my best friend and I got an apartment together my junior year, I made it my mission to learn how to cook whatever we wanted. I watched a lot of YouTube tutorials and botched my share of recipes before I felt like I knew what I was doing.”

“I can cook the basics.” My mom died before she could teach me much, and my dad…well, taking care of a household and a kid who spends most days at hockey practice meant there were a finite number of available hours in a day, and some things had to fall by the wayside. Cooking was one of them. We ate a lot of takeout and frozen food. Not that I’m complaining. My dad was there for me when it would have been completely understandable for him to shut down. So what if we ate pizza at least once a week? Like Lexi, everything I’ve learned was through tutorials or trial and error. There are a handful of things I feel confident making. Breakfast, for instance, is pretty easy.

Lexi opens her mouth to say something, then apparently thinks better of it. Her lips purse as she studies me. She’s probably remembering the way I shut down last night when she asked about my family.

“My mom died when I was young,” I reveal. I just put her in a position where she was forced to air some of her family’s dirty laundry in front of me, so it’s only fair I reciprocate. Besides, as much as my mom’s death still stings, she’s been gone a long time. That wound isn’t nearly as fresh as my dad’s death. It’s easier to talk about her in the past tense.

Lexi’s face softens, but to my relief, I don’t see the syrupy look of sympathy I loathe whenever I tell someone new about my parents. “How old were you?”

“Seven. She had cancer. We knew it was coming.”

She frowns as she nods. “Sure, but that doesn’t make it any less painful.”

“True. It doesn’t.” I suck in a deep breath. “She was a great cook. I wish I could have learned more from her. When I started college, the only thing I was proficient at making was Easy Mac.”

For the first time since her father called, Lexi laughs. Some of the tension in my chest eases with it. “That’s sad, Ryder. Easy Mac? Really?”

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. That stuff is addicting.”

She giggles. The sound reminds me of summer nights, and I’m becoming addicted. “Oh, I have. Rachel and I had a huge stash of it in our dorm room freshman and sophomore year. Pretty sure it’s a trigger for me.”

God, she’s adorable.

“Well, I can cook more than that now, but I lived off it for a while.”

We laugh and chat through the rest of the meal. Lexi is mostly back to her normal self, but there’s still a wall between us that wasn’t there this morning. Though I hate it, I can’t say I blame her. I’ll just have to earn her trust so she can let the walls fall.

I clean up and do the dishes, since Lexi did ninety percent of the cooking, even though she tries to fight me on it. But once she realizes that trapping me in the kitchen gives her the freedom to pick what to watch tonight, she lets me have at it.

“Do you want some tea?” I ask as Lexi flips through different streaming apps. I’m not sure what she’s looking for, but her nose crinkles in concentration.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Mint, please.” She doesn’t even look at me, too absorbed in her search.

Grinning, I fill the kettle and put it on the stove before preparing two mugs and choosing spiced orange tea for myself. My phone buzzes in my pocket. After the call from Coach, I learned my lesson and switched it to vibrate. A text from my teammate and our team captain, Maddox, flashes across the screen.

Maddox

Hey, rookie. I know you’re spending some time at Coach’s cabin, but I wanted to extend the offer to come to New Year’s Eve dinner at my place. Isla’s bummed you declined our offer for Christmas. She’s going all out for our first New Year’s as a couple.

Me

Thanks, man. I really appreciate that. Think I may be snowed in, still. But if I’m not, I’ll let you know.

I glance at Lexi again. Does she really want to spend Christmas alone here, or does she just not have anywhere else to go? I haven’t seen her on her phone. Does she even have friends in town? I know she went to college out of state. Maybe I could at least convince her to spend New Year’s Eve with the guys? I’ll have to swear them to secrecy, so no one tells Coach, but that shouldn’t be a problem.

Me

If the roads clear, would it be cool if I bring a guest?

Maddox

A guest? You got a girl, rookie?

It’s not like that. I mean, yeah, she’s a woman, but we’re not together.

Isla wants to know why not.

LOL. She’s great, but we just met. And it’s complicated. Anyway, would that be okay?

Of course, man. The more the merrier.

Thanks. You’re a good captain.

Now you’re just sucking up. Stay safe, rookie. Let me know if you’re going to make it.

I will. Later.

Pocketing my phone with a grin, I wonder if Lexi would agree to having New Year’s dinner with a bunch of hockey players on her dad’s team. It’s not like everyone will be there, and they’d be cool, but she might not even go for it. And, at this point, there’s no way I’m leaving her alone on the holiday.

The kettle whistles, and I prepare our tea.

“Here you go. Careful, it’s hot.” I hand Lexi the mug, enjoying the soft smile she gives me in return.

“Thanks, Ryder.”

“Don’t mention it.” I settle down on the couch, leaving a good foot of room between us. “So, what are we watching?”

“Well,” she begins, her eyes sparkling, “There’s this series I’ve been meaning to watch. It’s called Homicide for the Holidays . It’s the perfect thing to watch during a blizzard.”

Reading the synopsis of the true-crime docuseries, I turn to Lexi with one incredulous eyebrow raised. “Seriously? You want to watch a show about holiday murders?”

She nods enthusiastically.

“I just need you to tell me one thing first.”

Her brow wrinkles. “Yeah?”

“Who hurt you, Lexi Cross?”

The adorably macabre woman beside me just laughs and laughs. Without bothering to offer me an answer, she simply presses play before burrowing deeper into the blanket wrapped around her and sipping her tea. She grins like a kid in a candy store as the opening sequence plays, promising murder, mayhem, and holiday fear.

Shaking my head, I can’t help my answering smile as I settle in for an evening full of murder mysteries. Whatever it takes to ensure that defeated look from earlier doesn’t reappear.

“Oh my god, I’m so excited,” she squeals.

Her excitement must be infectious, because even though true crime isn’t my jam, I’m excited too.