The Christmas You Crash (Going Rogue #2)

Chapter 15

fifteen

LEXI

The distance between Ryder and me disappeared once again as we slept. My logical brain may know that nothing can happen between the two of us, but my subconscious holds no such qualms.

My subconscious wants Ryder Hanson. And if the way I woke up, once again tangled up in him, is any indication, my subconscious is damned needy.

We politely disentangled ourselves with as little eye contact as possible, and he very kindly didn’t call me on my closeness. After all, I’d been the one to pull away yesterday. But I’m pretty sure I was also the one to close the distance between us on the mattress last night and shove my hand beneath the hem of his hoodie, so my heat-seeking fingers ended up spread over his hard abs.

Luckily, by the time breakfast was over, we both shook off the awkwardness hanging between us like sharp, dangerous icicles. We passed an hour watching John Wick on his laptop. Both of us ignored the battery icon, which was slowly draining.

“Man, Keanu is fantastic at killing people. I just don’t think it’s fair that he looks so hot doing it.”

Ryder levels me with an arched brow. “That’s what you’re getting out of this? That Keanu looks hot while killing people?”

“I mean, that’s one of the things, yeah. I also said he was great at murdering. I’m giving credit where it’s due, okay?” Stretching my back, my shoulder brushes against Ryder’s. He’s so warm. So solid. I bet he has just as many muscles as John Wick. Hell, I know he does because my traitorous fingers were feeling up the ridges of his abs when I woke up this morning. But as hot as a murderous Keanu is, I’m glad Ryder is something more innocuous. Even if that thing is a hockey player. Which is unfortunate.

Ryder’s smooth laugh washes over me, and I shiver. I’m starting to crave that sound. It’s deep and rich and so free from bullshit. “You’re ridiculous, OTG.”

Despite the way I roll my eyes, there’s no hiding my grin. “Oh my god. Stop calling me that.” I shiver again, this time from the chill that never quite leaves my bones, despite the fire blazing in front of us, the blankets we huddle beneath, and Ryder’s body beside me. The power needs to come back on, and it needs to be soon.

“Cold?” Ryder asks, his brow pinched.

“Aren’t you?”

His grimace says it all. “Come here.”

The feeling of his arms around me is becoming too familiar and comforting. I don’t even resist him when he wraps one around my back and tugs me closer to his body. With a sigh, I lean my head against his shoulder. “You’re so warm,” I murmur as his cheek comes to rest on my head.

“So are you.”

“Think the power will come on soon? I’m starting to worry.” And I am. We’re going through wood fast. We can cut more, of course, but it’s all the other things. I need a hot shower, and we’re running through batteries for the two lanterns I found far too quickly in this cold. I haven’t been able to find more.

Ryder’s thumb rubs a lazy, comforting circle against my hip. “Yeah, Lex. I’m sure it’ll come back on soon. They’ve gotta have people working on it now that the snow has stopped.”

“Yeah. I’m sure you’re right.” With a sigh, I burrow into Ryder more, desperate to soak up his heat. It doesn’t escape me that I’ve only known this man for a few days. Normally, I’m not so open and forward with people. It takes a while for me to be comfortable with someone new, especially a guy. I have no problem admiring someone who’s physically attractive, but to feel truly comfortable and develop an attraction that’s more than skin deep takes longer for me.

I feel like I’ve always known Ryder. I feel safe with him. And with every passing moment, my attraction to him grows.

Which is really inconvenient, since I can’t develop feelings for him.

“We’ll be okay, Lex. I’ll keep you safe and warm.” He says it so softly, so genuinely, that my heart squeezes. There’s no posturing or macho male B.S. behind the words. Just a quiet promise. “You’re not alone.”

It’s not the first time he’s said those words, but they still strike me right in the chest. Because I have felt alone this year. More alone than ever. During college, I had Rachel and our other best friend, Adam. I had classes and activities and a dorm full of noisy students nearby. But since moving home and working on my master’s degree, I haven’t had any of that. Rachel and Adam are still in Chicago. They have an apartment together and see each other daily, while I only see them when we FaceTime. I’m not living in a dorm this year—and thank god for that—but the small apartment I share with another student is too quiet.

I suppose I could reach out to some of my high school friends, but we’ve all moved on to these new phases in our lives, and I’m not sure we had much in common in the first place. I’ve made a few acquaintances in my master’s classes, but that’s as far as it’s gone. My roommate and I cohabitate easily, though we never hang out. We have nothing in common. A couple of guys have asked me out, but the dates never go anywhere. And I’m too busy to get on any apps and really give dating a shot.

As a strong, independent woman, I’ve been fine with all of it. Or, at least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself. Do I wish my best friends were close by? Yes. Do I wish I had at least a few good friends here so that we could sit together at coffee shops or browse bookstores together? Absolutely. Hell, do I wish my parents weren’t such colossal, selfish messes, so I could spend time with them without being subjected to awkward boyfriends or obvious disregard? Also, yes. But I’ve been telling myself that all of this is simply temporary. This is just a side quest.

Still, I have been alone. I have been lonely.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I whisper.

Ryder’s thumb stills on my hip for a moment before resuming its lazy rhythm. “Yeah, Lex. Me too.”

We slip back into silence as Keanu kills another bad guy. The battery on his laptop is almost at the end of its life. The fire could use another log or two. But I don’t want to move. There’s a fragile beauty to this moment that almost has me holding my breath.

The unfortunate truth is that Ryder Hanson is a genuinely good man. And the more time I spend with him, the easier the walls I’ve erected around my heart seem to crumble. Plus, he’s stupidly hot. Leaning into him the way I am now, it’s taking all of my willpower not to slip my fingers beneath his hoodie and press my hand to his chest again.

“What would you be doing today if this was a normal Christmas Eve?” he asks me softly.

“Like, when I was a kid?” I ask. “Before my parents split?” Because the last time I had a relatively normal Christmas was probably my senior year of high school. Back then, my parents were still trying to convince me—and themselves—that their marriage was in a good place. It all fell apart once I left for college.

“If that’s the last time you felt like you had a normal Christmas Eve, sure.”

Humming, I think back to all the things that made the holiday feel special when I was younger. All those magical things that lost their luster as I got older and saw how dysfunctional my family was. For all her faults, my mom has always done an amazing job of making Christmas—and every other holiday, really—full of magic and wonder.

“Well…” I blow out a breath, shifting my body to lean against Ryder’s chest. I still need his warmth, but I can’t look him in the eye if we’re going to talk about stuff like this. “We made cookies every year. Those sugar cookies with the royal icing, so you can create all sorts of designs and patterns. No matter how terrible they looked, my mom would gush over them and tell me they were incredible. She’d also give me some money and take me to the mall, so I could pick out gifts for her and my dad. We’d make a day of it and get lunch at the food court, some hot chocolate from a coffee shop, that kind of thing.”

Ryder’s fingers drop to my leg, where he traces a line back and forth from my thigh to my hip. “That sounds fun.”

“It was. That wasn’t what we did on Christmas Eve, necessarily, but the whole month leading up to Christmas was fun. We’d decorate the house and go all out. I think there are even some bins full of decorations in the garage. We spent a few Christmases here when I was a kid, and my mom would make my dad hang these garlands and lights everywhere.” I grin, remembering. “She’d hang mistletoe all over the cabin so he’d have to stop and kiss her.”

“That sounds fun.”

“Yeah. And the Christmases we spent here, we’d go to this cute little tree lot in town and pick out the perfect one and put it up in front of the windows there.” I point to the two large windows that overlook the front yard and the driveway. “It was this whole thing. I had to find the perfect tree. It couldn’t be too skinny, couldn’t be too short, and of course, it couldn’t have any weird bare spots.” I chuckle. “My dad would get so annoyed with me. It would take an hour just to pick out the tree.”

“I’m sure he was having just as much fun as you were,” Ryder says. His voice is soft and full of warmth. “I bet you were cute, marching around the tree lot like a tiny blonde dictator.”

It’s impossible not to laugh. “Not sure my dad ever thought that. Whenever we were together, I mostly felt like he couldn’t wait to get back to his team and the ice.”

“Lexi,” Ryder starts.

I cut him off. “But it was so fun. They have this hot chocolate stand, and we’d get one after Dad loaded the tree onto the car. Then we’d go home, get it up, and decorate it. My mom gave me a new ornament every year on Christmas Eve. It was the one gift I was allowed to open before Christmas morning. She always picked something cute that had to do with what I liked or did that year.”

“My mom did that too,” he tells me. So softly. Like he hasn’t spoken about the things his mom did for him for Christmas in a long time. “When she died, my dad picked up the tradition, but it just wasn’t the same without her. I don’t know. That probably sounds silly.”

“Not at all,” I say, sitting up so I can look at him. Old pain is etched into the lines that appear along his brow. “I get it. It’s like, as soon as something puts that first chip in the facade of Christmas magic, everything loses some of its shine.”

I hate the way Ryder’s eyes grow unfocused. Like he’s losing himself in the memories, and they aren’t all good ones. So, I suck in a deep breath, grab his hand, and quietly ask, “What were your favorite Christmas traditions with her?”

His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I don’t see the big, sweet hockey player who’s confident and capable. I see a little boy who lost his mom too young. A little boy who still misses her, even after all these years. “We’d watch It’s a Wonderful Life every Christmas Eve night. She’d make us these fancy appetizers, and the three of us would snuggle up on the couch while we ate and watched. I’d lay my head in her lap, and she’d run her fingers through my hair until I fell asleep. Then she’d carry me to my room, tuck me in, kiss my forehead, and tell me I was the best gift of all.”

Oh, my heart.

“She sounds lovely,” I murmur.

His smile is melancholic. “She was. I miss her.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry she’s gone.” I squeeze Ryder’s hand. I want to wrap him in a hug. I want to run my fingers through his hair the way his mom did to comfort him.

He squeezes my fingers back. “Thanks, Lex.” Ryder searches my face before he says, “I know this Christmas Eve isn’t exactly what either of us were expecting, but I’m glad I’m spending it with you. Despite the cold and everything else, this has been kind of perfect.”

My chest warms. “Yeah, I mean, once I realized you weren’t going to murder me, I’ve had fun too. More fun than the last couple of Christmases.”

Tension crackles in the air between us as we stare at each other. When was the last time I’ve been this vulnerable with a man? Or felt so drawn to someone else? I don’t even realize it at first, but we’re drifting together. Our faces are so much closer than they were moments ago. He’s going to kiss me. Or I’m going to kiss him. Either way, after the things we just shared, I’m not as convinced as I was last night that I need to stay far away from Ryder. My body heats with remembrance of the way he made me come from riding his leg. My lips tingle as I recall the way he claimed them outside the day before. Why did I pull away from him last night, again?

I want to kiss him. I want to do far more than just kiss him. I’ll deal with the consequences later.

His lips mere centimeters from mine, Ryder cups my jaw. “Lexi…” He breathes out my name like a prayer.

Tilting my head, I lick my lips. “Ryder…”

Something beeps in the house, followed by another beep, and then all the lights roar back to life. The television lights up, the landing page for the holiday murder series we’d been watching the night the power went out filling the screen. The house gives a shudder and a groan as the heat kicks on. But I don’t care about any of that. I don’t care, because Ryder’s lips are so close to mine.

His eyes flash with some unreadable emotion before he presses his forehead to mine and sighs deeply. He pulls back, kisses the spot his forehead just touched, and sits up straight. “How ’bout I make us some coffee? Warm us up while the heat does its thing?”

My fingers flutter to my lips. Lips which are not kissing Ryder Hanson. With a little effort, I’m able to curve them into some semblance of a smile. “Sure. That sounds great.”