The Christmas You Crash (Going Rogue #2)

Chapter 18

eighteen

LEXI

“Oh. My. God.” Ryder and I flop down onto the couch beside each other. We’re both sweaty and panting. The freaking tree is way bigger than it looked outside. That, and even though we shook off as much of the snow as we could, it’s still dripping onto the floor in a massive puddle as the rest of it melts. We’ve already mopped twice. I throw an arm over my face and groan. “Remind me why we thought this was a good idea?”

“Oh, come on, OTG,” Ryder teases, nudging me with his foot. “It’s Christmas Eve, the snow has finally stopped falling, and the power’s back on. We’re celebrating.”

I run my hand through my hair and groan when I realize I just rubbed sap into my sweaty locks. “We should celebrate in the hot tub after all of this.” My muscles are screaming at me. After chopping all that firewood, then helping Ryder drag the tree through the yard and into the house, I’m exhausted and sore.

“Think it’ll be hot?”

“Should be. I never turned it off after that first night, so it’s been re-heating since the power was restored. So, hot enough, anyway. Did you bring a suit?”

He chuckles. “Nope. That would have required foresight. Not my strong suit. But I can just swim in a pair of boxers.”

My face flushes at the suggestion. God, what am I? Some virginal high school girl? “Sure. That works. Same thing, right?”

“Oh, shit.” Ryder groans. I force my head to flop in his direction so I can see him. He rubs a hand over his face, which is all scrunched up. “I’m a dumbass.”

“What?”

“I thought I was going to be alone all week, and I brought these Christmas boxers that…” He groans again while covering his face with his hands. A few seconds later, one sky-blue eye peeks out at me from between his fingers. “I’ll go in the hot tub with you if you promise not to laugh at me, and if you swear on pain of garroting that you will never, ever tell anyone about what you see.”

Well, that sure has me curious. Despite the pain radiating through my entire body, I sit up, energized. What in the world could have Ryder so embarrassed that he feels the need to swear me to secrecy? I watch him expectantly.

He narrows his eyes. “Swear it, Alexis.”

Oh, damn. He brought out my full first name. No Lexi, no Lex, no Oscar, or OTG. I guess this is serious. “I swear I won’t tell a soul.” I make an X over my heart. “Cross my heart and hope to be garroted.”

“I’m going to regret this,” Ryder mumbles to himself. Still peeking at me from between his fingers, he lets out a deep sigh before saying, “I don’t know how it started or why the hell I do this, but I have this collection of Christmas boxers.”

I wait for him to say more, and after a moment of silence, I nudge him with my foot. “Okay. I don’t really see why that’s an issue.”

Another groan. “Fuck my life. You will.”

“Are you going to tell me what makes them so bad?” I am so curious now, I’m tempted to race into his room and root through his duffel bag until I find his stash of boxers. But that seems like a bridge slightly too far. Just slightly.

“No. I can’t even bring myself to say it. Just…promise you won’t laugh, okay?”

He looks so adorably pathetic that, even though I’m not sure I can uphold a promise not to laugh when whatever the issue is makes Ryder look this embarrassed, but I’ll sure as hell try. “I promise.”

“I’m so going to regret this,” he mumbles again. “Fine. Let’s take a dip. My muscles will need a rest after decorating this tree. Everything hurts and I’m dying.”

“All right, you big baby. Let’s decorate the tree. And pray there are no woodland creatures hiding in the branches.”

Ryder’s eyes go wide, and he turns slowly to me. “Wait, is that a thing? Did we just chop down some poor squirrel family’s home?”

I try to stifle my laughter, because he looks so horrified by the idea, but it doesn’t work. “I’m sure we didn’t. And I guess if they were brave enough to stick around, at least they have a nice, warm tree now.”

“Not funny, Lex.” He scrubs a hand over his face.

I shrug as I push my tired butt off the couch and stand. “I thought it was. Come on, I think the ornaments are in the garage.”

It doesn’t take long to find the bin full of baubles and ornaments. The one stuffed with tangled lights is right beneath it. Both of us groan as we lug the boxes into the living room, then get to work untangling the strings. After working in silence for a few minutes, Ryder grabs his phone, connects it to the wireless speaker in the kitchen, and plays festive Christmas music. After that, we both get a second wind. The lights are up in no time.

“Okay,” I say, admiring the twinkling lights. “I remember why we did this.”

Even without ornaments, the tree and the strings of twinkling white lights lend instant magic to the cabin. It’s like the cozy meter spikes straight up to one hundred percent. A jolt of childlike awe shoots straight into my heart. Once we get the ornaments on, it will be even more beautiful. Maybe I should start putting a tree up in my apartment for Christmas. Even if my roommate and I are the only ones who will ever see it.

Ryder has this big smile on his face, palms braced on his hips as he surveys our handiwork. “It’s a great tree, OTG. Good choice.”

I gently hip check him. “Told you I was a master tree-picker. I can’t believe you doubted me.”

“Doubt you? Never.” He bumps my hip right back. “I’d never bet against you, Lexi Cross. I know a winner when I see one.”

My heart pulses with a glow similar to the lights on the tree. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Enough with the sweet talking. Let’s decorate this baby, so I can see those boxers of yours. I need to know what all the fuss is about.”

The groan Ryder lets out fills the room, but he digs through the bin full of ornaments with me. He picks out one of the silly homemade ones I created in grade school. His big, strong fingers handle it carefully as he twists it around to admire every angle. “This is cute. You had a real gift with elbow macaroni.”

Hand on my chest, I gasp in faux outrage. “Had? I’ll have you know, I’m still a wiz with the macaroni. I just tend to cook it these days.”

“Sure, sure. A likely story, Miss Cross. A likely story.” He hangs my little macaroni rainbow front and center before pulling a red frosted glass bauble out of the bin. “I bet you have a whole craft room at your place with different colored pasta and shelves lined with Elmer’s glue.”

“You’ve got me all figured out.”

I pull a pretty framed wedding photo ornament out of the bin, and my chest squeezes. My parents. It’s difficult to remember that they were happy once. The arguing and contention of the last decade seems to have overwritten all the happier memories that came before. Noticing my gaze, Ryder’s big body appears behind me. His broad chest brushes against my back as he looks over my shoulder.

“Wow. Hard to believe Coach was ever that young.”

Harder to believe he ever looked that carefree and happy.

“Yeah. I guess it’s a good thing we’re putting these up. If one of my parents had come across this, they probably would have thrown it away.” I debate keeping it in the bin but finally hook the ribbon loop around a branch. “Maybe I’ll take it with me when we leave.”

I’ll probably just shove the ornament in a box or a drawer myself, but even though I’m pissed at both of my parents for the way their marriage ended, I can’t bear the thought of all their memories being discarded like trash. As though they never meant anything.

“Do you have a favorite ornament?” Ryder asks cheerily. He’s trying to keep me from spiraling, and I appreciate it. He’s much more observant than I would have guessed. It’s hard to get much past him.

“I do,” I tell him. “But it’s not here. It’s in the box of ornaments at my mom’s house. I don’t know if she put up a tree this year.” Imagining her decorating a tree with Jeff while they play house makes me feel a little nauseated. Don’t get me wrong, I want my mom to be happy, but does it have to be with Jeff?

“Tell me about it.” Ryder hangs another bauble. He’s cute. While I would have expected him to place the ornaments randomly on the tree, that’s not what he does. He studies the area and makes sure there’s enough space between ornaments, so they don’t look crowded. I’m starting to suspect he shows the same care with all the fragile things in his life.

The girls he dates are lucky.

Pushing that depressing thought straight off the cliff of my subconscious, I picture the cute little ceramic ornament my grandma bought for my first Christmas. She’s gone now, so it holds even more sentimental value. “My grandma gave me this adorable little bear hugging a candy cane for my first Christmas. The colors are muted and soft, and it’s just so sweet and pure, you know? Plus, she wrote my name and the year I was born on the bottom of it, so that’s special. Every time I put it up, I trace her shaky writing and remember her.”

“That’s sweet,” Ryder says, offering me a gentle smile as he hangs another ornament.

“What about you?”

He’s quiet for a moment. His sky-blue eyes go hazy, as though he’s seeing something a million miles away. “My mom liked to crochet. I have a few hats and blankets she made, but my favorite project she ever did was this silly little ornament. I was obsessed with the Ninja Turtles as a kid. Michelangelo was my favorite. I had this orange strip of fabric with eyeholes cut out of it, and I’d wear it everywhere. I tried to wear the thing to kindergarten a few times, but she caught me before I could leave the house in it.” He chuckles at that, and my heart squeezes. There’s an achingly soft quality to his expression and tone. Like the memories of his mother are precious secrets he doesn’t reveal to anyone. They’re jewels he hoards like a dragon.

I want to hear everything he’ll tell me.

“Anyway.” He shakes his head, dislodging the memories. “That year, she crocheted an ornament of Michelangelo’s face for me. It was amazing. I have no idea how she shaped it and captured his expression so well, but she did. Every time I hang it on the tree, it feels like she’s giving me a hug. Like she’s standing there beside me, telling me she loves me.” He peeks at me from the corner of his eye. “It’s silly.”

“No,” I say gently. “That’s not silly. Not at all.”

We stare at each other for what feels like several minutes before his lips quirk into a thoughtful smile. He looses a gust of breath between his pursed lips and shakes his head. “How do you get me to spill my guts like that? It’s a spell, isn’t it?”

He’s not the only one spilling his guts this week. I’ve opened up to Ryder more than I’ve opened up to anyone, outside of my best friends, Rachel and Adam, in a long time. I’m not sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, I feel inexplicably comfortable around Ryder. There’s this sense of safety he exudes. It’s rare to experience that with someone, and I want to explore it more. On the other hand, if I indulge this, I’m setting myself up for pain and disappointment.

Right now, we exist in an icy, untouchable bubble. But bubbles always pop. The plows will come through, the roads will once again be passable, and this week will end. I’m not delusional enough to believe that whatever this is will survive those plows. It can’t.

But I’m tired of fighting myself and these damned conflicted feelings. How often do you get snowed in with an incredibly handsome man who makes you forget the rest of the world? Never, that’s how often. Which means I’d be an idiot to ignore this strange little gift fate has given me. It’s the moment I decide I’m going to enjoy the rest of my week with Ryder Hanson. I’ll try not to think about the future or what might happen if I allow myself to give in to temptation. I won’t dwell on how much it will hurt when Ryder inevitably prioritizes hockey over me. I won’t harbor a secret hope he’ll pick me. Because that way lies madness.

Maybe he’s right. There’s some kind of spell in the air, but it’s not of my doing. I’m just as enchanted as he is.

Hoping it comes off as flirty and mysterious and not just weirdly demented, I flash Ryder a coquettish smile and bat my eyelashes. “A spell? Are you saying I’m magical?”

“Yeah,” he says after a beat. “You’re definitely magical. Now, let’s finish this tree. I’m ready to get in that hot tub.”

My dirty mind supplies an image of Ryder and me in the hot tub. Naked. Somehow, I resist the urge to fan myself. “Yeah. Me too.”