Christmas Lights: An Owatonna Christmas Novella Read online

  Copyright

  Christmas Lights - An Owatonna Holiday Novella

  Copyright © 2019 RJ Scott, Copyright © 2019 V.L. Locey

  Cover design by Meredith Russell, Edited by Sue Laybourn

  Published by Love Lane Books Limited

  ISBN - 978-1-78564-194-7

  All Rights Reserved

  This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer-to-peer program, for free or for a fee. Such action is illegal and in violation of Copyright Law.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  All trademarks are the property of their respective owners.

  Dedication

  To my family who accepts me and all my foibles and quirks. Even the plastic banana in my holster.

  V.L. Locey

  * * *

  To every Owatonna fan who asked us to show them what happened next for Jacob & Ryker…

  And always for my family.

  RJ Scott

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Ryker

  Coach Carmichael paced the full length of the locker room, his gaze landing on each of us before he stopped right in front of Alex. This was what he did before every game. He zeroed in on one of the guys and imparted words of wisdom. Sometimes it was just a quick “get this done” with a lift of an eyebrow; other times it was this whole speech about teamwork and how good the picked-on player could be if only he did X, Y, or Z. On most occasions, he lightened the tone. Sometimes he even made a joke, although none of us laughed in case he was being ironic; none of us wanted to get on Coach’s bad side after all.

  Before the last game, it had been me under the spotlight, being reminded that scrappiness in the corners was a prerequisite and not a choice. I’d held his gaze, even as Alex had snickered next to me, and Jens had scrubbed his face with his hands, trying not to laugh. One turnover against Boston and I would be labeled as the guy who got sloppy in the corners for the rest of the damn season, but what everyone had failed to mention was that I’d had Brady Rowe all the fuck over me and I’d been intimidated. Every rookie had their first time breaking under intimidation, and that had been my moment, and I’d sure as hell wanted to own it. But that was the last game. This game it was Alex who would get the pep talk. I waited with bated breath and a barely held snicker at this payback.

  Coach crossed his arms over his chest. “The Railers will put Tennant Rowe’s line out against the JAR line.”

  I exchanged glances with Jens, who was the J in the Jens/Alex/Ryker line, or JAR as we were now known by pundits, haters, and fans alike, and he gave me a look that spoke volumes. Going up against the Railers was something that only happened a few times a year. After all, the Pennsylvania team was in the Eastern Conference, and we were in the West, but given they were third in the overall table to our scratchy twenty-third, we all knew that tonight was going to be one long-ass fight to come away with any points at all.

  That’s defeatist, my dad’s words flew into my thoughts. He always told me that the game was won in a man’s head way before he started to play, and I respected the hell out of my dad, who was coach to the same damn Railers team we were facing tonight.

  “You know you’ll have their best D-Men out against you, Ulfsson and Sato-West, so for fuck’s sake keep your heads up and stay on task.” He waved to include me and Jens. “To quote the Great One, 'skate to where the puck is going to be, not where it has been’, okay? Watch for any space and play the game. I want shots on goal because tonight we’re playing the statistics game.”

  My brain went immediately to another well-timed Gretsky quote, ‘you miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take’.

  Yay for that to pop into my thoughts when we were potentially going to come away losing ten-one to one of the best teams ever fielded in the NHL.

  “Coach,” Alex murmured, and we all said the same. The pep talk wasn’t just for Alex. It was for all of us, really, and we knew that.

  “We can do this,” Coach added and slowly turned a full three-sixty. “We can win against this team. We have the pieces in place. We just need to move in the right direction. Let’s call the starting lineup,” he instructed and handed the clipboard to Colorado, who was our backup goalie tonight, nursing a sprained groin muscle. Whether or not it was from hockey or one of his particularly active sex marathons he talked so much about , we didn’t know. Still, he was there if we needed him, but on the other hand, we really hoped we didn’t because just recently he’d become even more erratic than he’d been before. Colorado grinned wolfishly, then tapped the board in an imitation drum roll.

  “Forwards: Jens, Cherry, Madsen; D-men: Novikov, Myers, and Lemon is our starting goalie.” At that point, he fist-bumped Andre LeMans, who just sighed at the fact that his nickname had somehow become Lemon, just as Alex Garcia had become Cherry. Part of me wished I’d get a cool nickname as well, but Mads was already taken by my dad, and even though other players used it, I kind of wanted my own. One day.

  Each name was met by a small cheer, and by the time we were lined up in the tunnel, waiting for warm-ups, I was pumped. This was going to be good. I just had to forget it was the Railers and focus on the fact that I’d practiced against Ten, my unofficial/official stepdad, for so long over the summer I’d begun to learn some of the things he did so well. Of course, seeing him tonight wasn’t going to be fun like we’d had in the heat of summer. This was serious shit. The Raptors needed the points desperately, and I couldn’t even look at my dad on the Railers bench in case he smiled at me with encouragement or was in coach mode and scowled at me as an opposing player. Unfortunately, Ten hadn’t gotten the memo about avoiding me as he was waiting at the center line as I passed.

  “Ry.” He nodded and skated slowly away, giving me a smile that was half love and half we’re-gonna-crush-you. I smiled back and returned his nod, sending a puck across the ice to land on his stick. He passed it back, and that was all we did by way of acknowledging each other as opponents.

  Then after a short break, it was game on, and the Railers were three goals up in the first period with Ten’s line out every single damn time the JAR line was out. There wasn’t a hope in hell of them making a mistake so we could steal the puck.

  But then, early in the second period, Adler Lockhart, made a mistake. He turned over the puck, and I could hear the collective gasps in the arena and probably from every single person watching this game on TV. The Railers didn’t do turnovers, and at first, our line froze, and then it became obvious what had happened. Lockhart’s stick had tangled after a heroic dive from our best D-Man and captain, Vlad.

  Vlad shuttled the puck to Alex, and what Alex did next was a thing of beauty. He hared up the rink toward Stan Lyamin, making it look as if he was going straight to shoot, and then in a highlight reel move, he passed left to Jens, who sent it streaking from his stick onto mine. There was no way I could dust this pass off; we didn’t have time. We’d caught the Railers off guard, and I had to shoot now. Otherwise, Stan would close that tiny gap he’d left, thinking Alex was firing a slap shot from the ot
her end. Everything slowed down, instinct kicked in, and I visualized where it was going. I could feel every muscle in me screaming to make this the right shot for this moment.

  When the puck left my stick, it didn’t even wobble or waver. It headed straight for the hole between Stan’s glove and his beloved pipes—a hole that was closing, even as the puck flew. He missed the flying rubber disc by an inch, the net straining as the puck hit it, and somehow the Raptors had scored against the Railers, and we had pulled a goal back. The siren sounded in the arena, the Raptors fans going wild, and I went to one knee, celebrating in the most dramatic way I could. That goal, the first I’d ever scored against my dad and Ten, was one I would remember forever.

  After that, it was almost okay that we lost by four goals.

  Alex and I met Dad and Ten after the game. With only three days to go until Christmas, it was hard to find any suitable place we could meet up, so we’d asked them back to our place, which had a tiny tree in one corner and lights around the arch into the kitchen. We were done with official games before Christmas, with five days off because of the way the game schedule fell for us. Not so much for the Railers, who had games in Dallas and Florida close to Christmas Day.

  After tomorrow’s practice and postgame analysis, my Christmas break started, although losing to the Railers five to one wasn’t a brilliant result for us to discuss as a team. Whatever. Nothing was going to mess with my excitement at spending an entire five days with Jacob.

  Ten waltzed into our place, looking all kinds of badass, then hugged me so tight I couldn’t breathe.

  “So proud of you, Ry,” he wouldn’t let me go until Dad pried him away.

  “Nice goal, son,” Dad said gruffly and held me almost as tight. “So fucking tight.”

  “What about my feint and pass?” Alex teased when we all separated, and he got included in hugs as well, along with congratulations from Ten. Alex was spending time with his family, and that included his partner, Sebastian, and I know he was apprehensive, although things had been better recently. At least Sebastian had been invited to spend time with Alex’s family, so that was a win.

  “Presents!” Ten announced, and I heard Dad groan. Ten had this way of going into a shop and buying everything. No joke. From a bargain-bin bobblehead to expensive skates, he just wanted to give everything to everyone, donating a shit ton of money to local charities anonymously and helping to make peoples’ Christmases good ones.

  Even Alex was in on the gift exchange, and we spent a good hour laughing and drinking beer and celebrating Christmas early. Part of me was sad that I wasn’t seeing Mom and Dad in the break, but Dad was down south, and he had Ten, and as for Mom, she was on vacation in Mexico with her husband and my little sisters. Everything had worked out so well for both of them, but I knew if I’d been alone, then either Mom or Dad would have been there for me.

  Only this year, I wasn’t going to be alone at all.

  I was going to Jacob’s farm, staying in some old cabin he and his dad had spent the fall renovating. Scott was coming with Hayne, and Benoit was visiting with Ethan for at least three days. The six of us had been planning this Christmas break since the NHL bigwigs had released the schedule, and it would be so good to catch up with Scott and Ben, if only to shoot the shit and remember life before everything had gone to hell. Owatonna College seemed so long ago, and chilling with friends was exactly what I needed. Not that it was only a college reunion. After all, we’d invited Henry as well, but he was only coming out of the therapy facility for a few days and spending the time with his family this Christmas, although he didn’t seem all that happy with that particular state of affairs. He was getting more morose and confused with every visit, so much so that his key therapist had suggested we stop visiting for a while.

  Alex went to bed a little after two a.m., Ten pleaded exhaustion, and then it was just Dad and I, sitting by the tree in silence, enjoying each other’s company, and sipping coffee, which I knew would likely keep me up.

  “Is it okay if I ask you something, Dad?”

  He glanced up from his coffee and smiled at me. “Always,” he murmured. We’d had our bad times, Dad and I, but there was no man I wanted more in my corner in my public and private life. The question I had was very relevant to the thoughts spinning in my head right now. Jacob and I. The future.

  “Did you know Ten would say yes when you asked him to marry you?”

  His eyes widened a little, and then he nodded. “You have to remember Ten wasn’t in a good place back then, with his injury and with the residual…” He tapped his head, and I couldn’t help but recall the awfulness of that Christmas. Through it all, Dad and Ten had fought the effects of the injury to stay together and in love, and then the wedding, it had been so beautiful.

  “But you knew he’d say yes, right?”

  He paused, but that was my dad; the focused, calm one, he never let words fly that weren’t considered and thoughtful.

  “Ten is the other half of me, and despite everything, in my heart, I knew he’d say yes. Why?”

  “No reason, just been thinking about things, is all.”

  “Is something worrying you? Is someone on the team messing with you about me and Ten?” Abruptly, he was fiercely defensive of his son, and I loved him for that.

  “No way would Coach Carmichael let any of that fly,” I reassured him. “I just…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. The enormity of what I felt for Jacob was difficult to put into mere words.

  “What is it, Ry? Are you okay?” He looked so concerned, and it didn’t take much for me to see that I was coming over as a weird-ass kid who was worrying his dad.

  I wanted to tell him that Jacob and I would be together forever. But he might’ve thought I was stupid, and say that we couldn’t know what we wanted yet. Dad loved me whatever I did, but what if he said I was too young to think about tying myself to one person?

  I’m twenty-four, and Jacob is my forever, I defended myself in the imaginary scenario in which Dad might think less of me or question my decisions. Of course he could be good with everything, but on the off chance he wasn’t, I kept my truth that Jacob was my everything to myself for now.

  “I’m fine, Dad, just happy to see you and Ten so good together.”

  Dad pulled me into a sideways hug.

  “Love you,” he said.

  “I love you too.”

  “Merry Christmas, son.”

  Chapter 2

  Jacob

  You know you’re a farmer when…

  There are a lot of punch lines for that old joke.

  Going to bed at nine p.m. is too late on a typical day.

  Your dog rides shotgun in the truck.

  The great outdoors is your bathroom.

  You don’t enjoy eating something that you haven’t grown.

  Christmas means getting the same two gifts every year: a new pocketknife to replace the one you left lying on the tractor after cutting the strings off a hay bale, and new Carhartt overalls.

  You check the weather as soon as you get out of bed by opening the curtains and not checking an app because your Internet only works when you’re out in the hay barn, standing in the loft while balancing on one foot.

  Yawning widely, I padded to my bedroom window, offered up a silent prayer, and threw the dark blue curtains open.

  “Fuck.” I sighed, looking down on a new foot of snow that had fallen. That would set things back at least an hour. I glanced at the clock. Ten minutes after four. Time to get the day rolling if I had any hope of meeting Ryker at our little airport at noon. He’d had to catch a kicker flight from St. Paul International to finish the final leg of his journey. My stomach flipped and flopped like a perch on a taut line, thinking of seeing him again. It had been nearly two months since we’d last held each other. I’d never really believed you could literally ache from missing a person, but I did, every hour of every day, my heart languished for Ryker.

  “Right, enough!” I closed the drapes, pulled on
my long johns, a pair of old jeans, a sweatshirt, a flannel shirt, and some thick hunting socks. I snuck out of my room, careful not to step on the old creaking floorboards that led me past my parents’ room. Dad would still be asleep. The cold weather settling in over Minnesota was playing havoc with his bad hip. He should have had it replaced, but we didn’t have any health insurance. The money to pay for that had been gobbled up by the tariffs some moron had slapped on other countries. Farmers were hurting big-time, and our family farm was teetering on the verge of bankruptcy. I paused outside their door, stopping to listen to my father’s robust snores. He’d be down by six, sleeping in as it were, but I’d have the tractor warmed up and the milkers into the parlor by the time he limped down to the milking parlor. Or I would if I stopped dawdling in the hallway.

  Ten minutes later, I was outside shoveling snow, clearing a path for Dad so he wouldn’t have to exert his bad hip. It was backbreaking work, but soon enough I was in the barn and had the old Massey-Ferguson we’d bought at an auction—another local farm being sold—plugged in. Then it was back to the house to make coffee and fill the two thermoses my dad and I took to the barn. As the coffee perked, I cracked eggs into Mom’s favorite cast-iron frying pan and stirred up a mound of scrambled eggs. Toast followed and some sausages from the pig we’d raised last summer. We’d never done too many pigs, but the piglet had been a runt, and so we’d gotten him for free. Turned out that runt porked up to over four hundred pounds when he’d been weighed at the butchers.

  “Honey, you don’t have to cook too,” Mom said as she shuffled into the kitchen, hair brushed and her winter work clothes on. She’d taken to helping out as well, since Dad could barely walk anymore. “You do enough around here.”

  I pecked her cheek as she wiggled in beside me to give the sausages a poke with a fork. Juices flowed out of the fat links and made a sizzling smoke that filled the kitchen. My stomach rumbled. Mom patted my belly, then set the table, chatting about Ryker and the old cabin we’d renovated. Renovated was kind of a stretch. More like Dad and I had covered the windows in plastic, chased out the coons that had been living there, filled the holes in the walls where the porcupines had chewed through, allowing the coons to move in, and cleaned the fireplace.