We spend the next hour decorating. Emma is directing like a general, Maya and I following orders. Ethan"helps"by pulling ornaments off as fast as we put them on. Max supervises from the back of the couch.
"This one." Emma hands me a star. "Top of the tree."
I climb the stepladder and secure it. When I come down, Maya's smiling at the whole scene: the tree lit up, ornaments glittering, Ethan clapping his hands in delight.
"It looks good," she says.
"It looks like Christmas threw up in here," I say.
Emma throws tinsel at me. "You love it."
I do. This, family, togetherness, Maya being part of it, feels right, feels like how things should be.
Except I can't touch her, can't pull her close and kiss her under the mistletoe, Emma definitely hung in three doorways, can't hold her hand or claim her as mine in any visible way.
And it's killing me.
Practice this afternoon was brutal. December means we're hitting the midseason grind: games every other night, travel, pressure to maintain our playoff position. Coach works us into the ground, running drills until my legs scream.
"Cap!" Jenkins catches up to me in the locker room. "Team holiday party's this weekend. You coming?"
"Probably."
"Bring a date. Make it interesting."
"I'm not bringing a date."
"Why not? You seeing someone?"
Chase shoots me a look from across the room.
"No," I say. "Just focused on the season."
It's not technically a lie. I'm not"seeing"Maya. We're sleeping together. It's different.
Except it's not. Not for me.
The holiday party is Saturday night at some bar downtown that the team rented out. Wives, girlfriends, families, everyone's invited. Emma's excited about it, already planning her outfit even though her maternity options are limited.
"Maya, you're coming too, right?" she asks over dinner.
Maya looks at me quickly, then away. "I don't know. That's a team thing?—"
"You're family. You're coming." Emma won't take no for an answer. "It'll be fun. Open bar, dancing, Jackson doing his awkward captain speech."
"I don't do awkward speeches."
"You absolutely do. Remember last year when you thanked everyone for 'puck commitment'?"
"That's a real hockey term."
"It sounds dirty."
Maya laughs, and the sound makes my chest tight.
Saturday arrives too fast. The bar's packed when we get here: teammates and their partners, staff, even some of the younger guys' parents. Christmas music plays over the speakers, and lights are strung everywhere. Very festive, very loud.
Maya walks in wearing jeans and a dark red top that clings to her curves. Her curls are down, makeup done, and she looks stunning.
