I love Kennedy for watching our backs, but I also hate that this means I’ll likely spend the entire party away from the person I most want to be with.
Me
Any chance I can see you later?
I’m interrupted by a panicked Connie Callahan, our party host, rushing in my direction. “Oh, thank God you’re here.”
The words don’t make sense, but after glancing behind me, there’s no one else who she could be speaking to.
“Oh, you’re too cute, Briggsy.” She rests a hand on my shoulder, like I’ve seen her do with her kids too many times to count. “I’m talking to you. I need a favor.”
“Okay?" I say with a shrug. If I can’t spend the night beside the woman I love, I might as well make myself useful. I follow her upstairs to her bedroom.
“Santa bailed on us,” Connie says as soon as the door shuts. “But I told everyone he would be here, so if he’s not, the kids will think he hates them.”
I know what’s coming before she says it, but nothing prepares me for the costume she holds up. “Zach, we need a replacement Santa Claus.”
I blink. “You wantmeto be Santa?”
I will never live this down with my teammates and friends, not to mention the woman I’m perpetually trying to impress.
“I willsoowe you.”
Can’t you ask anyone else?The words linger on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t say them because no one else would agree. Connie came to me because I’d never say no, especially not to her kids, whose hockey team I help coach whenever I can. I love her kids and hate the idea of them being disappointed. Imagine the trauma of thinking Santa stood you up.
“Fine,” I reply on the exhale of a sigh.
“You’re a saint!” Connie thrusts the costume into my arms. “It won’t take long at all. A half hour tops. Take some pictures. Hand out presents.” She points to the restroom. “I’ll wait out here while you change.”
Ten minutes later, I walk back into the room, swimming in a costume made for someone bigger than me. Connie stuffs mewith pillows to create a belly, securing them to my body with string from the kid’s craft table.
I laugh at my reflection in the mirror. “Mason’s going to know it’s me.”
Connie hands me a red velvet bag of presents. “Of course he is, which is why I’ve bribed him to play along. One hundred dollars gets you a lot of cooperation.”
One hundred dollars. Mason Callahan lives a different childhood than mine. My parents didn’t have money to throw around, not when they had two kids to send through the expensive sport of hockey. Seeing them bust their asses instilled the work ethic in me that I needed to land my dream. It took grit and sacrifice, and a heavy dose of delusion, to make it to the NHL.
In some ways, the Mason Callahans of the world who have every advantage, are the ones at a disadvantage. They never have to scrap for a single thing in their lives.
“Ready?” Connie asks. She pokes her head out of the bedroom, making sure the coast is clear before holding the door open wide for me. “Go out the front door and come in from the garage. You know the combination still?”
I give her a thumbs-up, then waddle down the steps and out of the house. The combination lets me into a garage full of luxury cars, like the ones my teammates drive to the arena. I’m still driving the same used car I purchased during my rookie season when I was in a pinch, opting to splurge my signing bonus on my family instead. My success belongs to them as much as it does to me.
“Ho! Ho! Ho!” I call in a gruff tone that sounds nothing like me, if I do say so myself.
“Kids!” Connie shouts in fake surprise. “It’s Santa!”
Her announcement brings on an explosion of sound as kids sprint toward me, screaming. Connie quickly organizes thechaos, finding a place for me to settle near the Christmas tree. Cookies and milk sit beside my seat, the only incentive I needed to take this gig. She should’ve led with it.
I scour the room until I find Finley leaning against the kitchen island, one hand over her mouth to smother a laugh, the other gripping a cellphone pointed in my direction.
Yep, never living this down.
After taking photos, Connie opens the floor for questions from the kids, like this is a postgame presser. I answer questions about the North Pole, explain why my reindeer aren’t with me, and why I won’t lose weight (yes, seriously).
I heave a sigh of relief when Connie coordinates my exit through the garage, to the front of the house, and back upstairs. I head to the guest restroom, not comfortable going into Connie and Rich’s bedroom alone.
A soft wrap of knuckles sounds a few minutes later while I’m easing off the costume and unstrapping pillows from my body. “Who is it?”
