Page 1 of The Christmas Playbook
CHAPTER 1
RHYS
“Mom, it’s gonna be okay.”I zip my suitcase closed, hoping the sound is definitive enough. “I spend every holiday with you guys. This is our last big hurrah as a group before we disperse and never see each other ever again. Meanwhile, I’ll see you for Easter. Fourth of July. Labor Day! Thanksgiving?—”
“Okay, okay,” my mother relents. “I get where you’re coming from, baby, really. I’m just going to miss you. And I’m worried you’re going to break your ankle at a ski resort. I know you. An injury would be gutting for your dreams.”
She has a fair point—or she would if I wasn’t a proficient skier. I’ve been on the slopes since I was barely old enough to walk. It’s an excellent way to stay in shape, and I think my mother was desperate, at the time, to find some way to burn off my energy.
I love skiing. I love my best friends. Ihatethat we only have one semester left together, and then we all face the unknown.
My best friend in the entire world, Cassius Thorne—he goes by Thorne to everyone except his girlfriend—is going to be drafted. It’s inevitable. I’d even bet money on him being in the top five picks.
Me? A little less certain.
I’m good, don’t get me wrong. But am I NFL-level great?
One can only hope.
Either way. Thorne, and Briar, the aforementioned girlfriend, are both very confident in my ability to impress people.
No, wait, it’s my ability to catch a ball that they believe in.
And maybe the rest will follow…
“I’ll call you on Christmas Day, okay? We’ll do a video call so you can see that I’m perfectly whole and intact.” I crack a smile, even though my mom can’t see me. “Just one holiday.”
She makes a noise in the back of her throat. “I will hold you to that, Rhys.”
“I know you will.” I heft my suitcase off the bed and glance around the room. I’ve got everything I need—snowboarding attire, of course, plus sweaters and jeans, socks, underwear, boots. Swim trunks for the private hot tubs, advertised as being on the back porch of every personal, private cabin.
Briar made sure to entice me with that, waving the brochure in my face over lunch one day. I was already sold on the idea, but I let her thinkthatsolidified it. So she took care of booking everything, and now…
It’s go-time.
I drag my suitcase and backpack downstairs. Thorne is already in the living room, his luggage and Briar’s by the door.
“Where’s B?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “On the phone with Marley. They’re having some crisis over outfits.”
My eyes bug out.Women, honestly. We’re going to be in ski jackets the whole time—or in the hot tub. What else is there to think about?
The anticipation sings through me, and I pivot fast. Thorne may know better, but I…
Learning.
Always learning.
I march back upstairs and hammer on Thorne’s door—more warning than I ever give him—then twist the knob and shove it open.
Briar is in the process of putting on a sweatshirt. The thing is over her head, her arms raised in the sleeves, and she looks… well, ridiculous is the first word that comes to mind.
I snicker, and she whirls around. She manages to drag it down, and the glare that awaits me is priceless.
“Thorne said you were having an outfit crisis.” I gesture to her sweatshirt. “I’d agree.”
“Shut up, asshole.”
