Status: Complete
California Christmas Tree
They have Christmas tree farms in California?
LA is hot. It’s really fucking hot, all the fucking time. Most of the time, it’s actually pretty awesome. Pretty girls in short skirts all year round are something Mike Richards could definitely get used to. Except that it’s December – the 20th to be exact. You’re not supposed to wear shorts in December unless you’re a rookie in the O who’s got to make a polar bear run. After all the changes he’s had to come to accept since June, quite frankly he was sort of hoping for some sort of freak weather accident a la The Day After Tomorrow where maybe he’d wake up to a white Christmas. But according to the busty blonde on channel 4, it’s going to be ‘hot hot hot’ all the way through till January. Well, at least he can barbeque.
---
“Well I’ll be damned.” Half an hour later, he’s standing in line at the grocery store, loading one lone pathetic t-bone steak for dinner (because he still hasn’t gotten the grocery shopping thing down and every time he returns home from a road trip, everything in his fridge is spoiled) onto the conveyer belt when he hears a female voice whistle long and low from behind him. Usually, this would be the time when he’d flex his abs, turn on his patented ‘Come sit here next to me’ charm and give whatever delightfully forward girl is whistling at him a look that would send her skittering panty-less into his bed. But it’s too fucking hot for that shit today, so he puts on his best ‘forcibly polite for a fan’ smile and turns his body just enough to get a good look over his shoulder.
“This is some small world.” The girl says, smiling at him in a way that tells him he should know her. But he’s pretty sure he doesn’t, because he hasn’t been in LA that long and if he’d slept with her since arriving in August, he’s pretty sure he would remember those eyes. They’re almost blue, not but quite, light grey irises rimmed in an almost navy dark grey. Still, the longer he looks (or rather, stares like a bumbling moron), the surer he becomes in his belief that those are eyes he remembers from somewhere. He spins all the way around to face her, his steak sliding down the belt unattended, and gives the girl a once over. His eyes slide over her obviously well-worn UCLA t-shirt, over her torn denim shorts, down tanned bare leg to her casual flip flops and then back up to those eyes.
“Ah, but of course big bad Mike Richards wouldn’t remember me.” She says and he’s thankful that her tone is light and playful, not wounded. She gives him a soft smile that tells him she’s letting him off the hook and she’s about to tell him her name when suddenly something comes to him from some dark recess of his mind.
“Brynn.” Her name rolls off his tongue as the memory of her starts to roll into his mind. “12th grade biology. You-”
“Threw dissected pig intestines at someone, yeah. I think they’ll put that on my name tag at our ten year reunion.” She throws down a separator and starts unloading items onto the conveyor belt. The 109 year old guy in front of Mike is still counting out dimes, so he figures he’s got a while.
“Wow. It’s been a long time. What are you doing in LA?”
Brynn points at the ‘UCLA’ emblazoned on her shirt. “I went to college here. Got a job and never left.”
“UCLA, that’s impressive.” He racks his brain, trying to remember more about high school, about biology, had he known she was coming here? Brynn shrugs.
“It was about as far away from Kitchener as I could get.” She tells him, rearranging several boxes of crackers. “How are you liking LA? Team’s doing pretty well so far.” Then she grimaces, “I didn’t jinx it did I?” she knocks on the wooden edge of the counter.
“I think we’ll be alright. You a Kings fan?”
She shrugs. “Hockey fan.” She offers him instead. Then she points over his shoulder. “Uh, I think you’re up.”Mike turns and the cashier has raised one eyebrow at him impatiently, having already rung up and bagged his steak.
“Oh, sorry.” He mutters sheepishly, handing over a few bills. While the cashier makes change, he turns back to Brynn. They had never been particularly close during his time in Kitchener, probably why they had never stayed in touch. Still, she is at least somewhat familiar in a still relatively unfamiliar place, someone whose face he could know outside the rink and the boys.
“It was nice seeing you again.” He says, thinking how lame that sounds, how middle-aged. “Would you maybe want to get together again sometime? Coffee or something?” Brynn smiles and digs her phone out of her pocket so they can exchange numbers.
“Just do me one favour, okay?” she requests as she is typing her number into his phone. He hums in response.
“Don’t put me in your phone as ‘pig parts girl’.”
---
He drives home from the grocery store, contemplating how long he needs to wait to text Brynn in order to appear cool and collected. He figures he should be okay by tomorrow. By the time he gets home to his condo and has the steak on the barbeque, he has moved on to thinking about what exactly he will text her. He doesn’t want to be too forward and scare her away, or appear too pathetic. It has been a long time since he has met someone outside the game. Most of the people he has met thus far in LA are either his teammates, friends of his teammates or friends of his teammates hook-ups, who are mostly only interested in the name on the back of his jersey. Brynn is perfect because she already knows him, knows him as Mike from high school biology, not Mike Richards of the Los Angeles Kings.
The next morning he wakes up and has come up with the perfect thing to text her after his morning work-out – ‘Hey’. It’s short, simple and leaves the next move up to her. Before he can text her though, his phone rings and her name pops up on his caller ID.
“Do you want to come and cut down a Christmas tree with me?” she asks when he answers the phone.
“They have Christmas tree farms in California?” Mike asks, but he’s already searching for his shoes.
“They have Christmas tree farms everywhere. Everyone loves Christmas trees.” She says matter-of-factly.
“Well, if everyone loves Christmas trees, then I guess I would love to come and cut down a tree with you.”
“Great. Now, here’s a question...how would you feel about a Christmas tree tied to the roof of your car?” she sounds sheepish.
“You’re using me for my car.” Mike gasps in fake indignation.
“Yes.” Brynn responds unabashedly.
“Text me your address.”
---
“Okay, how about this one?” Mike asks, trying not to sigh in exasperation. They’ve been at the Christmas tree farm for almost an hour and Brynn has given just about every tree in the place nothing more than a cursory glance before moving on. She looks over at him and he does his best Vanna White impression, sweeping an arm down the length of the tree. Brynn wrinkles her nose.
“It’s too...full.”
“Too full? How can a Christmas tree be too full? Isn’t that like, the mark of a good tree? Nice and tall and you know, full?”
“It’s too big for my apartment. It would overwhelm the space.” Brynn explains patiently, like he’s the one being unreasonable. “Besides, everyone wants the nice tall full ones. I want to give a home to a poor lonely little Christmas tree that no one but Charlie Brown would love.” She looks so sincere that Mike can’t help but chuckle.
“Okay, okay. Lead the way.” He gestures out in front of him and Brynn gives him a big smile, all teeth and skips off ahead of him.
---
It takes her another 45 minutes, but finally she has a tree tucked under her arm on the way back to Mike’s car. Somehow, so does Mike. He’s not sure how exactly it happened, but somehow Brynn and her toothy grin and her big, round eyes had convinced him that the nice, tall, full tree he had been so fond of earlier would look really good in the living room if his apartment.
Now they just have to figure out how to get the stupid things home.
“You’re not doing that right.” Brynn says, shaking her head. With a groan, Mike throws up his hands and turns to look at her, shaking his shoulders to dislodge the vast number of pine needles that have made their way into the collar of his shirt.
“Oh, are you an expert? Would you like to come up here and give it a shot?” he raises a brow in challenge and Brynn raises one back, stepping up next to him in the doorway of his car, pressed up right next to him.
“See, if you-” she leans forward to demonstrate, but Mike shakes his head, cutting her off.
“No, you can’t put that there or the whole thing will-” He reaches out to show her, but she slaps his hand away.
“No, I know what I’m doing, if you take this rope and put it-”
“But if you do that then you’re going to get this all tangled-” He reaches out again and again she moves to slap his hand away, but he is too quick for her. With a chuckle, he turns his shoulder, effectively blocking her out with the wide expanse of his body. He had forgotten just how stubborn Brynn could be and a moment later, he is surprised to find that she has put her foot on the door handle and climbed right onto the roof of the car, straddling one of the trees, hands on her hips, smiling at him triumphantly.
“Now, I am clearly the queen of the castle, so let me do it my way.” She holds her hand out for the rope he is still clutching protectively. With a shake of his head and a bemused chuckle, Mike hands it over.
“Touché.”
---
“Oh my god, you’re a scrooge.” Brynn turns to him, standing in the entryway to his living room, hands on her hips.
“I am not.” He protests, bumping and fumbling his way through the door with his gigantic tree.
“There is not a single Christmas decoration in here.” Brynn argues, “You are a scrooge.”
“I’m a busy man.” He huffs, out of breath, leaning the tree and himself against the wall for a break. He looks up to see Brynn shaking her head at him.
“You should never be too busy for Christmas.” Again, with the matter-of-fact tone. Apparently, Mike has a lot to learn about Christmas. He wouldn’t mind if Brynn wanted to teach him.
“Well, hey, if you think I need more Christmas spirit, feel free to spruce the place up.”
“Really?” her entire face lights up and he thinks this is probably actually what kids look like on Christmas morning.
“Sure. I’ve got tons of space, no idea what to do with it.”
“I love Christmas, in case you hadn’t noticed.” She says it like a warning. “A lot. You might regret this.”
“I have faith in you.” Mike offers confidently, because how bad could she honestly be? “I have a team meeting I have to go to, but I can drop you off at your place on the way and leave you with the spare key.”
“Free reign to decorate and a key to Mike Richards’ house?” she claps her hands. “It really is like Christmas came early.”
---
He drops her off and drives to the rink apprehensively. He’s been on the injured reserve for weeks, getting closer to a return but not close enough. It only adds to the frustration he feels. Sure, before the injury he’d been on what all the analysts had been calling a scoring tear, leading the team in goals and playing some of the best hockey of his career.
And sure, he fits in well with the team, a group of guys that thankfully is filled with many familiar faces. But outside the team, the most lasting relationship he has is with the cashier at the Whole Foods down the street from his condo. He’s a pretty popular guy, he thinks, easy to talk to, life of the party. He’s got plenty of casual acquaintances to party with, but no one he would really call a friend, at least not here in LA. It would be nice to have someone outside the team to talk to, which is why the prospect of Brynn is so exciting. Finally, someone he might be able to talk to about things that he can’t talk to the guys about – how even now, he still misses Philly and his boys and his captaincy, how he still feels hurt and blindsided. When he had been on the ice, skating, scoring, it had been easier not to think about it. Now that he is injured and is only allowed to skate leisurely circles and do lower body work, there is a lot more time to sink into a funk. Today is the first day in a while he remembers spending an entire morning without thinking about his injury, his trade, the fact that when the team is on a road trip, he has no one to call. After all, now he has someone to cut down Christmas trees with.
He has someone to call.
---
“Oh my god. It looks like Santa exploded in here.” Mike gapes. Brynn, standing in the middle of his living room on a step-stool, wrapped in silver tinsel as she strings it from the ceiling, shrugs sheepishly.
“I warned you. I totally could have been head Elf.” She lifts both hands in a shrug. “Too much?”
“Nah, I like it.” He’ll probably make a mental note not to have any of the guys over before Christmas because he’ll for sure take a ribbing for this, but it sort of reminds him of home. Brynn has put up the tree in the corner of the room, though it’s still bare. Silver tinsel strung from the ceiling, garland hung from above his fireplace, a collection of wooden reindeer, a Santa and several wooden carvings of inspirational words adorn the top of his mantle.
“I got decorations for the tree too, but I thought maybe we could do that together.” When he looks over, Mike thinks he might catch a faint blush on her cheeks.
“Yeah, sounds good. Show me how to create the magic, Head Elf.” He reaches out a hand to help her off the stool and yes – there is a definite blush, which for some reason or another, sends a zip right down his spine.
---
“So, why did you decide to come all the way to LA for school?” Mike asks as he stretches up on his toes to hang an ornament from the upper branches.
“Nothing extraordinary really.” Brynn shrugs. “I mean, I wasn’t the most popular girl in school, but I had friends. I never had a bad time in high school or anything. It’s not some tragic story where I was some lonely girl who moved away to start a new life and become popular or escape my horrible home life or anything. I just...wanted a change. Needed one, maybe.” She looks over at him and he nods, urging her to continue.
“I was afraid of getting stuck in a rut. Graduating from the small high school, going off to one of the same three universities as every other kid in my graduating class, moving back to my hometown, becoming neighbours with all my old classmates. It wouldn’t have been a bad life, I just felt like maybe there could be more out there. I figured the best way to find what was out there in the world was just to dive in, head first. I didn’t want to give myself a chance to back out or change my mind or latch on to everything back home. So I picked somewhere really far away, someplace where I wouldn’t be able to come crying home to my parents on the weekend if things got hard. Somewhere I could do it on my own, so I would know that I could.” She takes a deep breath as she finishes, chuckling softly to herself.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to launch into some crazy diatribe.”
“It’s okay,” Mike assures her, “I like hearing you talk.” She bites her lip and turns back to the tree and it’s Mike’s turn to blush. Could that have been any more cheesy? He shakes his head at himself.
“So, uh, what are your plans for Christmas?” he asks quickly.
“Not much planned. I couldn’t get out of work for long enough to fly home, so I’m just hanging out here.” She is watching him out of the corner of her eye as she says it, so he figures she’s giving him an opening.
“You could come over, if you want. I can’t promise the best Christmas dinner ever, but I’m not totally hopeless in the kitchen.” He rubs the back of his neck, bending over the box of decorations, searching intently.
“Yeah, that sounds nice.”
They decorate in comfortable silence for a while before Mike pops his lips.
“Can I ask you one more question?” he asks, already smiling cheekily.
“Okay.” Brynn draws the word out apprehensively.
“Why did you throw the pig parts exactly?” he grins widely when she groans.
“Oh, I don’t think we need to discuss that.”
“Come on, tell me.” He puts down the blue star in his hands and turns to her, pouting dramatically. Brynn blows a noisy breath between her lips and gives in.
“Do you remember the weekend before the pig parts incident, there was a big party at Kyle Thompson’s house? I swear almost the entire senior class was there. You were there. The girl I threw them at, she thought we hooked up that night. Obviously she thought I was invading her territory because she said some not so nice things.” Brynn purses her lips primly. “I do not talk kindly to not so nice things.” Her nose wrinkles into a laugh.
“Well, throwing pig intestines is certainly an effective means of retaliation.” Mike laughs with her. “Why would she think we hooked up?” He has a vague recollection of that party because Brynn is right, everyone had been there, including most of his teammates. He doesn’t remember spending any significant amount of time with Brynn that night though.
“Do you remember anything about that night?” Brynn asks. Mike takes a big swallow, shaking his head rather apprehensively now. What has he forgotten?
“We didn’t hook up!” Brynn exclaims when she sees his expression, smacking him on the arm. “I was not a girl who gave people reason to say not so nice things.” Mike holds up his hands in surrender.
“But I did help you home that night.” She continues, “The rest of your teammates had already gone home, but you were intent on finishing your game of beer pong, so they left you behind. The way you were stumbling out the door, I wasn’t sure you’d get yourself home on your own, so I followed you.” Mike breathes a sigh of relief.
“So you were the kind of girl who gave people reason to say good things.” He smiles. “Thanks for helping me home, if I never said it that night.”
“You didn’t thank me, but I’m pretty sure you wanted in my pants.” She smirks, glad to have the upper hand back.
“Oh my god.” Mike groans.
“Yeah. I mean, you were pretty wasted, so there was a lot of slurring, but I seem to remember something about your penis throwing a party in my vagina. Of course, then you puked on my shoes, which sort of killed the mood.” Mike blushes hotly and covers his face with his hands.
“I guess you can stop being embarrassed about throwing pig parts now.”
---
“So how are you feeling?” Brynn asks, a forkful of turkey halfway to her lips. They’ve been eating for about ten minutes in a silence hovering somewhere between comfortable and edgy. Mike looks up from the carrot he’s rolling around his plate. He gets the feeling like she’s asking about more than just this moment, this day.
“What do you mean?”
“About being in LA.” She prompts, setting her fork down, “After you got that call earlier, seems like maybe you’re not all here.” She is of course referring to the call he received earlier from Jeff Carter, wishing him a Merry Christmas. The phone call responsible for the edge in the air. It had been nice, but had only served to remind him of the large gap between where he should be and where he is instead. He thinks about lying to Brynn the way he lies to the cameras in the Kings dressing room, but she’s sitting across from him, arms folded on the table in front of her and she looks so sincerely concerned that he can’t help but bare all.
“I miss Philly.” He answers honestly, “I mean, I like LA, the guys are great, the team is great, but...”
“But it’s not Philly and Jeff Carter and 12 year deals.” Brynn fills in for him.
“No, it’s not.” He shakes his head, “But it’s been a long time, it’s time to get over it, focus on the Kings.” It’s what he tells himself in his head every time he’s out on the ice at practice thinking about how wrong it is that no one is wearing orange.
“A long time? It’s been what, 7 months? Somebody shakes your hand, promises you 12 years, then trades you away a few years later, I think you can give yourself a little time.” She stabs another piece of turkey while he digests that particular piece of wisdom. “You can be focused on the Kings, be a part of this team, and still be hurt by what happened in Philly. It doesn’t have to be one or the other.”
“I’m not hurt.” Mike is quick to defend. “I’m just...” hurt, he thinks. Brynn waves her fork at him like she knows exactly what he’s thinking. “Betrayed.” He finally says, maybe the first time he’s admitted it out loud to anyone other than the raccoon who used to frequent his back porch in Kenora. “I feel betrayed.”
“I don’t think anyone would fault you for that.” Brynn says gently. “Was it hard going back to Philly with the Kings?” Reporters have asked him this question a hundred times, but somehow when Brynn asks it, it sounds different. Maybe because she’s actually concerned about more than whether or not his answer will provide a good sound bite.
“Probably the hardest thing I’ve done in a while.” He tells her the truth he’s never bared for the cameras. “Just being back there, so soon after everything...the old room, the old guys, old coach. I wasn’t prepared to go, you know, so I never got to say goodbye to any of that.”
“Must be hard, knowing you can’t even get them back.” Brynn notes with a wry smile, “The guys who made the decision to trade you aren’t on the ice.” Mike laughs.
“I don’t want to egg their cars quite as much as I used to.” He says, reaching for his glass of sangria. Brynn lifts hers with a soft smile.
“To progress.” She clinks her glass with his.
---
“How come you’re not having Christmas dinner with the team? Isn’t that what all you single guys do?” Brynn asks over dessert. Mike shrugs, looking down at his plate. Truth is, he had been invited to a Christmas thing with some of the guys, but he’d blown it off when he found out Brynn didn’t have plans.
“A couple of the guys had something planned.” He admits casually, since he’s never been a good liar, “But I told them I had plans.” He leaves out the part about having been invited to dinner with the guys before making plans with her. At least it’s a partial truth. Brynn regards him carefully, trying to read his face.
“Did you tell them you had plans after they had already invited you, or before?” she asks and somehow Mike is not surprised that she busted him.
“It’s no big deal.” He plays it off, “I see those guys all the time. How often do I get to reconnect with the Brynn Holden from high school?”
“Thank you.” Brynn ignores his jib and offers a simple, sincere response instead.
“How come you were free tonight?” Mike asks, “Didn’t have plans with friends? Isn’t that what single friends do? They made a whole ten year long tv series about friends doing exactly that. It was called Friends.” Keep it light, he tells himself. Brynn sticks out her tongue at him.
“Most of my college friends have moved away.” She admits, “The ones who stayed in town stayed because they have family here, so that’s where they are tonight. Everyone I work with has a wife or a husband and kids.”
“Well, I don’t think the Kings are planning on trading me anytime soon-” he raps his knuckles on the wooden table. “So I won’t be moving away.” He grins. “I’ll be there for you.” He butchers it, but Brynn still laughs.
“Cause you’re there for me too.” She sings in response and then grimaces at herself, so Mike doesn’t even have to pretend that she might just have sounded worse than he did.
“Friends.” He offers, lifting his glass.
“Friends.” Brynn clinks her glass against his again.
---
Dinner is long over, dirty dishes piled in the sink and Mike and Brynn have retired to his living room, sitting cross-legged and facing each other over third glasses of sangria. Mike can feel the heat spreading from his torso, but he’s not sure if that’s because of the alcohol or the way Brynn’s knee is barely grazing his own.
“I got you a present.” Brynn says.
“Aw, what a good friend.” Mike coos and flicks her nose with his thumb, smiling jokingly.
“That sangria got you buzzed yet?” She shoves his knee softly.
“A little.” He admits.
“Perfect time for your present.” She works her way to her feet and disappears into the bathroom. When she returns a few moments later, she throws a wadded up ball of something at his face. He throws up a hand to catch it, closing his fingers around soft, warm fabric. His eyebrows furrow low as he starts to unfold the little ball of fabric.
“Merry Christmas.” Brynn says in a soft voice. Mike’s mouth goes dry when he unfolds the offending piece of fabric and is holding in his hand one pair of very thin black cotton boy short panties. He looks up and Brynn is smirking at him playfully.
“I hope those are still your favourites. That’s what you told me right before you puked on my shoes.” She pulls down the waistband of her sweats to show Mike just enough bare hipbone for him to know that the panties in his hand are most certainly the ones she is no longer wearing. “Tell Richie Junior it’s time for that party.” She says with a giggle, spinning on her heel and sprinting off down the hall towards his bedroom. Mike is on his feet in two seconds flat, brandishing the panties like a victory flag and galloping after her.
“Best friend ever!”
---
“Well I’ll be damned.” Half an hour later, he’s standing in line at the grocery store, loading one lone pathetic t-bone steak for dinner (because he still hasn’t gotten the grocery shopping thing down and every time he returns home from a road trip, everything in his fridge is spoiled) onto the conveyer belt when he hears a female voice whistle long and low from behind him. Usually, this would be the time when he’d flex his abs, turn on his patented ‘Come sit here next to me’ charm and give whatever delightfully forward girl is whistling at him a look that would send her skittering panty-less into his bed. But it’s too fucking hot for that shit today, so he puts on his best ‘forcibly polite for a fan’ smile and turns his body just enough to get a good look over his shoulder.
“This is some small world.” The girl says, smiling at him in a way that tells him he should know her. But he’s pretty sure he doesn’t, because he hasn’t been in LA that long and if he’d slept with her since arriving in August, he’s pretty sure he would remember those eyes. They’re almost blue, not but quite, light grey irises rimmed in an almost navy dark grey. Still, the longer he looks (or rather, stares like a bumbling moron), the surer he becomes in his belief that those are eyes he remembers from somewhere. He spins all the way around to face her, his steak sliding down the belt unattended, and gives the girl a once over. His eyes slide over her obviously well-worn UCLA t-shirt, over her torn denim shorts, down tanned bare leg to her casual flip flops and then back up to those eyes.
“Ah, but of course big bad Mike Richards wouldn’t remember me.” She says and he’s thankful that her tone is light and playful, not wounded. She gives him a soft smile that tells him she’s letting him off the hook and she’s about to tell him her name when suddenly something comes to him from some dark recess of his mind.
“Brynn.” Her name rolls off his tongue as the memory of her starts to roll into his mind. “12th grade biology. You-”
“Threw dissected pig intestines at someone, yeah. I think they’ll put that on my name tag at our ten year reunion.” She throws down a separator and starts unloading items onto the conveyor belt. The 109 year old guy in front of Mike is still counting out dimes, so he figures he’s got a while.
“Wow. It’s been a long time. What are you doing in LA?”
Brynn points at the ‘UCLA’ emblazoned on her shirt. “I went to college here. Got a job and never left.”
“UCLA, that’s impressive.” He racks his brain, trying to remember more about high school, about biology, had he known she was coming here? Brynn shrugs.
“It was about as far away from Kitchener as I could get.” She tells him, rearranging several boxes of crackers. “How are you liking LA? Team’s doing pretty well so far.” Then she grimaces, “I didn’t jinx it did I?” she knocks on the wooden edge of the counter.
“I think we’ll be alright. You a Kings fan?”
She shrugs. “Hockey fan.” She offers him instead. Then she points over his shoulder. “Uh, I think you’re up.”Mike turns and the cashier has raised one eyebrow at him impatiently, having already rung up and bagged his steak.
“Oh, sorry.” He mutters sheepishly, handing over a few bills. While the cashier makes change, he turns back to Brynn. They had never been particularly close during his time in Kitchener, probably why they had never stayed in touch. Still, she is at least somewhat familiar in a still relatively unfamiliar place, someone whose face he could know outside the rink and the boys.
“It was nice seeing you again.” He says, thinking how lame that sounds, how middle-aged. “Would you maybe want to get together again sometime? Coffee or something?” Brynn smiles and digs her phone out of her pocket so they can exchange numbers.
“Just do me one favour, okay?” she requests as she is typing her number into his phone. He hums in response.
“Don’t put me in your phone as ‘pig parts girl’.”
---
He drives home from the grocery store, contemplating how long he needs to wait to text Brynn in order to appear cool and collected. He figures he should be okay by tomorrow. By the time he gets home to his condo and has the steak on the barbeque, he has moved on to thinking about what exactly he will text her. He doesn’t want to be too forward and scare her away, or appear too pathetic. It has been a long time since he has met someone outside the game. Most of the people he has met thus far in LA are either his teammates, friends of his teammates or friends of his teammates hook-ups, who are mostly only interested in the name on the back of his jersey. Brynn is perfect because she already knows him, knows him as Mike from high school biology, not Mike Richards of the Los Angeles Kings.
The next morning he wakes up and has come up with the perfect thing to text her after his morning work-out – ‘Hey’. It’s short, simple and leaves the next move up to her. Before he can text her though, his phone rings and her name pops up on his caller ID.
“Do you want to come and cut down a Christmas tree with me?” she asks when he answers the phone.
“They have Christmas tree farms in California?” Mike asks, but he’s already searching for his shoes.
“They have Christmas tree farms everywhere. Everyone loves Christmas trees.” She says matter-of-factly.
“Well, if everyone loves Christmas trees, then I guess I would love to come and cut down a tree with you.”
“Great. Now, here’s a question...how would you feel about a Christmas tree tied to the roof of your car?” she sounds sheepish.
“You’re using me for my car.” Mike gasps in fake indignation.
“Yes.” Brynn responds unabashedly.
“Text me your address.”
---
“Okay, how about this one?” Mike asks, trying not to sigh in exasperation. They’ve been at the Christmas tree farm for almost an hour and Brynn has given just about every tree in the place nothing more than a cursory glance before moving on. She looks over at him and he does his best Vanna White impression, sweeping an arm down the length of the tree. Brynn wrinkles her nose.
“It’s too...full.”
“Too full? How can a Christmas tree be too full? Isn’t that like, the mark of a good tree? Nice and tall and you know, full?”
“It’s too big for my apartment. It would overwhelm the space.” Brynn explains patiently, like he’s the one being unreasonable. “Besides, everyone wants the nice tall full ones. I want to give a home to a poor lonely little Christmas tree that no one but Charlie Brown would love.” She looks so sincere that Mike can’t help but chuckle.
“Okay, okay. Lead the way.” He gestures out in front of him and Brynn gives him a big smile, all teeth and skips off ahead of him.
---
It takes her another 45 minutes, but finally she has a tree tucked under her arm on the way back to Mike’s car. Somehow, so does Mike. He’s not sure how exactly it happened, but somehow Brynn and her toothy grin and her big, round eyes had convinced him that the nice, tall, full tree he had been so fond of earlier would look really good in the living room if his apartment.
Now they just have to figure out how to get the stupid things home.
“You’re not doing that right.” Brynn says, shaking her head. With a groan, Mike throws up his hands and turns to look at her, shaking his shoulders to dislodge the vast number of pine needles that have made their way into the collar of his shirt.
“Oh, are you an expert? Would you like to come up here and give it a shot?” he raises a brow in challenge and Brynn raises one back, stepping up next to him in the doorway of his car, pressed up right next to him.
“See, if you-” she leans forward to demonstrate, but Mike shakes his head, cutting her off.
“No, you can’t put that there or the whole thing will-” He reaches out to show her, but she slaps his hand away.
“No, I know what I’m doing, if you take this rope and put it-”
“But if you do that then you’re going to get this all tangled-” He reaches out again and again she moves to slap his hand away, but he is too quick for her. With a chuckle, he turns his shoulder, effectively blocking her out with the wide expanse of his body. He had forgotten just how stubborn Brynn could be and a moment later, he is surprised to find that she has put her foot on the door handle and climbed right onto the roof of the car, straddling one of the trees, hands on her hips, smiling at him triumphantly.
“Now, I am clearly the queen of the castle, so let me do it my way.” She holds her hand out for the rope he is still clutching protectively. With a shake of his head and a bemused chuckle, Mike hands it over.
“Touché.”
---
“Oh my god, you’re a scrooge.” Brynn turns to him, standing in the entryway to his living room, hands on her hips.
“I am not.” He protests, bumping and fumbling his way through the door with his gigantic tree.
“There is not a single Christmas decoration in here.” Brynn argues, “You are a scrooge.”
“I’m a busy man.” He huffs, out of breath, leaning the tree and himself against the wall for a break. He looks up to see Brynn shaking her head at him.
“You should never be too busy for Christmas.” Again, with the matter-of-fact tone. Apparently, Mike has a lot to learn about Christmas. He wouldn’t mind if Brynn wanted to teach him.
“Well, hey, if you think I need more Christmas spirit, feel free to spruce the place up.”
“Really?” her entire face lights up and he thinks this is probably actually what kids look like on Christmas morning.
“Sure. I’ve got tons of space, no idea what to do with it.”
“I love Christmas, in case you hadn’t noticed.” She says it like a warning. “A lot. You might regret this.”
“I have faith in you.” Mike offers confidently, because how bad could she honestly be? “I have a team meeting I have to go to, but I can drop you off at your place on the way and leave you with the spare key.”
“Free reign to decorate and a key to Mike Richards’ house?” she claps her hands. “It really is like Christmas came early.”
---
He drops her off and drives to the rink apprehensively. He’s been on the injured reserve for weeks, getting closer to a return but not close enough. It only adds to the frustration he feels. Sure, before the injury he’d been on what all the analysts had been calling a scoring tear, leading the team in goals and playing some of the best hockey of his career.
And sure, he fits in well with the team, a group of guys that thankfully is filled with many familiar faces. But outside the team, the most lasting relationship he has is with the cashier at the Whole Foods down the street from his condo. He’s a pretty popular guy, he thinks, easy to talk to, life of the party. He’s got plenty of casual acquaintances to party with, but no one he would really call a friend, at least not here in LA. It would be nice to have someone outside the team to talk to, which is why the prospect of Brynn is so exciting. Finally, someone he might be able to talk to about things that he can’t talk to the guys about – how even now, he still misses Philly and his boys and his captaincy, how he still feels hurt and blindsided. When he had been on the ice, skating, scoring, it had been easier not to think about it. Now that he is injured and is only allowed to skate leisurely circles and do lower body work, there is a lot more time to sink into a funk. Today is the first day in a while he remembers spending an entire morning without thinking about his injury, his trade, the fact that when the team is on a road trip, he has no one to call. After all, now he has someone to cut down Christmas trees with.
He has someone to call.
---
“Oh my god. It looks like Santa exploded in here.” Mike gapes. Brynn, standing in the middle of his living room on a step-stool, wrapped in silver tinsel as she strings it from the ceiling, shrugs sheepishly.
“I warned you. I totally could have been head Elf.” She lifts both hands in a shrug. “Too much?”
“Nah, I like it.” He’ll probably make a mental note not to have any of the guys over before Christmas because he’ll for sure take a ribbing for this, but it sort of reminds him of home. Brynn has put up the tree in the corner of the room, though it’s still bare. Silver tinsel strung from the ceiling, garland hung from above his fireplace, a collection of wooden reindeer, a Santa and several wooden carvings of inspirational words adorn the top of his mantle.
“I got decorations for the tree too, but I thought maybe we could do that together.” When he looks over, Mike thinks he might catch a faint blush on her cheeks.
“Yeah, sounds good. Show me how to create the magic, Head Elf.” He reaches out a hand to help her off the stool and yes – there is a definite blush, which for some reason or another, sends a zip right down his spine.
---
“So, why did you decide to come all the way to LA for school?” Mike asks as he stretches up on his toes to hang an ornament from the upper branches.
“Nothing extraordinary really.” Brynn shrugs. “I mean, I wasn’t the most popular girl in school, but I had friends. I never had a bad time in high school or anything. It’s not some tragic story where I was some lonely girl who moved away to start a new life and become popular or escape my horrible home life or anything. I just...wanted a change. Needed one, maybe.” She looks over at him and he nods, urging her to continue.
“I was afraid of getting stuck in a rut. Graduating from the small high school, going off to one of the same three universities as every other kid in my graduating class, moving back to my hometown, becoming neighbours with all my old classmates. It wouldn’t have been a bad life, I just felt like maybe there could be more out there. I figured the best way to find what was out there in the world was just to dive in, head first. I didn’t want to give myself a chance to back out or change my mind or latch on to everything back home. So I picked somewhere really far away, someplace where I wouldn’t be able to come crying home to my parents on the weekend if things got hard. Somewhere I could do it on my own, so I would know that I could.” She takes a deep breath as she finishes, chuckling softly to herself.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to launch into some crazy diatribe.”
“It’s okay,” Mike assures her, “I like hearing you talk.” She bites her lip and turns back to the tree and it’s Mike’s turn to blush. Could that have been any more cheesy? He shakes his head at himself.
“So, uh, what are your plans for Christmas?” he asks quickly.
“Not much planned. I couldn’t get out of work for long enough to fly home, so I’m just hanging out here.” She is watching him out of the corner of her eye as she says it, so he figures she’s giving him an opening.
“You could come over, if you want. I can’t promise the best Christmas dinner ever, but I’m not totally hopeless in the kitchen.” He rubs the back of his neck, bending over the box of decorations, searching intently.
“Yeah, that sounds nice.”
They decorate in comfortable silence for a while before Mike pops his lips.
“Can I ask you one more question?” he asks, already smiling cheekily.
“Okay.” Brynn draws the word out apprehensively.
“Why did you throw the pig parts exactly?” he grins widely when she groans.
“Oh, I don’t think we need to discuss that.”
“Come on, tell me.” He puts down the blue star in his hands and turns to her, pouting dramatically. Brynn blows a noisy breath between her lips and gives in.
“Do you remember the weekend before the pig parts incident, there was a big party at Kyle Thompson’s house? I swear almost the entire senior class was there. You were there. The girl I threw them at, she thought we hooked up that night. Obviously she thought I was invading her territory because she said some not so nice things.” Brynn purses her lips primly. “I do not talk kindly to not so nice things.” Her nose wrinkles into a laugh.
“Well, throwing pig intestines is certainly an effective means of retaliation.” Mike laughs with her. “Why would she think we hooked up?” He has a vague recollection of that party because Brynn is right, everyone had been there, including most of his teammates. He doesn’t remember spending any significant amount of time with Brynn that night though.
“Do you remember anything about that night?” Brynn asks. Mike takes a big swallow, shaking his head rather apprehensively now. What has he forgotten?
“We didn’t hook up!” Brynn exclaims when she sees his expression, smacking him on the arm. “I was not a girl who gave people reason to say not so nice things.” Mike holds up his hands in surrender.
“But I did help you home that night.” She continues, “The rest of your teammates had already gone home, but you were intent on finishing your game of beer pong, so they left you behind. The way you were stumbling out the door, I wasn’t sure you’d get yourself home on your own, so I followed you.” Mike breathes a sigh of relief.
“So you were the kind of girl who gave people reason to say good things.” He smiles. “Thanks for helping me home, if I never said it that night.”
“You didn’t thank me, but I’m pretty sure you wanted in my pants.” She smirks, glad to have the upper hand back.
“Oh my god.” Mike groans.
“Yeah. I mean, you were pretty wasted, so there was a lot of slurring, but I seem to remember something about your penis throwing a party in my vagina. Of course, then you puked on my shoes, which sort of killed the mood.” Mike blushes hotly and covers his face with his hands.
“I guess you can stop being embarrassed about throwing pig parts now.”
---
“So how are you feeling?” Brynn asks, a forkful of turkey halfway to her lips. They’ve been eating for about ten minutes in a silence hovering somewhere between comfortable and edgy. Mike looks up from the carrot he’s rolling around his plate. He gets the feeling like she’s asking about more than just this moment, this day.
“What do you mean?”
“About being in LA.” She prompts, setting her fork down, “After you got that call earlier, seems like maybe you’re not all here.” She is of course referring to the call he received earlier from Jeff Carter, wishing him a Merry Christmas. The phone call responsible for the edge in the air. It had been nice, but had only served to remind him of the large gap between where he should be and where he is instead. He thinks about lying to Brynn the way he lies to the cameras in the Kings dressing room, but she’s sitting across from him, arms folded on the table in front of her and she looks so sincerely concerned that he can’t help but bare all.
“I miss Philly.” He answers honestly, “I mean, I like LA, the guys are great, the team is great, but...”
“But it’s not Philly and Jeff Carter and 12 year deals.” Brynn fills in for him.
“No, it’s not.” He shakes his head, “But it’s been a long time, it’s time to get over it, focus on the Kings.” It’s what he tells himself in his head every time he’s out on the ice at practice thinking about how wrong it is that no one is wearing orange.
“A long time? It’s been what, 7 months? Somebody shakes your hand, promises you 12 years, then trades you away a few years later, I think you can give yourself a little time.” She stabs another piece of turkey while he digests that particular piece of wisdom. “You can be focused on the Kings, be a part of this team, and still be hurt by what happened in Philly. It doesn’t have to be one or the other.”
“I’m not hurt.” Mike is quick to defend. “I’m just...” hurt, he thinks. Brynn waves her fork at him like she knows exactly what he’s thinking. “Betrayed.” He finally says, maybe the first time he’s admitted it out loud to anyone other than the raccoon who used to frequent his back porch in Kenora. “I feel betrayed.”
“I don’t think anyone would fault you for that.” Brynn says gently. “Was it hard going back to Philly with the Kings?” Reporters have asked him this question a hundred times, but somehow when Brynn asks it, it sounds different. Maybe because she’s actually concerned about more than whether or not his answer will provide a good sound bite.
“Probably the hardest thing I’ve done in a while.” He tells her the truth he’s never bared for the cameras. “Just being back there, so soon after everything...the old room, the old guys, old coach. I wasn’t prepared to go, you know, so I never got to say goodbye to any of that.”
“Must be hard, knowing you can’t even get them back.” Brynn notes with a wry smile, “The guys who made the decision to trade you aren’t on the ice.” Mike laughs.
“I don’t want to egg their cars quite as much as I used to.” He says, reaching for his glass of sangria. Brynn lifts hers with a soft smile.
“To progress.” She clinks her glass with his.
---
“How come you’re not having Christmas dinner with the team? Isn’t that what all you single guys do?” Brynn asks over dessert. Mike shrugs, looking down at his plate. Truth is, he had been invited to a Christmas thing with some of the guys, but he’d blown it off when he found out Brynn didn’t have plans.
“A couple of the guys had something planned.” He admits casually, since he’s never been a good liar, “But I told them I had plans.” He leaves out the part about having been invited to dinner with the guys before making plans with her. At least it’s a partial truth. Brynn regards him carefully, trying to read his face.
“Did you tell them you had plans after they had already invited you, or before?” she asks and somehow Mike is not surprised that she busted him.
“It’s no big deal.” He plays it off, “I see those guys all the time. How often do I get to reconnect with the Brynn Holden from high school?”
“Thank you.” Brynn ignores his jib and offers a simple, sincere response instead.
“How come you were free tonight?” Mike asks, “Didn’t have plans with friends? Isn’t that what single friends do? They made a whole ten year long tv series about friends doing exactly that. It was called Friends.” Keep it light, he tells himself. Brynn sticks out her tongue at him.
“Most of my college friends have moved away.” She admits, “The ones who stayed in town stayed because they have family here, so that’s where they are tonight. Everyone I work with has a wife or a husband and kids.”
“Well, I don’t think the Kings are planning on trading me anytime soon-” he raps his knuckles on the wooden table. “So I won’t be moving away.” He grins. “I’ll be there for you.” He butchers it, but Brynn still laughs.
“Cause you’re there for me too.” She sings in response and then grimaces at herself, so Mike doesn’t even have to pretend that she might just have sounded worse than he did.
“Friends.” He offers, lifting his glass.
“Friends.” Brynn clinks her glass against his again.
---
Dinner is long over, dirty dishes piled in the sink and Mike and Brynn have retired to his living room, sitting cross-legged and facing each other over third glasses of sangria. Mike can feel the heat spreading from his torso, but he’s not sure if that’s because of the alcohol or the way Brynn’s knee is barely grazing his own.
“I got you a present.” Brynn says.
“Aw, what a good friend.” Mike coos and flicks her nose with his thumb, smiling jokingly.
“That sangria got you buzzed yet?” She shoves his knee softly.
“A little.” He admits.
“Perfect time for your present.” She works her way to her feet and disappears into the bathroom. When she returns a few moments later, she throws a wadded up ball of something at his face. He throws up a hand to catch it, closing his fingers around soft, warm fabric. His eyebrows furrow low as he starts to unfold the little ball of fabric.
“Merry Christmas.” Brynn says in a soft voice. Mike’s mouth goes dry when he unfolds the offending piece of fabric and is holding in his hand one pair of very thin black cotton boy short panties. He looks up and Brynn is smirking at him playfully.
“I hope those are still your favourites. That’s what you told me right before you puked on my shoes.” She pulls down the waistband of her sweats to show Mike just enough bare hipbone for him to know that the panties in his hand are most certainly the ones she is no longer wearing. “Tell Richie Junior it’s time for that party.” She says with a giggle, spinning on her heel and sprinting off down the hall towards his bedroom. Mike is on his feet in two seconds flat, brandishing the panties like a victory flag and galloping after her.
“Best friend ever!”