Is this motherfucker for real?
I take slow steps toward him.
“If you think for one second, I’m going to wait for you whilst you live it up in LA, fucking god knows who, you are out of your damn mind, Carson. I’m not a dumb eighteen-year-oldanymore. I’m nearly twenty-three and I am not taking your shit any longer. You either want me, or you don’t.”
I wait for him to speak. I wait for him to choose me. He pushes his hand through his wavy golden hair and closes his eyes tight, and I know then that I’ve lost him. Seven years, all our plans, gone, just like that.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, reaching for my face, and I slap his hand away.
“Don’t touch me,” I snarl. “Just get out.”
“I still love you, Ken—” I cut him off, not able to listen to his bullshit.
“Don’t you dare. You don’t love me. If you did, you would have talked to me before you agreed to take the internship. You would have asked me to go with you. You wouldn’t be breaking my heart the day before Christmas. So no, you don’t love me.”
Maybe he did once, a long time ago. If I am honest with myself, he stopped loving me the minute he kissed Hannah Laurence. But I was stupid and naïve, and I didn’t want to fail at being a girlfriend. Failure isn’t accepted in my family. We were Kensington's; we always came out on top. I’m the youngest. I’ve aways been the one who never really cared until all my sisters started making careers and great life choices, so I decided I needed to buckle down and sort my life out. When I got with Carson, my parents were so happy, and I thrived off the praise and adoration. I got accepted into a top fashion school, and I had everything. Now I had no job, no career prospects, no home, no boyfriend. And it’s Christmas. Fuck my life.
Carson slides past me. I remain still, facing the wall. Listening to him place his suitcase on the floor and wheel it out of the room. I wait until I hear the noticeable sound of the front door shutting before I let myself fall to the floor and weep into one of his college sweaters I find beside me. I bring my knees to my chest and sob.
Today sucks. This may be the worst Christmas ever. Deciding I won’t waste another minute crying over this ass of a man, I get up, dust myself off and go in search of my phone. I check flights to The Hamptons, and all of them are full. Of course they are! I check the drawer, and of course, the car keys have gone. Not only did this prick dump me on Christmas Eve, he’s taken the car. With no car and a cab costing the earth, I book myself a train ticket, knowing it will take me hours, but hey, I had time to kill. I can use the time to read a self-help book, research for jobs, a new apartment, how to poison my now ex without leaving any evidence and mentally prepare myself for spending the holidays as the only single person in my family.
Yeah, Merry fucking Christmas to me. This is, without doubt, the worst Christmas and birthday ever.
Chapter Two
Beckett
This holiday season can suck my left ball. 'Tis the season to be jolly? Whoever said that clearly hadn’t just walked in on their girlfriend on all fours getting fucked by the weird guy who installed their new cable box last month. She wasn’t just a girlfriend, no, she was the woman I planned on proposing to; that was until I caught her with him. Her excuse? I was married to my job and never paid her any attention, which wasn’t a complete lie, but that doesn’t excuse cheating. No, it’s not the season to be jolly, 'tis the season to get fucked over.
I left the Marines for her, four years ago, and I have been busting my ass to build my security business ever since. I still work for the military as a reserve soldier on security-related operations when they need me, but the past year, thanks to a contract working for a local business here in New York run by some guys I used to serve with, my business has been booming and I am about to sign a new contract working for the currentMiss New York Darling. I thought I was building a secure life for the both of us, but clearly not.
So now I’m stuck on a train to The Hamptons, because getting a flight out of New York was as difficult as getting my girlfriend to remain faithful. I begged just about every airline at the airport to get me on a flight, but no luck with it being Christmas eve and New York is due to be hit with a snowstorm this afternoon. Thanks to my now ex, I’m going to go spend Christmas with my brother, who has been begging me to visit for the past two years, and his family, and try to figure out what the fuck I am going to do now.
I continue to scroll, searching for a new apartment because my place is now tainted with her betrayal, when something hard hits the back of my head.
What the…
I look up to see who has hit me, but before I can say a word, something hits me again.
I rub the back of my head and look up and see a petite blonde with a large bag over her shoulder, fighting to lift a suitcase into the compartment above me while balancing a cup of coffee in her hand. I go to offer to help, but she turns and her bag slams into the side of my face.
“Are you kidding me,” I growl, rubbing my throbbing cheek.
“Excuse me, are you speaking to me?” the woman asks. Her voice screams wealth without even looking at her.
“Yes, you with the bag. You’ve hit me twice with it.”
“No, I haven’t,” she’s quick to reply.
“Yes, you did,” I say. “Most people would just apologize.”
“Why would I apologize for something I didn’t do?” She bites back.
“Because you did do it.”
“Well, I’m sorry,” she says, her tone full of sarcasm.
“Thank you for your heartfelt apology,” I reply as I lift my head to look at her, and fuck, I stop in my tracks. She’s gorgeous. Big blue doll-like eyes, red puffy lips, long blonde hair hidden under a black beret-style hat. My eyes drift down her body. She’s got this preppy posh girl look going on. Cream sweater and plaid skirt with knee-high boots that match the color of her sweater. She’s hot and young.
