“That’sthe look I was talking about.” I busy myself sipping rich hot chocolate and glancing out the fogged side window. “I told you not to do that.”
“I’m not doing anything! Zero sympathy. No weird looks.” He silences for a beat, so each second building between us becomes a living, swelling cloud of anxiety until finally, he bursts out, “Today? Just before Christmas?”
“I wasn’t even a kid anymore, but I was a total nerd for Christmas. It was tree-lighting ceremony night, and we had a whole bunch of law school tuition to pay off.”Fuckkkk. I exhale a noisy breath. “We. Like it wasn’t justmydebt. From the moment I graduated high school and jumped face first into college, he stopped taking December off work. Instead, he just… worked harder. He picked up extra shifts, and slept less if that’s what he needed to do. He was still Santa, he still bought toys on clearance, and he still hauled stupid amounts of boxes and decorations across town for the festival. But he refused to let more debt build than necessary, so every spare cent he earned went toward my tuition. He was rushing home that night after work and hit a patch of ice, and that…” I shrug, falsely casual. “Was the end of it. December officially sucked.” I risk a peek his way. “But you’re not allowed to be weird or sympathetic. I don’t like that.”
“My mom died in December, too.”
Stunned, I choke on my gasped breath.
“My dad pounded on that poor woman for ten years straight. Beat her black and blue, and that stuff you said about December being a crappy month for people because of mental health and all that shit?”
Tears fill my eyes, balling in my lashes.
“My old man seemed to think holiday depression was a free pass to be an even bigger asshole than usual. He drank heavier, bitched louder, and hit harder. She tried so fuckin’ hard to bring a little Christmas cheer into our home, doing superhuman things to shield me from his bullshit and allow me one day a year where I could believe in magic.”
I sniffle and do that thing I forbade him from doing; study him through sympathetic eyes.
“She tried, and she always did Christmas up nicely. Every single year, she managed to get a little something under the tree with my name on it, and she became a pro at making cocoa. The Christmas when I was ten, she could hardly smile, cos her lip was split so bad. That’s the day I decided I wanted to learn how to fight.” He balls his fist, smiling down at what I know makes him feel good. The power he took control of, and the ability to protect the person he loves. “He started on her again the dayafter Christmas, screaming his head off because I’d left my empty cocoa mug on the table when I should’ve taken it to the sink.”
“Dean.” I trade our grip and wrap my fingers around his wrist. “You were a kid. That wasn’t your?—”
“Not my fault?” He grins. “I know. He was picking for the sake of picking, because he’s an asshole. It was as simple as that. But he tried to knock me around, so my mom got between us, then because he was knocking her around, I ran outside and grabbed the biggest fuckin’ log I could find, took a sprinting start, and bashed that prick over the back with it.”
His lips curl into a smug smirk. “Slammed him to the ground and put my foot on his throat. Which was kinda dumb,” he admits sheepishly. “He could’ve grabbed my foot and hurt me bad. But I guess he was too drunk or too stupid to realize. He left us that day and never came back.”
“Oh my gosh,” I moan. “Dean.”
“I didn’t know he would never come back, though, so I learned how to defend us, and every Christmas, I turned just a little more vigilant. We were broke as fuck,” he chuckles. “I was the kid receiving donated toys, and my mom got damn good at making cocoa. Each January, we’d sneak to the shops and take a peek at the clearance sales. If we could afford it, we’d buy just one decoration. Something special to put away for the next Christmas. She died seven years ago after a nasty run in with the big C.” He leans across and swipes fresh tears from beneath my eyes. “A week after she passed, it was Christmas day, and that was the first Christmas in my whole life I had nothing waiting for me under the tree.”
“This is devastating.” I choke on a humiliating, snotting sob and curl into his broad palm. “I’m over here being a total bitchbecause, boo hoo me, something bad happened to me at Christmastime. But then there’s you?—”
“Everyone’s allowed to grieve differently. Decorating for the holidays hurts you,notdecorating hurts me. Neither of us is right, and neither is wrong. But that tournament I was heading to when you so cruelly ran me down with your car?”
“Oh God.” I cry. I laugh. I completely lose my shit. “I didn’t mean to hit you, I swear.”
“The family hosting that event do it at the same time every single year. We fight for the belt, get the formalities out of the way in the days leading up to the twenty-fifth, then on Christmas morning, whoever wants to stick around another day can, because they host a BBQ at their gym. It’s a family, Anna. It’s togetherness, no matter where a guy comes from, and even if there are no gifts waiting for him under the tree back home.”
“I took that from you this year,” I whimper. “I destroyed your chances of competing, stole that togetherness away from you, and I’ve been nothing but a giant bitch even when all you’ve tried to do is inject a little Christmas cheer into my home.”
“No sympathy,” he grunts. “But maybe a little perspective. Your grief is valid, and the way you process it is valid, too.” He pauses for a beat, glancing across and swallowing so his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “I’ll take all the crap down just as soon as we go inside, I promise.”
“No.” I snuggle into his palm, smiling at the thud of his racing pulse against my lips. “Leave it up.”
“Are you sure?”
“Mmm.” I lick my dry lips and meet his eyes. “I’m sure. I’ve tried my thing for four years now, and it’s clearly not working,since I’m getting meaner each year. You’ve been doing yours much longer, and you’re happy as hell.”
“The data is certainly leaning in my favor,” he adds seriously. “Never mind that our pool only consists of two people. The numbers are still relevant.”
“Oh, shush.” Snickering, I bring our joined hands down and stroke his scarred knuckles. “If you could see it in your heart to forgive my terrible manners these last few days, maybe you’d consider helping me move all those boxes over for the festival?” Bravely, I search his eyes. “I’ll carry the heavy stuff so you can rest your shoulder. Then if you’re not too exhausted, we could probably go back and watch them light the tree Friday night.”
“Are you asking me out on a date, Anna Maxwell?” His lips quirk into a goofy grin. “Will you wear your elf costume for me?”
“No! Get out of the damn car so we can go inside and?—”
He hooks his hand around the back of my neck and yanks me his way, slamming his lips to mine and surprising the oxygen straight out of my lungs until he swallows it for himself. His tongue darts forward, tapping against mine and begging for entry, then he dives in deeper, devouring me whole until our kiss tastes of cocoa, tears, andhim.
He breaks our kiss with a gasp, panting and pressing his forehead against mine. His lashes come down to tickle his cheek—to tickle mine, too—and when I lick my lips, stunned into silence, his smile notches higher. “Don’t run me down with your car for doing that. I’ve wanted to taste you since I first woke on the road and thought you were an angel sent specially for me.” He kisses me again, suckling my bottom lip and soothing the pressure with a swipe of his tongue. “Fuckkkk. It’s better than I imagined.”
