“Probably the best I’ve slept in months,” I whisper against his chest.
He groans, pulling me closer. “I was sleeping so well with you pressed up against me.”
“Me too,” I admit as his fingers trail through the ends of my hair. “What time do you think the bridge will be clear to get back home?” I ask, trying to calculate how much time I have left in his arms.
“Probably early afternoon, once the sun can melt the ice.” His hand roams down my back and over my hip.
“Okay. So we have a little time.” My palm slides blindly over his fox tattoo, absorbing his warmth. “Merry Christmas Eve. I’m glad I get to spend this one with you.”
“Me too,” he breathes.
I lean back and meet his sleepy eyes. “What did you do last Christmas Eve?”
“Watched movies and ate too much,” he says with a yawn.
“What did you watch?”
His cheeks lift in a grin. “The Holiday, Miracle on 34th Street, and, umm—”
A chill spreads through my chest as I wait for him to finish. But he doesn’t, and deep in my gut, I already know the answer. “Home Alone,” I whisper.
His body stills, and my breathing halts.
“Those are the exact movies Gary and Joe watched last year on Christmas Eve,” I tell him as his heart accelerates beneath my palm. Thoughts swirl, race, and tangle in my mind until I pull out of his arms and sit up. “Where did you spend Christmas Eve last year?”
He lifts to lean against the headboard, heaving a deep breath and flicking his gaze around the room. Finally, he admits, “This cabin.”
My brain short-circuits as I croak, “Here?”
“Yes.”
Betrayal simmers in my veins as my brows pucker. “You wereherelast year?”
His throat moves on a swallow. “I stayed here for a few days the last two Christmases.”
“Here, as in ten minutes away from us, and we didn’t know it? Why?” Dread sinks low in my stomach.
With a sigh, he wipes a hand down his face. “Because I couldn’t think of anywhere else in the world that I’d rather be for Christmas thanthistown. The need to be near your family was so strong that I got as close as I possibly could.”
Shaking my head, I cross my arms over my bare chest, hoping to shield some of the raw vulnerability pouring out of me. “Why didn’t you say something? Come visit? Have a meal with us? Anything?”
His gaze tracks all over my face, his lips a flat line. “You know the answer to that.”
I’ve been slowly putting the puzzle together to reveal why Gavin left three years ago, and this feels like another piece I’ve settled into place.
“Because of me?” I whisper.
He nods sadly as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, guilt written in the crease of his brow. “Because it’s so hard to look your family in the eyes when I want you so much.” His shoulders hunch. “I rented this cabin. Avoided everywhere you all might be. Forced Gary and Joe to keep it a secret. Drove to Fern River for groceries so no one would ask questions.” He’s talking so quickly that I can’t even form follow-up thoughts. “And I laid in this bed and thought about you all. I wondered what you were doing and what Pen and Jack got for Christmas and if your mom needed my help in the kitchen.”
My nose scrunches as I try to control the tears gathering on my lashes.
“I’m sorry, Lena.”
My mind whirs through memories from last year’s Christmas, trying to recalibrate them with this new information.
When we were opening gifts, he was only a few miles from us. When I was attempting to make my own lemon pie, he was right here. When we were picking out a Christmas tree, was he really only a short walk away?
My chest feels like a heavy weight is squeezing all the air out.
