I slump back against the couch, my arms still smarting where Nick held me in a bruising grip, stopping me from going after Gracie as my parents ushered her out, taking her home.
Analise disappeared after everyone left, but Nick’s still hovering across the room, leaning back against the wall, his dark scowl fixed on his shoes.
The tension fills the air with quiet condemnation, and it weighs heavily without Nick saying a word. I shift, my foot nudging the remains of the holly sprig wrapping paper, my phone lying forgotten amongst the mess of it all.
I’d noticed it missing when I woke up on the floor ofNick’s living room yesterday morning—with him snoring loudly on the couch beside me because Paisley had taken his bed. I figured I had left it at the bar, but a call from Nick’s phone hadn’t turned anything up, and I didn’t have the bandwidth to truly care about finding it.
Gracie was pretty determined not to see me until today, and I used that as an excuse to keep hiding from her, but last night, I gave in and went over to her duplex—only to find her car missing and the place empty.
The front door slams, followed by two thuds as my dad kicks off his boots. He comes into the living room, stomping straight for his armchair, and sits down with a loud exhale.
“You alright, Stephen?” Nick asks roughly. “You want a beer?”
Dad dips his chin, running a hand over his jaw. “Yes, thank you. Feels a bit necessary right this minute.”
Nick nods, not even looking in my direction as he turns and walks out of the room. Dad clears his throat, and I drag my eyes to him.
“You’ve really fucked up this time, son.”
I grind my molars together, defensive anger rising in my chest. I smother it back, knowing it won’t help me right now. “I know.”
“Do you?” There’s enough doubt in just those two words that it has me pausing. “Your mother decided to stay with Gracie. She’s worried about her.”
My stomach roils, feeling like I’ve swallowed acid. “I am too,” I argue pointlessly. “She wouldn’t even talk to me.”
Dad looks at me like I’m stupid, but it’s Nick who scoffs as he comes back into the room. “Can you blame her?”
He’s clutching three bottles of beer, and I take the one he grudgingly offers me. But I don’t lift it to my mouth.Instead, I lean forward, balancing my elbows on my knees and dangling the bottle between my legs.
“I never meant for any of this to happen,” I say quietly, my eyes on the floor. “I was gonna tell her about the house, but I figured it was better to wait until after Christmas.”
No one says anything, and I look up, finding them both watching me, severe disappointment simmering in my dad’s eyes.
“Then why the heck would you tell Paisley?” he demands.
“I don’t—” My bottle drops out of my limp fingers, hitting the ground and falling onto its side, beer rapidly spilling onto the cream carpet. “Shit!” I snatch the bottle up, but Dad is already standing.
“I’ll sort it,” he says. “You know what your mother is like. Go take a breather outside or something.”
I don’t argue, Nick falling into step behind me as I head out onto the back deck. I collapse on the top step, and he sits next to me, lifting his beer to his lips, throat bobbing as he swallows.
Neither of us says a word for the longest time. There’s a huge oak tree growing along the back fenceline, and the bare branches give a clear view of the old treehouse my dad built when Analise and I were younger.
I asked him last year why he doesn’t tear it down, and he gave me a wistful smile, saying that he knows he and Mom aren’t ever planning on leaving, but he loves the idea of his grandkids playing in the branches—just like his kids did.
The memory of that conversation steals my breath. Gracie and I were only together a couple of months, but I immediately imaginedourkids scaling the old rope ladder and disappearing into the thick branches of the tree, their laughter ringing out.
“It’s not snowing,” I mutter, and Nick shoots me a bemused look.
“No shit.”
I moisten my lips. “Gracie…It doesn’t snow where she grew up. You remember last Christmas?”
His parents had traveled to Paisley for the holidays, but Nick stayed behind. He’d come over after his shift at the station and found Gracie and me outside, building a snowman, her joy contagious. The snowman had been sacrificed for a snowball war, with us using its body for quick ammo. We had so much fucking fun before my mom insisted we come inside for a hot toddy to warm up.
“I remember,” Nick says lowly.
“That was the first thing I thought of when I woke up this morning,” I admit. “I looked out the window, and I was so damn disappointed, knowing how much she would have loved another white Christmas.”
