Broken & Torn (Emerald Falls #1)

32. 32

32

PARKER

I t’s Christmas Day and the town is decked out for the occasion. As Lyla and I drive through town, she points out every detail. The garland and lights decorating every lamp-post, the big Christmas tree they put up in the town’s center, and of course, the giant Frosty they situate next to the bank.

Lyla had hoped to spend Christmas with her mom in Edmonton, but we had gotten so much snow recently that the road conditions weren’t ideal for travel. My dad had invited her to join us on Christmas morning, without hesitation.

To say that my family is thrilled about Lyla and I dating would be an understatement. My dad loved her from the moment they met, and she and my sister had gone for dinner a few times. Lyla never complained about my family or how close we are and she always makes an effort to spend time with them. She’s been invited to every family dinner and today was no exception.

We pull up to the Hamilton family home and I cut the engine. I turn to Lyla, grabbing her hand and bringing it to my lips for a quick kiss. I’ve never been this outwardly affectionate with a woman before and I know that it has everything to do with this particular one. I’m drawn to her like a moth to a flame, seeking her out and needing to be within her presence. Some men may not want to work with their girlfriend, but spending my time with Lyla at the store makes the days far more pleasant.

We pull the presents out of the truck and make our way up the driveway. When we enter the space, Lyla gasps and her eyes light up with the excitement of a child.

Covering every square inch of the space is Christmas decor. We always have a large tree in front of the bay window in the living room, and every flat surface available is draped with Christmas decorations. Every table has a holiday centerpiece and the doorways are all lined with garland. Twinkle lights are scattered throughout, basking the home in a warm glow. Lyla assesses the house with a look of awe and turns to face me, beaming with delight.

My mom had always loved this time of year, claiming it was when real magic happened. The first few Christmases without her were solemn, but we never failed to decorate in her memory. I knew it made all of us feel closer to her and decorating was always something that brought equal amounts of joy and heartache. Grief is funny that way. The memories of our loved ones make us smile, while breaking our heart simultaneously, remembering them in past tense.

Voices are coming from the kitchen and we wander to the back of the house where my dad is making breakfast with Peyton and Chris. Lucy sits at the small kitchen table, coloring as usual, when she looks up and squeals.

“Uncle Parker and Auntie Lyla are here!” She launches out of her chair and hugs Lyla first.

Traitor.

Lyla lets out a melodic laugh as my niece wraps her arms around her.

“Merry Christmas, Lucy.”

Everyone greets us with a warm embrace and Lyla sighs wistfully once they go back to their stations .

“I don’t think I’ll ever get over how amazing your family is.” She whispers while she wraps an arm around my waist.

I pull her close to my side and plant a kiss on top of her head. She’s gone with her natural wavy hair today and minimal makeup, and is sporting a red knit sweater and dark wash jeans. I don’t think I will ever adjust to how beautiful she is. When she had come down the stairs this morning, my breath hitched and my heart stuttered. The effect she has on me is something so foreign, yet nothing has ever felt more right.

And I’m not planning on ever letting her go.

Lyla leaves my side and begins helping my dad in the kitchen. They have a comfortability with one another that makes my chest ache and I can so easily see her being a part of every holiday and special event.

And it makes me feel whole.

After breakfast, we all gather in the living room to open presents. Lucy hands out the presents as the official family elf and we open everything one at a time so people can see what we gift one another. It’s always been a slow process, but my mom had insisted every year that we keep that system.

Lyla gifts my sister concert tickets for the two of them in Edmonton, and gifts Chris monogrammed cuff links and a new briefcase for work, having noticed at the last dinner that his current one is worn. When Lucy opens her gift, her face ignites with a megawatt smile.

“What is it, baby?” My sister leans over to inspect and lets out a chuckle.

Lucy pulls out a painting and turns it over to show me. On the canvas is a perfectly painted picture of Georgina, Lucy’s treasured stuffed hippo.

“Do you like it?” Lyla asks shyly.

“I love it!” Lucy exclaims as she launches into Lyla’s lap, giving her a massive hug.

Lyla laughs and says, “There’s a few more things in there. ”

Lucy’s eyes light with delight as she runs back to the gift bag. Reaching inside, she pulls out acrylic paints and some small canvases, along with a painting box to store her supplies. The last item she pulls out is a piece of paper. She sucks in a breath and her gaze falls on Lyla.

“Now I can be an artist like you,” Lucy says in a hushed voice.

Lyla nods while tears well in her eyes, and I get a bit misty myself.

On the piece of paper is a gift certificate for supplies at Bev’s studio and sticky note promising some one-on-one time with Lyla to teach her how to paint.

I blink back the moisture in my eyes and place my hand on top of Lyla’s. Our gazes lock and a silent conversation passes through the two of us.

This means everything to me, and she knows that.

The gifts continue, with Lyla giving my dad a beautiful wooden compass for his hiking explorations. I gave her a standing easel for painting at home, and a sterling silver and diamond snowflake necklace, which makes her breath catch in her throat. She immediately asks me to put the necklace on for her and gives me a scorching kiss, right in front of my family.

Once it’s time for me to open my gifts from Lyla, she looks uncertain. I give her a reassuring smile and tear into the paper of the first gift. A first edition of my favorite Cory Doctorow book that’s in perfect condition. I thank her with a kiss on the cheek and tear into gift number two.

It’s a polaroid camera with a few boxes of film for it.

“You said that your mom used to have one.”

I can’t believe how thoughtful this gift is and a silent tear slides down my cheek. I look around the room and see similar emotions within the eyes of my family.

“This is—” I clear my throat, trying to find the words. “Perfect. Thank you.”

“You okay?” I ask, taking one hand off the steering wheel and grazing her thigh.

She looks over and nods, before letting out a huff and looking out the passenger window.

“Today was amazing. I’ve never had such a good Christmas,” she replies softly.

My heart aches for her because I know that she’s thinking back to a time when Christmas wasn’t a happy time in her household.

“Have you called that woman Theo recommended?”

She shakes her head and wrings her hands together in her lap.

“I’m scared to face it all, if I’m being honest.”

“I know it’s a lot, but Theo found the EMDR really helpful. Maybe you should call after the new year.”

We pull up to the house and quickly hop out, running to the door. It’s a brisk winter evening, the kind of cold that hurt your face if you stay outside for more than two minutes.

We begin taking off our winter layers in the front entry and the tension is palpable. Lyla plops herself on the couch and I can almost hear the wheels in her head turning.

“I’m worried it won’t help. What if I’m too far gone to be helped?” she asks, barely above a whisper.

I wander over to the couch and sit beside her. I reach out and force her to look at me.

“When Theo came back from overseas, I thought he would never recover. He had episodes every day, and I supported him through that time, sometimes even staying the night so he wouldn’t be alone when he woke up from his nightmares. I honestly wasn’t sure if he would survive it. But then he went and saw Katelyn in Jasper, and I swear that every session, it seemed like his light became brighter again.

“I know he still has moments where he struggles, but he’s managed to get his PTSD under control. I believe that you can get there too, Lyla. Your strength isn’t something I have questioned for even a second, and I think that you need to give yourself more credit. You survived so much, but maybe it’s time to stop surviving and start truly living.”

Her eyes betray her, showcasing her sadness. I can tell that she feels defeated and I wish I could take away her pain. Knowing that isn’t possible, I wrap her in my arms instead. Her sniffles are the only sound in the room as I hold her and I run my hand up and down her back.

“It’s okay.” I soothe. “I’ve got you.”