Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Stetson didn’t call me back like he promised—not at all.
He really didn’t call me.
The words echoed through my head from the moment I sat down for dinner, to the second my head hit the pillow in my dark, sad room. Yes, it’s quite sad right now because I am devastated.
He. Didn’t. Call. Me.
I can’t believe it. That’s what the problem is.
It’s that I really can’t believe he didn’t reach out and for once, I didn’t reach out to him.
I didn’t text him like the old Charlie would have to be cute and check in and to hope desperately that nothing had changed.
No, this time I’m letting myself sit with it.
Because Grace was right and yet again, I foolishly believed I could trust my gut.
I’m seriously going to figure out a way to get a gut transplant when I’m home because lord knows this gut of mine has made some serious mistakes recently.
It feels better to blame something when I know it could be me.
I could be the problem, not my instincts, maybe in the end I wasn’t enough maybe.
No I shake my head, I know I didn’t make those things up, the moments between us the things we shared.
Before I can go down a dark dumb gut road, I think I hear a noise in the room…no, but then the bed sinks down next to me and strong arms I remember so well encircle me from behind. I feel his beard in my neck, and I melt up against him. He feels so familiar.
And he smells like sweet home.
“Miss me?” He whispers against my ear as he begins to trail kisses down my neck.
“I did,” I admit shamelessly. “A whole lot.”
“Me too.”
And then I forget to think because I’m lost in the vortex of Stetson.
He’s gone in the morning. Just like he was never here and on the bed in all its shining glory is the clause. I’m afraid it isn’t real. I really wish I was imagining it, but there it is in all of its shining glory staring up at me, daring me all over again.
My hands graze the special parchment paper as my gaze draws down to the signature lines and on the spot I signed next to his name is a stamp that says void.
Void as if it never happened.
Void as if I never existed.
Void.
Gone.
The end.
I choke out a sob and fall to the ground.
No, no, he can’t do that! He just, he just made it as if we never happened as if we never existed— he just gave me memories and took them back again.
I reach for it again only for the clause to pull some freaking Mission Impossible shit for brains move and self-destruct into a tiny poof of crystals all the while a jingle sounds in the background like I should be happy.
It’s the first time I actually hate the sound of Christmas magic.
I can’t say anything to Grace or Devon, I can’t pretend I went into this with my eyes closed either, I can only manage to stare at the wall as the sound of Christmas fades around me and wonder if maybe I’m crazy, maybe loneliness really is a bitch and I imagined all of his kisses, touches, all his words—but promises?
No, he never made those in fact he said his fate wouldn’t be like his father’s, he said he would never become like him.
I don’t think he meant alone.
I think he meant heartbroken.
Better to break someone else’s then wait for it to happen to you? Does that mean he really did feel something and ran away?
Does it even matter at this point?
I try to sleep for the next hour but between crying and jumping when I hear a noise thinking it might be Stetson returning— sleep doesn’t really come.
When I go up later for breakfast I expect to get grilled by Grace and Devon, but I don’t, they can clearly see the misery on my face but don’t realize I had a night of goodbyes with him.
Because that’s what it was, a stereotypical, ‘I love you too much to stay’ bullshit goodbye without any promises of tomorrow, only kisses in the moment. Was his goal to get me to hate Christmas forever? To hate men?
Achieved, very well achieved.
I haven’t tried texting him and finally gain the courage after eating some carbs, it’s mostly fueled by rage at his rejection mixed in with a heavy dose of sadness and two mimosas, but I send anyways.
Me
I hope you got home safe. What does Void mean, does that mean, is this the end? You know you can’t just leave me with all these questions.
I press send and await his response. It comes quick.
Stetson
It was incredible, Charlie Horse. I have a crazy day ahead so I’m going to be offline. Void as in, you’re no longer bound to the contract. We had our night. Now it’s time for you to have them back without having to worry about the consequences of Christmas magic and me.
Me
So you’re what? Giving me freedom I don’t want and expect me to say ‘thank you’ after all we shared?
Stetson
I would never take your freedom or your will. It’s a tragedy to own someone’s love, it’s a blessing being chosen to carry it.
I realize I didn’t tell him one major thing.
Me
Stetson, I’m leaving today.
He takes a moment before writing back.
Stetson
So am I, Charlie Horse.
Interesting. So we both didn’t tell each other. Why do I feel kind of short breath now? Does that mean that this is it?
Me
Safe travels then?
I’m prodding, reaching, I’m giving him a chance to say something, anything at this point to comfort me to tell me I have it all wrong, to do something.
Stetson
You too, Charlie Horse, you too.
And that’s it ladies and gentlemen. There’s no more text after this. Nothing. Nada. Not a peep and when I try to text again.
It bounces back.
I try again on the plane.
Not a word.
I stare at my phone when I’m on the car ride home to Naples, Florida.
Not a word when I wake up in the morning to check my texts to see if maybe his inbox was full if that was still even a freaking thing.
Nothing. I trick myself for a few days and think he’s going to call or text and he’s just settling into the job because yes, it is only two weeks before Christmas and it must be a busy time of year and maybe it was too much too soon, God knows it was hot and heavy, but I’m still left alone to face the bitter cold of winter the empty laughter of the people around me and the dizzying amount of parties where I dress up and paste a smile on my face and tell myself I’m lucky I have such good friends only to go home and microwave takeout and watch Dateline reruns or yell at Dr. Now for not being kinder on My Six Hundred Pound Life reruns I just can’t stop watching.
That’s the thing nobody tells you about the glam life, no matter how much money you have it doesn’t alter your heart, it doesn’t give you an extra dose of cheer and if it does, like any drug, it’s very brief and you need someone to immediately replace it so you get a happy hit.
Christmas shopping and champagne a cold bed make.
On day five, after a brutal reality check from Grace, I realize Stetson Nicholasen is not going to call me. Nor is he going to text me. I signed the clause and I got one night with Mr. Wonderful… maybe not so wonderful, all things considered… but pretty damn wonderful if you ask me.
I try not to cry.
I try not to be sad.
But then I get a genius idea to put up a Christmas tree as a sort of way to say F-you I’m going to celebrate anyway; hey broken hearts don’t always make sense.
I mean, why the hell not? Once it goes up though—once it’s up there in all it’s simple glory with its white twinkling lights and red and green bulbs I realize I put it up because I like torture.
Because I want to think of him. Because when I see the tree I feel a glimpse of his warmth and I think of his magic and the world doesn’t feel so dark anymore.
Was it a gift? The clause? I don’t know, maybe years from now I’ll look back and think of it that way like a sliver in time that was given to me where everything was perfect where all the pain and sadness that I’d suffered allowed me to turn in my signature in exchange for one beautiful Stetson, a gift from Santa.
But for now? For now I would look at the tree and allow sadness to descend just a bit.
There was only one glass of eggnog, not two spiked glasses of hot chocolate, no crazy pantry, and no Santa humming off key. It was just a pretty tree and me. I swipe the hot tears.
“Damn it Stetson, you just had to be The One didn’t you?
” I sniffle. “You lacked one thing though, bravery.” I sigh.
“Sure, wrestle some polar bears but the minute your heart beats too fast, oh no, better pull back and hide under the covers.” I have to assume that’s it because if I assume it’s because I’m not enough I might just drown myself in the eggnog I’m drinking.
Horrible sad girl tears start making their way down my face, the kind that make your nose more than red and your eyes swollen like you have some type of infection worse than pink eye.
“Charlie?” My baby brother, Ethan’s worried voice breaks through my ugly tears.
I look over at him standing in my family room in shock and relief. How did he get here? When did he get here? How long has he been standing there watching me cry over a tree?
“Ethan!” I run over and throw myself in his arms and cry myself good.
He doesn’t say a word, my brother. He just holds me in his arms and rocks me around like I’m a little girl. I calm down after a while.
“Who do I need to beat up?” He grumbles into my hair as I pull away from him so I can stare into his handsome face.
We have the same eyes, but his hair is brown, and he likes to keep it long, with one of those man buns. Ethan’s a bit of a hippy, all namaste and peace and love. He teaches yoga and does regular ashrams in India.
I don’t blame him considering the childhood we had—even though he never has a bad word to say about my parents. I’m the sibling that will need help getting into heaven but since Ethan’s communing with the universe on a daily basis, I’m hoping he’ll put in a good word for me.
“Unfortunately, this one is all my fault,” I tell him with a sigh. “Walked in with eyes wide open and brain in temporary dumb mode.”
“You’re never dumb,” he says loyally. I love him for it.
I let out a snort. “Want a list, dear brother?”
He laughs as I walk out of his embrace.
“Can I get you some eggnog?” I ask him staring into my empty glass.
“I’d prefer a beer,” he says. “I’m trying not to do dairy, no sugar and sweets for me—and speaking of, what is happening on this coffee table? Diabetes?”
I have the grace to blush. I may have gone overboard in hopes someone would stop by—I wonder how many years that’s going to last.
Besides, ever since Stetson I have a sweet tooth that is insatiable. Not normal and completely out of hand—at least I haven’t noticed it in my ass—yet.
“Did you buy out the bakery at the grocery store?”
“Pretty much,” I nod.
“Are you expecting people?”
“No,” I shake my head and can’t stop myself from leaning over and taking a bite out of the pound cake.
“You’ve got it bad,” he shakes his head at me in sympathy.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I can feel the lump in my throat start to grow. “How long are you staying?”
I look at his larger than normal piece of luggage. Ethan lives in Miami so he’s back and forth a lot. But this visit is a surprise.
“I thought we could spend Christmas together, like when we were kids.”
He looks at the tree and smiles.
“I can’t believe you put a tree up,” he says.
I shrug.
“It felt right this year,” I say.
“It’s perfect, Char Char,” he smiles at me. “I have a feeling this is going to be the best Christmas ever.”
“Why is that?” I ask him with a smile even though I already feel a shift in energy from his presence.
“I have some news,” he looks sheepish and shy suddenly.
He grabs the box of eggnog, reads the almond milk label, and puts it down.
“What is it?”
“I’m engaged.”