Chapter 13 Misty
MISTY
“Cocoa! Cocoa Puff,” I hiss as I creep down the stairs.
She’s not in any of my siblings’ bedrooms or in the living room, where the rookies of the Boston Harbor Hawks are sprawled out sleeping.
My chest lurches. This—the full house, taking in rookies, all the children, the happy family holidays—this was what I always wanted, a real family, a real home of my very own, where I’m not an interloper. Where I am truly loved.
Cocoa, you better not be in the trash! I hear noise from the kitchen as I race down the hall.
The dog ate way too much yesterday. All my younger siblings want to give her snacks, and she was sounding a little gurgly all night as I tossed and turned and tried to figure out how to plan a surprise Christmas wedding for my sister.
Let’s ignore the fact that I was planning my own Christmas wedding last year. I’m helping Austen and Brielle because I love my stepsister and I love Austen.
Loved Austen.
I can’t love him romantically anymore. He’s about to be my brother.
I blink back the tears. I need to get over him.
Time for delusions is running out. Now it’s not just a wedding sometime in the nebulous future—it’s happening on Christmas.
This Christmas. I have two and a half weeks until he’s gone from me forever.
Better to bite the bullet and get over him now. That’s doable, right?
Or it would be if the sum of my bad decisions didn’t keep appearing like a regifted present.
I should tell him to leave, to get out, but—and I’ll never ever admit this to anyone—Talbot looks way better than Austen ever did shirtless. The hockey uniform padding is doing a lot of heavy lifting for my ex. Talbot, though? Those shoulders are all natural.
He’s doing this on purpose just to get to me.
Maybe if he didn’t have tattoos stamped on his skin, their black lines rippling over flexed muscles as he flips eggs in the pan, I’d say it wasn’t working.
“Mornin’, Gumdrop. I already let Cocoa out and fed her some saltine crackers.
She seems a little pukey.” He smirks at me over his shoulder, his lower lip catching briefly in his teeth.
“I think I should be rewarded. I could have snuck in here and smothered Austen in his sleep. I almost did, but the sight of him curled up so angelic next to your stepsister almost made me grow a heart. Those two really are in love.” He winks at me, the dark lashes framing the silvery snake eyes.
“I can see why you’re so jealous of your sister. She truly does have it all.”
Tears threaten to fall, and I clap my hand over my mouth but not before a sob escapes.
He blows out a breath. “Is this how it’s going to be with you? The crying?”
“I’m a loser, and I hate my horrible life,” I gasp.
He grunts. “I need coffee and scotch before I can deal with this shit this morning.”
“I felt so sorry for you I started on your breakfast extravaganza.” He hands me a steaming mug of coffee.
“The potatoes are in the oven—check them, will you? And no need to make a tinfoil Santa hat. I’m not reading your mind.
Found your meal plan. Gumdrop, for someone who’s this organized, it’s crazy that you accidentally hired me instead of 1-800-dial-a-penis. ”
“I don’t need you in here burning my eggs and overcooking my hash browns.” I’m not going to let him see me weak.
“It sounds so dirty when you say it like that.”
I yank open the oven and cough at the blast of steam. The hash browns don’t look ruined. I take a cautious bite. They’re perfect—crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside.
“You put vegetables with them?” I frown.
“I didn’t realize I was fake dating a five-year-old. It’s some green and red pepper. Gives it a little crunch. How’s the bacon looking?”
“Needs another minute.” I’m not pleased.
Talbot beams. “Look at us, working like a team.”
“There isn’t cyanide on them or something, is there?”
“Depends. Do you want there to be?” Talbot turns up the Christmas carols that are playing on the radio and whistles along with them.
The hitman has to be the reason Austen pushed up the wedding date. It’s the only thing that changed. If Austen sees Talbot here, who knows what he’ll do—probably elope with Brielle over Zoom or something.
Talbot does a little dance move that has no right being that sexy as he flips the French toast. I hate that he’s the embodiment of my fantasy—a hunky husband in my kitchen, cooking breakfast and singing along to Christmas music.
I take a deep breath and push down the heartache about how my life didn’t go as planned. “Thank you for your help. However, I cannot do this with you today. We’re going wedding planning.”
“We are?”
“No, I am,” I say firmly. “For Brielle.”
“Gumdrop...”
My lips thin.
“Mistletoe the Misguided.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“You’re in love with a man who dumped you for your sister, and now you’re planning her surprise wedding. You’re crazy.”
“No, you’re crazy. You kill people for a living.”
“It’s more of a side hustle. And at least I sell my soul for money, Gumdrop.” He grabs my arm, forcing me to him so he can mock me to my face. “You’re selling your self-respect for nothing more than being in that cheater’s presence.”
“Good to know your little nice-guy act is just that. Thanks for breakfast. Now get out of my kitchen.” I try to push him off like my hockey coaches always taught us, but he’s ready for me. He grabs the front of my sweater, dragging me to him.
“I can be the nice guy who makes you a breakfast burrito, or I can be the monster who fucks you up the ass and makes you watch while I throw the love of your life off a building. You do not want to fucking try me. So be a good girl and say, ‘Yes, please, sir, do what I paid you to do.’”
I can’t breathe.
“You look scared.” He taps me on the nose. “You should be.”
I’m reeling. Did he literally just say what I thought he did? No man has ever talked to me like that, especially not standing in my kitchen.
Upstairs, the house is stirring. I freeze as I hear voices.
“I really need to steal your French toast casserole recipe,” Talbot adds then whistles along to the ending of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.
The hitman swings me around, sensing my ex in the kitchen before I do. “Aaand there’s Austen, right on schedule. Hate to disappoint you, but I’m not about to fuck her here in the kitchen if that’s why you were trying to sneak up on us.”
I yelp in surprise as Austen, clearly annoyed, steps into the kitchen.
“I’m shocked you weren’t peeking through the cracks of her bedroom door last night.” Talbot smirks and puts me down.
“You let him stay the night, Misty?” Austen looks angry.
“Of course not,” I stammer, grabbing the cheese grater to furiously shred the sharp cheese and give myself something to do.
“That’s cheddar from my own cellar. Treat it with the respect it deserves,” Talbot warns.
“You’re lying.” Austen advances on me, face screwed up in sudden fury. “Just like you lied about helping me with the Gatorade contract. I heard that they’re offering it to Ryder O’Connell.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize they announced already. You must be so disappointed. I’ll help you find another endorsement,” I promise.
“You sabotaged it, didn’t you?” My ex grabs my arm. “You’re doing this on purpose. You’re ruining my life on purpose. Brielle is right; you’ve always been jealous of everyone in this family. You can’t stand to see other people successful.”
“I helped you win the Reebok contract,” I remind him anxiously.
“It was one lousy photoshoot. This was a multiyear campaign, and you couldn’t do one simple fucking—”
There’s the whisper of a knife leaving the cutting block, then Talbot’s in front of me, blocking me from my ex, the hard muscles of his back pressing against my chest.
“No, don’t stop on my account. Go ahead. Keep berating my girl.”
“She’s my—”
The knife presses into the soft skin under Austen’s chin before he can finish.
“She-she-she—” Talbot mocks. “She’s your what?”
Austen stammers.
“She’s not your anything.”
“She has to keep working for me. She promised.” Austen swallows hard.
“Go hire someone or find your own fucking deal, because I’m tired of her spending so much time on you. Her free time now belongs to me, not you.”
I can’t breathe watching the two men face off.
“You’re sick,” Austen finally spits out.
Talbot watches him go. “Now, where were we… ah, right. I think you’re annoying and overbearing and need to grow a pair.”