28. Alexis
Chapter 28
Alexis
After dinner, my parents reveal they have made plans for the night, leaving us home alone. It has become a Christmas Eve tradition, them going out for drinks and a movie, giving us the space and freedom to host a small party and reconnect with old friends.
And so, a few texts and a bonfire later, I sit in Blake’s lap by a roaring fire, watching as the people I grew up with move around the garden like nothing has changed at all. Though for me, nothing is the same.
A year ago to the day, I sat alone in my room overlooking the garden, like an outsider looking in on a world she no longer belonged to. I had just been diagnosed with Fibromyalgia, and the Hudson issue was still fresh, making it so it felt like not a single part of the old me remained.
I was still in the throes of grief over my old life, the old me. I had no idea that a few months later I would be set up with Blake, no idea that it was possible for me to come alive again.
I’d been right—the old me was dead and gone and now finally buried. But the new me is so much better.
A too-familiar head of black curls moves through the crowd, slipping through the sea of plants and trees and bodies with ease. Levi sits opposite us, his back turned to her. Yet he senses her the moment she steps through the gate between our houses, jumping to his feet to look for her. A moment passes in heavy silence, the world moving almost in slow motion, and then they are wrapped in each other’s arms, my brother’s face buried in the crook of her neck.
“Who is that?” Blake whispers in my ear, and it’s so unexpected that a shiver runs down my spine.
I lean deeper into his chest to allow him a better view—okay, also to steal his warmth. The snow might not be plenty, but it sure is cold as balls. “Charlotte. Lottie. She’s my best friend aside from Alissa. She and Levi have this on-and-off kind of thing that is actually always on because they can’t stay away from each other. I guarantee you, they will be making out within the hour.”
“She must be special,” Blake murmurs. “I’ve never seen the guy this…vulnerable. Shy, almost.”
“She is. They have been together since we were fourteen, I think? Inseparable. If she went to college with us as planned I’m convinced they would have eloped by now. Me and Lis have a bet going that it’ll happen, Dad’s in on it.” I pluck the marshmallow from my stick and tear it apart for us to share, almost burning my fingertips in the process.
“He loves her.” Blake’s words are a statement, not a question. Anyone who can see knows what it is between them, though love might even be an understatement for what they have. It’s adorable and disgusting and, if it’s anything like what I feel for Blake, addicting and irresistible.
I stuff my face with sticky marshmallow fluff. “Very much so, yes.”
Blake’s hands, resting on my hips, snake to my stomach before pulling me tight against him. His lips brush my cheek as he whispers, “I know the feeling.”
“Me too, Blakey-bear,” I say, my eyes flitting to his lips. A roguish grin spreads on his face before he leans in and claims me with a kiss. The marshmallow left a sticky residue and I graze my teeth over his lips to claim every bit of the sweetness, feeling the effect right beneath my core.
It takes a lot of willpower not to drag him to my bedroom to show me exactly what he’s feeling.
“Lexie!” A high shriek comes from my side and I barely have time to tear myself off Blake’s sticky lips before Lottie throws her arms around my neck. “I missed you! Is this him? It is, isn’t it? Wow, you weren’t lying.”
You might think she’s drunk, and you might even be right. But alcohol or not Lottie has always been this way—loud, bold, and honest to a fault. It’s part of why we work so well; Lottie has no problem saying everything I’m not bold enough to say.
Blake smirks. “More gossip, Sunshine? You know, one of these days you have to share what you’re telling these people lest I disappoint them.”
Lottie laughs. “Oh, she just told me you’re a handsome nerd whom she can’t keep her hands off of.”
Classic Lottie.
My cheeks are burning and I shoot her a look that says to stop talking, but she merely snuggles closer with a smile.
Blake extends his hand, the muscles in his forearms flexing with the movement. The sight has me biting my lip; arms and forearms are kind of my thing. “I’m Blake. A pleasure to meet you, Charlotte.”
“Likewise! I have to go find Alissa but I will see you two later—much to discuss.” Lottie makes a gesture that says I’m watching you before taking my brother’s hand and dragging him deeper into the garden.
The music changes to a 00’s banger and loud cheers erupt among our friends as they crowd to dance and sing along. I make a mental note that we should send a box of chocolates to our neighbors as an apology for the noise.
“May I have this dance?” Blake asks, and I can’t help but smile as I rise from his lap.
I take him by the hand, leading him to the unofficial dance floor. “You may.”
The warmth of the dance floor takes me by surprise. Not just the physical warmth—though that too—but how everyone cheers as we join them, welcoming us with hugs and smiles. These are Alissa and Levi’s friends, mostly, and I don’t remember spending much time with any of them.
I saw them often, sure; I used to follow my siblings around and read while they did sports or hangouts. But I don’t think I ever had any real conversations with these people, so why are they so kind to me now?
Must be the alcohol.
I should have paid more attention in that dance class, as the best moves I have to show are the backpack kid dance and a routine from the second Mamma Mia movie. Either way, Blake doesn’t seem horrified, so I must be doing something right.
The snow picks up again, harder this time, and I bury myself in Blake’s arms to ward off the cold. It doesn’t work.
“Let’s go inside,” he whispers in my ear, and I have never heard anything sexier.
The sitting and dining rooms are filled with drunks and couples making out, so I lead Blake up the stairs to my room. I used to share one with Alissa, but when our parents redid the loft space and an extra room popped up, Alissa claimed it at once. All the better; her trophies were starting to bum me out.
Blake closes the door behind him, and the room shrinks three sizes. Even on opposite ends of the room we are close, so close. I want to kiss him, touch him, feel his hands on my skin and have my name on his lips. But I don’t move.
He peruses my bookshelves, the used books smelling heavenly of decaying paper, his finger touching the spines as he goes. I drop down on my bed, pulling my knees up to my chest.
The music from the garden is so loud it might as well come from my speaker, but I’m grateful for it. I focus on the steady rhythm of the bass line to keep me afloat, grounding me in the moment as I work up the courage to ask what I’ve been wanting to ask for weeks now.
“I want you to teach me how to fight.”
Blake turns to face me, his surprise written all over his features. “To fight? Why?”
“So I can protect myself. So I’m not completely helpless when…” I twirl a lock of my hair, the knot in my throat keeping me from finishing my sentence. I bite my tongue to keep the tears at bay, but I know I can’t hold them off forever.
Blake must notice, as he moves to crouch before me, taking my freezing hands in his. “If you want to learn, I will be happy to teach you, Alexis. But I promise I will never let anything happen to you.”
“You can’t promise that, Blake,” I say softly. “This world isn’t as black and white as you guys think it is. Danger isn’t always fists and weapons—sometimes it’s sweet words and spiked drinks.”
His hand moves to my cheek and I lean into it, craving the comfort. “Are you saying he…?”
“By the time I came to, I was powerless to stop him.” White-hot tears escape my lids, burning my cheeks like acid. Fire spreads through my lungs, leaving nothing in its wake, but I feel like I can finally breathe again after holding my breath for fourteen months.
I never told anyone this part—not even Alissa. I didn’t know how to. I guess I always figured if I pressed down the memory far enough, pretended it didn’t happen, that I would forget it did.
But it did happen, and I can never truly destroy those memories.
“I never want to feel that powerless again. I can’t—go through that again.” I forcefully wipe the tears off my face with the sleeves of my lavender knit sweater.
Telling someone, saying it out loud, seems to have reopened that wound yet lessens the burden. I don’t feel judged for my tears, though. If anything, my tears are a testament to how safe and loved I feel right now.
Blake looks at me, those bright blue eyes swirling with sadness and rage and a helplessness I know all too well. I know the feeling. “I’m so sorry this happened to you, Alexis.”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I say quietly. “Will you teach me or not?”
A muscle twitches in Blake’s jaw as he nods. His eyes have gone softer now, taking in every inch of my face, my eyes. “I’ll teach you everything I know, and everything I don’t. But not tonight. Tonight, I want you to tell me what it was like to grow up here.”
He smiles, a soft, loving thing, and I look at him for a long moment, mapping every inch of his face so I can cling to his image when my thoughts go dark. The lump in my throat refuses to shrink, the tears still on stand-by, but I'm thankful for his effort to get me to think of something positive. It’s clear I'm not over it in the slightest–I should probably get a therapist after all of this dies down–but I refuse to let it ruin our first Christmas together.
“Well, if you want the full experience, I think we might as well start here.” I wipe my cheeks again and reach down to the foot of the bed, where two carefully wrapped gifts are labeled either Alexis or Blake . Checking the tag, I hand him the one with his name. “It’s our Christmas Eve gift from Mom and Dad. It’s a family tradition from when we were little.”
“And…I got one?” Wonder shines in his eyes like a little kid on Christmas morning. I know he said his mother isn’t maternal in the slightest, but I don’t think I had a clear idea of how deep that neglect ran until we came here.
The way he kept thanking Mom for cooking and did the dishes to pay her back, like doing something out of love is a concept he’s never heard of. Or how he keeps checking in with me to make sure he isn’t breaking some unspoken rule or the way he keeps calling Dad ‘ sir’ while the latter really, truly hates formality. It’s like he’s trying to prove himself and his worth at every turn, trying to earn a place at our table. It’s sad that he thinks he has to earn it in the first place.
I smile, my cheeks still damp with tears. “Of course you get one, weirdo. You’re part of this family too.”
He peels the tape off the shiny paper to reveal black and red plaid fabric. I see Mom chose to go for a classic scheme this year.
He looks at me expectantly, and I unwrap mine to show him. “We match! We all do. Mom likes that cliché Christmas movie scene of the whole family in matching pajamas on Christmas morning, so she gifts us matching sets every year.”
“That’s adorable,” Blake says. He holds out the pajama pants, and I can only hope they fit. I had to guess his size. “How about we try these bad boys on and you pick a movie for us to watch? I have no interest in going back out into that blizzard.”
Blake is exaggerating, of course, but the snow has picked up pace. It doesn’t stop my siblings or friends from partying, doesn’t even slow them down. But for the first time in many years, I don’t feel sad about missing out.
Because I have something right here that is just as special.