Chapter Seventeen
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LIESEL
“ T hanks to your efforts,” the volunteer coordinator says. “We packed 400 meals for children and families this afternoon. Give yourselves a hand!”
We all cheer, and one of the coordinators rings a bell, adding some excitement to the feelings of love and warmth in the air.
The lights dim, and then a projector opposite us shows a video of the many communities the charity serves. We see kids eating the meals that have been provided, as well as artisans in those communities hand-making beautiful crafts. The crafts are bought by the charity and sold in the stores of every Feeding Futures warehouse to help further benefit those communities. Beaded wire-framed animals and wooden charcuterie boards from countries in Africa; ornaments from Costa Rica and Nicaragua; tea towels and threaded bracelets from Asia.
“My mom would love those,” Coop says quietly.
“Which ones?”
“All of them,” he says.
When the video is over, the coordinator gives us one last thanks.
“Two thousand years ago, the world was given the greatest of all gifts. Today, you have honored that gift by giving hope and joy to others. That is the true spirit of Christmas.”
Juliet puts her head on Nate’s shoulder, and he kisses her crown, and the feeling I’ve been ignoring since that dang cocktail party fights its way to the surface:
I want that.
And one look at Coop, with his crooked smile, tells me I want it with him.
The coordinator wraps up her message, and I grab my purse. “Hey, I’m going to freshen up quickly. I’m going straight to our Christmas Adam celebration from here.”
“Is it weird that I wish I could come with you?” he asks.
“Always looking for a party, aren’t you?”
His pinky brushes against mine, and then he locks them together. We’re holding pinkies, and a snow flurry swirls in my belly.
“Not quite,” he says.
I look left and right, but no one’s paying attention to us. “You want to try my uncle’s ribs that badly?”
“A man’s gotta eat.” His eyes are playful, but they don’t hold their normal mischief. They spark more than twinkle, and it’s the most dangerous look he’s given me yet.
My eyes flit to his lips. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be here.”
I run into a restroom and fix my hair. And by fix, I mean I pull it into a messy half-ponytail, half-bun, because that net did not do me any favors. I swap my volunteer shirt for a cute red cable-knit sweater. Mom’s family always wears ugly Christmas sweaters, but I couldn’t bring myself to wear one. This will have to do.
My mom would tut and tell me to celebrate. To live a little. “You’re allowed to have fun,” she must have told me a hundred times.
“I am having fun,” I’d tell her as I wrote the family calendar or made a grocery list with her input. “What could be better than hanging out with my mom?”
She would smile in her wheelchair. “You have to be the only teenager I know to ever say those words.”
“Then other teenagers suck.”
“Your brothers have never said that.”
“My brothers suck.”
And she’d laugh.
We had a variation of that conversation dozens of times. She would never have blamed me for going out with friends, but I knew even then I’d never regret the time I spent with her.
And I don’t.
I miss every second.
I think about her as I leave the bathroom and walk to the market at the front of the Feeding Futures warehouse. I spot Coop checking out while I look at the ornament table. I may not like Christmas anymore, but I have a soft spot in my heart for ornaments. Mom collected them, but not in the “every ornament has special meaning” way as much as the “there can never be too many ornaments” way.
The idea of adding a new one makes my throat hurt.
Although, the ache doesn’t throb quite as badly as usual.
“Can I also make a donation?” Coop asks the cashier. He’s speaking quietly, but I’m close enough to overhear.
“Of course. You can input the amount on the screen.”
I know I shouldn’t look.
But I do.
Son of a nutcracker, that is a lot of zeroes.
I avert my gaze so he doesn’t know I peeked, and my eyes land on an ornament that stops my heart. It’s an exquisite recycled ceramic angel with beads and delicate wrought iron. Everything about the angel tugs at my heart, filling me with complicated emotions.
I loved working in Costa Rica. It was important for me to get away from my family personally and professionally. My time there was enriching, eye-opening, and humbling.
But now that I’ve had time to process, I can admit that last Christmas was by far the lowest point for me. I avoided coming home because I didn’t want the pain of missing my mom. Instead, I got the pain of missing everyone .
I was alone with my grief, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it. The weight of it nearly suffocated me.
Somehow, this angel ties those feelings of loneliness, grief, and longing together, coupled with that humbling sense I got from my time there.
And, of course, it’s an angel.
I run my finger along one of the wrought iron wings. The metal is cool and smooth, and as I follow the natural curves, I can feel the slight ridges from where the artisan painstakingly worked the material.
Coop joins me with a receipt and a large white bag. “Oh, is that one from Costa Rica?” he asks. “You should get it.”
“The ornaments are gifts for donations,” I say, putting it back. It almost hurts to let go of it. “I’ll donate, but the top tier donations are a little out of my price range. This bead heart is beautiful, though.” I pick up a red bead heart, also from Costa Rica.
“It is,” he agrees.
“So, what did you get?” I look at his bag.
“Something from everywhere,” he says. “I like getting my mom gifts from around the world. She’ll love this stuff.”
He smiles, and I wish he’d say something more. Elaborate. But he just smiles. It’s not like he’s shutting me out, but it’s almost like he’s pretending an entire wing of a mansion doesn’t exist. And that tears my heart a little.
He told me he’d always be honest with me. He said I was tough enough to handle the truth.
So … where’s all that truth?
“Hey guys,” someone from Firebirds management says. “The snow is hitting hard. The Feeding Futures people said they’re closing so everyone can get home safely.”
I check out quickly, making my donation and getting the pretty heart ornament from Costa Rica. And then we all head to the front doors. I see Juliet and Nate waiting for me.
“Hey, are you guys heading out?” Juliet asks.
“We drove separately, but yeah,” Coop says.
“Be careful,” Juliet says. Then she grabs my shoulders. “Do you still have the emergency supplies in your car?”
“Of course, Mom.”
Juliet doesn’t smile. “I mean it, Lee. Watch out, okay?”
“Okay,” I say, and then I give her a hug. “You too.”
“Nate drove the Hummer today. We’ll be fine. See you back home.”
Coop is talking to Nate. “Did they say anything about flights in and out of O’Hare?”
Nate shakes his head. “I didn’t read anything about it. But if you need a flight, I’m happy to arrange for some help.”
Coop snorts. “Don’t tell me you own an airline.”
“Don’t be absurd. It’s a single jet.”
“My mistake,” Coop says. Then he gives me a wide-eyed look, and I give him a pointed shrug that says See? He can’t help himself .
We all bundle up, including putting on snow hats—toques, as my mom always said—and zipping up our thick coats. Then we brave the elements. The wind howls, and snow falls at a sharp angle.
“Bye!” Juliet and I call to each other. Coop and I run to our cars, which are parked on the same row, a few spots down from each other. He drives a gray Jeep Grand Cherokee, and the light is on. Did he already hit the unlock button?
“I wanted a better goodbye than this,” he says when we reach my white Prius. “I’m going straight to the airport.”
I throw my arms around him, hugging him tight. “Call me when you’re taking off,” I say.
“Can we go out when I get back?”
“Coop, I don’t think we’re supposed to?—”
“I don’t think I care.”
My stomach flips. I’m not sure how much I care, either, but we’re standing in the middle of a blizzard. “Call me and ask me out once you’re home safe, okay?” I kiss his cheek, and he picks me up and lifts me so our cheeks are touching and my feet are dangling.
“I’m safe right now,” he says in my ear.
I laugh and swat him. “I mean it.” We let go and I give him my biggest smile. “Bye, Coop. Merry Christmas.”
“It’d be a lot merrier if you said you’d go out with me!” he says as I unlock my Prius and climb in.
“You heard me!” I say. I close my door and then hold my thumb and pinky out like a phone and put them up to my ear, mouthing, Call me .
He mouths, I will and then runs to his Jeep.
I turn on my car, both happy and disappointed. I’ve engaged in so many different Christmas activities this month—the escape room, a work Christmas party, decorating cookies, and now a charity event (that I could do anytime of the year, but doing it at Christmas always feels more special)—and I was able to get through each without the pervasive loneliness that’s plagued me since my mom died.
And it’s because of Coop.
It’s hard to believe how wrong I was about him.
He’s not the selfish, cocky jerk I thought he was.
I’m about to back out when my phone rings with a call from Kayla Carville.
I put the car back in park to answer. “Kayla! Hey, how are you?”
“Liesel! I’m so glad you answered. I’m sorry to make this short, but I had to tell you the good news: I just offered a huge cash consideration for a trade I’m freaking out about, and I think the team’s going to take it.”
“That’s cool! Who is it?”
“ Your brothers ! I’m getting them from the Nashville Outlaws, you know, the Firebirds’ Triple-A team? Can you believe it?”
A chill sweeps over me. “You’re acquiring my brothers?”
“Yes! I heard I needed to do everything I could to get great pitchers, so I’m offering an exorbitant amount of money to get them from their affiliate. I’ve had to talk to both owners, but apparently if you throw enough money at a problem, you can solve anything!” She laughs. “Isn’t that exciting?”
“Uh … wow. My brothers are going to another minor league team! That’s so unexpected!” I say with as much enthusiasm as I can feign. “How did you even hear about them?”
“Your friend!”
The chill becomes subarctic. “Cooper?”
“Who else? He put them on my radar the first time we talked, so my brothers looked into them, and they said he’s spot on. Also, did you know we both have a brother named Logan?”
“You don’t say?” My voice doesn’t sound as weak as it feels, and I’m glad. Kayla hasn’t done anything wrong.
Cooper Kellogg, on the other hand …
“Now you’ll have a reason to visit me in Mullet Ridge next season. Go Mudflaps!” Kayla says. “And no, I can’t believe I said the words ‘mullet’ and ‘mudflaps’ out loud, either.”
My chuckle is faker than Cooper’s ‘honesty.’ “That’s … so crazy! I can’t believe it.” I say. “Listen, there’s a big storm in Chicago, so I need to get on the road before it gets any worse. But can we talk later? I really would love to chat when I have more time.”
“Of course! I’ll reach out after the holidays, and I’ll definitely text you when the deal’s done. Merry Christmas!”
“Thanks, Kayla. Merry Christmas to you, too.”
I end the call and my anemic smile dies.
Coop told Kayla to acquire my brothers?
We had a plan! They were supposed to be added to the extended roster! They were going to have a rigorous training schedule this year so we could prepare them to get called up to the Firebirds! We agreed on it! We presented it to our GM! And he immediately went behind my back so he could get them out of the way. I guarantee if I call Doug right now, he’ll tell me Betancourt—Coop’s top pick—is signing papers.
The sense of betrayal is so deep, I feel like I’ve been hollowed out. Everything I thought about Coop over the last few weeks is a lie.
He’s not thoughtful. He’s not deeper and more considerate than I expected. He’s simply a better actor than I ever imagined.
A knock on my window startles me. I put a hand on my heart and see the man himself, his face bright red from the cold.
I roll down my window a fraction of an inch. “What are you doing?”
“My Jeep died. I tried using the portable charger I keep in my car, but I must have left a light on, because it’s too dead to even take a charge. Is there any chance you could take me to the airport?”
I want to say no so badly. I want to drive off, letting my tires spit snow and sludge in his face. Heck, I want to run him over. But as furious as I am—as hurt and betrayed and enraged as I am—I still have to work with this man for the next year.
And I need to give him a piece of my mind.
“Climb in.”