Chapter 37
Xavier
He’s slept away most of the day, not even upstairs in my childhood bedroom. Nope, this man made it about twelve feet inside my childhood home and slumped on the couch in front of the fire where he’s been an unconscious, snoring lump ever since.
The fire crackles in front of him, throwing gold light over his chiseled cheekbones. The house smells like cinnamon and Mom’s pine-scented candle she buys every December.
It’s hard to deny to my older, mother-hen-brother Roman that this man is important to me when his legs are dangling off the edge of the sofa. His socked foot keeps twitching like he’s dreaming of outrunning something—probably his life, or his fucking father.
He’s scowling at me—Roman, not Artemis. He’s got flour dusted on his shirt.
He’s been elbow-deep in the holiday baking he always pretends he doesn’t care about, but he secretly loves and couldn’t live without.
This year he couldn’t wait to bake for his partners.
“If he wasn’t snoring so loudly, I’d wonder if he was even alive. ” His lips twitch.
I flap an arm at him, but he steps out of the way before I can get him. “Shhhh.” The word hisses out of my clenched teeth.
Roman snorts. “What? You’re afraid I’m going to wake the dead? A Cat five hurricane could pass through the middle of that couch, and he still wouldn’t wake up. Dude is out cold.”
He’s not wrong. Christmas music is blaring from the kitchen—Mom insists on the classics—but somehow Artemis is out-sleeping Mariah Carey at full volume.
Mom appears behind me and gives me a squeeze.
She quietly claps her palms together, glee glistening in her eyes.
Her giant, holiday earrings jingle every time she moves; silver bells shaped like stars because she goes hard for Christmas.
“I’m so glad you finally brought someone home, Mijo.
” She’s whispering, but it’s loud enough for my younger siblings in the next room to giggle at her declaration.
In the kitchen, the twins are arguing about whose turn it is to put icing on the bunuelos.
“You wanna tell the class why there’s a rich hockey player on our couch on Christmas Eve, Xavi?
” Roman’s voice holds judgment. You’d think given the fact he’s in a relationship with two other rich, hockey players at that, that he’d be a little cooler about the whole fucking thing.
Since Dad died a couple years back, he’s been taking the role of family patriarch incredibly seriously.
Sofia might be the oldest of our siblings, but it’s the oldest son, Roman, who’s taken on the role of biggest pain in the ass.
As if sensing my discomfort at what’s bound to be a long, and painfully extensive question time, Sofia comes up beside me and shoves Roman’s shoulder. “Leave him alone, Hermano. The first guy he brings home, and you’re gonna squeeze his balls like a Cabrón?”
A snort comes from the sofa, and without missing a beat, or opening his eyes, my boyfriend smirks. “Due respect, if anyone’s squeezing Xavi’s balls it’s going to be me.”
Roman groans. Mom and Sofia share the biggest, most mischievous grin which tells me they’re already picking out wedding outfits, and the twins—still in the other room—make ‘ew’ and gagging sounds.
Artemis sits up, his hair is dishevelled in a hot, runway kind of way, and he stretches both arms above his head, making his shirt ride up enough to tease me with a sliver of his delicious skin.
“Sorry for crashing out on your couch, Duende.” He yawns, and I swear, it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. “The drive took it out of me.”
Mom snorts, and Sofia smothers a giggle.
“What?” I don’t take my eyes off Artemis, because he’s rubbing his face and clearly trying really hard to wake up. He blinks slowly, like he’s adjusting to the glow of Christmas lights draped over… everything.
“Duende,” Mom repeats.
Sofia giggles again.
“What? It’s adorable.” I search Artemis’s now smirking again face and fight every single urge in my body to jump him right here in the living room surrounded by festive warmth, twinkly lights, and my entire family.
“It’s perfect.” Sofia can barely contain her amusement.
Roman looks at me like I’m a dumb shit. I’m missing something. Now I feel like I’m the one who just woke up, confusion blurring my brain.
“It means sprite, mijo. Imp, pixie. Goblin.” Mom’s shoulders rise and fall with not-so-silent laughter.
Roman snorts like it tracks way too hard.
I speak Spanish. You can’t really be Texan without at least learning the basics, and okay, maybe I didn’t quite learn as much as Mom and my other siblings. And okay, maybe I hadn’t gotten around to looking up what my new pet name meant, but my face is hot as Artemis levels me with a sexy shrug.
“I thought it was something romantic.”
Mom answers for everyone. “It is.” She elbows me. “It means he knows you and your Loki energy well.”
Artemis stands up and crosses the few feet between us. He pulls me into the strongest hug, and I honestly can’t tell which one of us needs it more. He doesn’t rush, or flinch, he just… stands here holding me in front of my whole family.
His sweater still smells like winter air and cedar. Him.
The hug separates too soon, but I suppose he needs to say hi to the rest of the group. “Mrs. Martinez.” He clears his throat. “If my mother knew I’d turned up at your door unannounced on Christmas Eve without so much as a bottle of wine with me, they’d never find my body.”
In his defense, he looks incredibly sheepish, as though he’s realized the gravity of his actions.
She waves him off, pulling him into a hug.
“Any man who’s willing to drive across the country through the night for my Xavi is welcome any day of the year, Artemis.
It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” There’s a tremble in her voice she probably thinks no one hears—relief.
That I’m loved? Who knows? Her bracelets clink against his back as she hugs him, and I hope that the elated smile on her face comes with a side of her approval.
My stomach clenches as the muscles visibly tighten in my boyfriend’s body. Yes, I told my family about him. No, I didn’t talk it over with him first. It’s not like they’re going to spill it onto socials, or the press, or tell a soul. Because I asked them not to.
Mom was bursting at the seams to tell my grandparents, and aunts, and cousins, especially my cousins, because they never stop giving me shit about just how much of a player I am, and how they hope I didn’t bring an STD with me to Thanksgiving dinner.
Bastards.
I kind of want to stick it to them that I bagged a good one, the best one, but he’s asked me not to tell, so I’ve kept the circle small.
From the side-eye he’s giving me as he steps back from Mom’s embrace, it wasn’t small enough.
His eyes dart to me, sharp and questioning—like he’s counting how many people know our secret and whether or not he should be terrified.
He doesn’t address it, instead, he sticks his hand out to Roman. “Martinez.”
Roman takes his hand, they shake in a very sturdy display of testosterone. “de la Pena.” Roman’s voice is every bit as serious as Artemis’s and then some. The Christmas decorations vomited all over the room around them makes the whole alpha-male standoff look aggressively festive.
Sofia doesn’t wait for their hands to separate before she launches herself at Arte.
She has zero chill. She might be the oldest sibling, she might threaten to flay people if they so much as look at any of us sideways, but she is an utterly helpless romantic and thought I was going to be an old maid put out to pasture—before I even graduate college no less.
I love the faith my family have in me.
Sofia’s sweater has an anatomically incorrect reindeer on it, blinking lights included but to his credit, Artemis stays quiet. He’s used to having an unhinged older sister.
When he’s done introducing himself to my sister—in Spanish because she knows I struggle to keep up and am less likely to fully understand her threats to remove his penis from his body should he hurt me—he turns back to me.
“Duende.” His lips twitch. He looks like he’s picturing exactly how impish I can get when there aren’t witnesses.
“At least he’s pretty.” Sofia pats my face.
“And decent at hockey.” Roman puffs his chest out. “Like his big brother.”
My insides turn to stone, but I hold my perfectly crafted, well-practiced smile in place. Artemis doesn’t take his eyes off my face as he steps toward me before threading his fingers into mine.
“If that’s all you think he has going for him you don’t know him like I do.
” He brushes a kiss onto my fire-hot cheek.
“And he’s arguably better at hockey than his big brother.
” He turns back to Mom like he didn’t just bitch slap all of them with a well-placed, polite yet passive aggressive clap back.
“Is there anything in the kitchen you need help with Mrs. Martinez?”
“Valentina, por favor, Artemis.” She shakes her head. “Mrs. Martinez is my mother-in-law. And if she knew about you, she’d be dying to meet you.” Oof. It’s not only Artemis punching heavy today.
He takes it in stride, though. “Once this deal at work is tied up, I don’t care who knows about our relationship.”
“So your business is more important than my brother?” Roman is out for blood. He doesn’t like it when someone suggests he’s not the best hockey player in the universe.
“I’m trying to protect your brother, Martinez. I thought you of all people would get it.” He tips his head. “People in my industry can be cutthroat, and the press can be relentless. In a couple months you’ll all be wishing we’d kept it under wraps.”
I see the exhaustion pull at the corners of his eyes again. It’s the kind of tiredness that has nothing to do with sleep and everything to do with the crushing weight of the world firmly on his broad and biteable shoulders.
Roman steps toward him. “Is that a threat against my family?”
Artemis brushes his hair out of his face. “Easy, tiger. I’m simply saying that being with me comes with an element of public life that I thought you’d want to keep him shielded from for as long as I could.”
That makes Roman step back in silence. After a long moment he huffs out a breath.
“He’s not wrong.” His shoulders slump. “You see how the press barbecues me and the guys on the regular. Especially when they have nothing of substance to write, they just write shit for fun.” His voice dips, like he’s remembering the last time a reporter twisted his words into clickbait.
He doesn’t have far back to go to recall it, it was two weeks ago.
The media is relentless. The way he says the word fun makes me think there’s nothing fun about it.
“Artemis, you can definitely help in the kitchen.” Mom gestures for him to go with her but I stop him with a palm on his chest.
“Mom? I mean this in the nicest possible way, but you don’t want this man’s help in your kitchen.”
Mom still hasn’t forgiven me for the Great Fudge Debacle of 2016 where I ruined her favorite pot, and not even Mimi’s weird cleaning concoction could bring it back from the dead. Artemis, as his scrambled eggs is a testament to, has the exact same ‘sets off the smoke alarm’ energy.
Artemis groans. “He’s probably not wrong. But I’m sure there’s something we can find that won’t… require the local fire department to be called.”
Somewhere in the kitchen, a timer dings, and the smell of melting chocolate drifts into the room. Mom links her arm through Artemis’s and leads him into the kitchen. I guess we’re doing Christmas Eve together.