Chapter 39
Artemis
The tamale-making assembly line is… something.
Ares is terrible at it, which earns him a wooden spoon to the knuckles from Valentina. If Abuelita was here, he’d have taken a spanking to both hands.
Roman is apparently not allowed near the masa because of an “historic incident,” that no one wants to talk about. Sofia is singing off-key Christmas songs while glaring at anyone who suggests she’s off-key.
I sit at the table, trying not to look like someone experiencing their first-ever holiday with functioning, loving humans.
Xavier slides a mug of hot chocolate in front of me. It’s topped with marshmallows shaped like snowmen. “It’s tradition,” he says softly. “We do cocoa before mass, then we eat, open one present each, then movies until midnight.”
A warmth I don’t have the skills to process slides into my body. This whole situation is exactly the kind of thing my father warned me would “soften the edges of my ambition.” Just like hockey and all the other distractions he’s warned us about for our entire lives.
And yet… I take a sip. And it tastes fucking good. Xavier wipes cinnamon laced cream off my top lip and pops his thumb into his mouth to lick it off. Why do we have to be surrounded by so many people when he’s being so sexy?
Apollo flops into the chair beside me. “So. You ran away from home.”
“I didn’t run.”
“You drove thousands of miles in the dark without telling anyone.” Ares joins the conversation with a kick of my foot.
“Semantics.”
Apollo levels me with a look so knowing it could peel paint. “You coming back home with us tomorrow?”
My jaw tightens. My heart speeds up. It’s the question I’ve been avoiding. “I have to.” I don’t look up to see if Xavier’s listening to the conversation because I already know he is. “I still have meetings. Deadlines are coming up. Nothing stops just because it’s Christmas.”
When I look up, Xavier’s spine straightens. He doesn’t seem hurt, nor angry, just… disappointed.
Tonight is the last pure breath I take before I go back underwater.
I need to get this fucking merger done, to save everyone from my father’s death grip, to rescue the company before he drives it into the ground and our family legacy dies and thousands of people around the world lose their jobs.
I take a mouthful of hot chocolate, forcing it down.
Xavier nudges my knee. “Maybe you could take Christmas off and go back on the twenty-sixth?” The hope in his voice, on his face, it’s not something I can squash, so I make a non-committal sound instead and hope I can pry the rest of my family out of here tomorrow when it’s time to leave.
At eleven, everyone opens one present each, because of course Mamá didn’t come empty handed. Ares said they did a wild shopping trip before they hopped on the plane.
Valentina gets a blanket so soft she can’t stop stroking it.
Roman gets a new set of multi-colored hockey tape.
Sofia gets a sparkly notebook Xavier says she definitely didn’t need because she has so many but absolutely loves.
And Mom got Xavier an apple pie from Get the Fork Out.
His face lights up like the millions of lights on the tree.
At near midnight, the house goes dim except for tree lights and the dying embers of the fire.
I end up on the couch with Xavier’s head on my shoulder, a handmade crocheted blanket over both of us.
Ares is asleep upside down in an armchair like a bat, Sofia and Athena have become fast friends, and the twins are passed out on the floor next to the tree.
Apollo has gone to call Edith and wish her merry Christmas because he’s an utter simp for his girl.
Mamá and Valentina have had probably close to a gallon of margaritas, and they’re whispering up a storm in the corner. Probably planning their next get together.
Earlier, I felt out of place, exposed, like I didn’t belong here, but instead—for the first time in I don’t know how long—I feel part of something bigger, something warm, something worth being a part of. Something I don’t want to leave.
My voice barely whispers out “I don’t want to go back tomorrow.”
Xavier doesn’t open his eyes. “Then don’t.”
A war rages behind my ribs. Duty. Loyalty. Fear. Need. Responsibility.
But instead of battling myself, I lean my head against his and pretend the choice is simple. And I let myself stay there until sleep finally wins.