Chapter 40
Artemis
Casa Martinez wakes before the sun.
I wake up to the smell of Cafecito and the sound of people laughing in the kitchen, and it hits my chest like a goddamn sledgehammer. It’s more than warmth and safety, it’s belonging.
Xavier appears in the doorway, his hair fucked-up adorable, and wearing those stupid plaid pajamas Ares brought like someone sent to test my resolve.
My pulse spikes, like I’m seeing him for the first time on the ice.
The smile he gives me is small, private, and that’s what makes my chest cave in.
How I managed to keep my hands off him overnight is anyone’s guess.
Actually, resisting temptation was made far easier by the fact my whole family stayed over.
Valentina wouldn’t hear of them going anywhere else, so we’re all a little cozy.
Roman offered to buy his mom a mansion when he made it in the NHL but she wouldn’t hear of it.
They compromised with a modest ranch, but when you have Valentina and her five kids, plus Mom and her four, well, Ares got stuck on the pull-out couch in Xavier’s room.
I’d have taken any other sibling. All fucking night Ares chirped about how he wouldn’t mind if we got it on with him across the room, and he periodically made kissing noises at us too. Bastard.
“Morning, handsome,” Xavier murmurs.
I sit up in bed and take the offered mug. “Morning.”
He bumps my shoulder with his fist. “Our moms are making breakfast. That means we have about five minutes before the kitchen turns into a war zone.”
“Noted.” My brain is stuck on the word we. I’m in a ‘we.’ After a long and leisurely kiss, and a glug of still-too-hot but perfectly made to my taste coffee, we make it downstairs, the kitchen is full and bustling.
Valentina stands at the stove flipping something that crackles in hot oil.
Roman and Sofia are arguing about the correct method for heating tortillas.
Tasha and Kique are laughing at something Ares is saying.
My siblings—because they are chaos incarnate—have fully assimilated into the scene like they were born here in Texas and are already part of the furniture.
Ares is telling a dramatic story with his hands, Apollo is refilling everyone’s coffee, and Athena is bossing all of them around while wearing a Santa apron she clearly stole from somewhere.
I hover in the doorway, unsure where to put myself.
No one notices my hesitation. They’re too busy being a family.
A real family, without sideways glances at our father, or carefully considering what we talk about in front of him in case it douses his frayed nerves with kerosene or results in a lecture we’ve all heard a million times before and can’t escape.
My chest tightens painfully. This is what it should be like. We need to get out from under the shadow of that asshole.
Xavier catches my eye across the room and smiles like he knows I'm considering escaping and is anchoring me with nothing but a look.
“Artemis.” Valentina shouts over the din. “?Feliz Navidad! Sit. Eat. You’re too thin, Mijo. You need meat on your bones to crash people into the boards.”
Mom clinks what looks to be a flute glass of orange juice against Valentina’s glass and says something I can’t hear.
“Mom.” Xavier’s voice is a groan, but he’s grinning.
I’m handed a plate and guided to a seat at the table. It’s more uncomplicated belonging that my mind doesn’t know what to do with it. And let’s not even think about unpacking that thumping organ in my chest because it’s loving every goddamn minute of it.
They open gifts after breakfast. I try to stay back out of the way, but Ares literally drags me by the hood of my sweatshirt and plants me on the couch between him and Xavier like I’m part of the furniture too.
My god of absolute chaos brother hands me the gift bag I left back home. It’s the one filled with things I bought for Xavier when I thought Christmas would be quieter. Lonelier. Alone in a room full of my family scrambling to find the pretence of family.
“Don’t forget this.” Ares knocks my knee with his, and a too-innocent grin.
Xavier looks at the bag. Then at me.
My throat closes.
My palms start to fucking sweat. My palms never sweat. I’m the enforcer, the cool, calm, and collected, quiet-yet-grumpy motherfucker no one dares mess with because I can’t be flapped. I am unflappable. And yet… flap, flap motherfucker. This hotshot rival of mine has me well and truly flapped.
And Ares knows it, they probably all do. I clear my throat, but it doesn’t make the awkwardness go anywhere, it seems to just draw more attention to it actually.
Xavier pulls out the book he mentioned once in a text exchange. It’s a special edition hardback, with the fancy foil, the interior art, and those weird colored edges everyone’s losing their minds over.
“You… got these for me?” Xavier’s voice is soft and directed at me, but I can tell everyone in the fucking room is paying attention to this exchange.
I swallow. “Yeah. I wasn’t sure whether I was going to give them to you.” I flash him a fake, confident smile. “Or whether I should scrap the sentiment and just buy you a damn pony.”
His eyes soften. It’s too much. He’s too fucking close to seeing through my facade. He looks at me like he sees something worth keeping, and that’s the part that terrifies me.
“I’d really have preferred the pony.” He flicks his wrist with a wry smile. He lifts the picture frame. His breath catches. In the photo, my hand is on the back of his neck, his forehead against mine, both of us smiling like idiots unaware someone was watching.
How did I think I could ever keep this, him, how he makes me feel a secret?
Xavier’s throat bobs. “Oh.” It’s just one word but it folds me in half.
Before I can react, Xavier sets it aside and pulls my face toward his for a soft, slow, grateful kiss—one that makes the entire room go suspiciously quiet.
“Y’all are disgusting,” Ares whispers.
And both Valentina and Mamá shush him with a smack.
My heart stutters, and then as if summoned by my own internal panic, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
Alonso. I’ve changed his name on my phone.
Just because he donated his sperm to my existence, doesn’t mean he’s my father.
Which is something it took me far too long to realize.
And now I’ve stepped into that realization, I’m doubling down.
I don’t even open the message. I don’t have to because I know the tone, and I can practically hear his voice ordering my presence, my obedience, my silence. All the warmth drains from my body like someone pulled out a plug.
Xavier notices instantly, his line of sight following mine to the cell phone screen. “You okay?”
It’s another order, another reminder that I’m property to my father, not a fucking son.
I lie with a nod to Xavier. It’s easier than trying to explain the kind of fear that lives all the way down deep in your bones.
It’s as automatic as breathing, but the flicker of hurt in his face at my dismissal slams into me like a truck.
I want to take it back, but I double down because fear has always spoken louder than hope in my life. And I’ve always just gotten through by getting shit done by myself. “Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out.”
Xavier’s expression closes—something I’m growing less and less fond of, especially when it’s me that makes it happen. It’s not closed or angry, it’s just… wounded. And that’s the worst of all, because I did that.
The panic spikes again. Clawing, suffocating, dizzying. “I—I have to go.” I’m already pushing to my feet. It’s weird saying I have to go when my whole family is here and it’s Christmas fucking day… but right now? I have to fucking go. Now. “Work. There’s a thing I didn’t handle—”
“Artemis—”
“I’m sorry.” And I am, but if I stay another minute, I’ll break open in front of all of them. I was raised to do many things—but definitely not that.
I’m not equipped to handle the slew of emotions assaulting me right now. Nor how to deal with the fact that the more I learn outside of my family, the less true anything my father taught me seems to be.
I slip out the door before anyone can stop me. Damp, not-at-all cold air hits my face. I make it to the car, slam the door behind me, and drop my forehead against the steering wheel. My breaths shake, and my hands won’t steady.
I left because I’m fucking terrified. Terrified of wanting this. Terrified of feeling like maybe I deserve it. Terrified of Xavier and how under my skin he’s managed to get. After a minute, I force my fingers to move. I open my messages and type:
Artemis: Send the package. Everything we picked for the Martinez family. Deliver it tomorrow morning. No note. No signature. Anonymous.
Artemis: Make sure they get the good wine.
I hit send. It’s pathetic, using my money to fruitlessly try to ease my guilt.
But it’s the only language I know how to speak without breaking something.
I put the car in drive, one thought sticking out like a splinter: If I stay near Xavier any longer…
I won’t just fall for him. I’ll collapse in on myself.
Before I can leave, I glance up. Standing in front of me, arms folded, glaring at me like her stare alone could split me into cosmic fucking dust, is my mother. They sent the big guns after me. Or maybe she didn’t let anyone come after me but her. Either way, she looks pissed.
She approaches, bangs on the window like she’s a cop who just caught me gunning a hundred on the freeway. I open the window, and she brandishes The Finger. “Artemis Javier Carlos de la Pena, get your ass back inside that house.” Spanish, and my full name.
This isn’t going to go well for me.
My jaw works back and forth as I contemplate my reply, but my brain short circuits when I get slapped upside the head.
“I said get your ass back inside, Mijo.” She’s still speaking at me in Spanish which means she’s about to roll my fucking balls because she feels more in command of what she says when she uses her mother tongue.
She narrows her eyes. “I won’t have you—”
“I’m not embarrassing you, Mamá. I really do have work to do.” Nope. Big mistake. Huge. Like waving a red flag to a fucking bull.
She purses her lips, raising her brows in a way that’s so very like Athena and tells me exactly what’s about to go down.
“Don’t bullshit me. It’s Christmas. There is no work, only fear.
And I’m not letting your fear, of your father, of becoming your father, of giving your heart to someone and trusting them not to break it, of being truly seen for the first time in your life, destroy something that is clearly growing into something special. ”
No one has ever said that out loud to me. I swallow down the ball of welling emotion.
“Get the fuck out of the car and back in that house before I can take off my shoe.”
Not the dreaded chancla threat. Even as an adult it still holds magical powers, because I shake my head, turn off the car, and walk back inside the Martinez’s house.