Chapter 15
ONE YEAR EARLIER
“ Y ou’re probably going to think I’m a weirdo, but I sorta got you a Christmas present.”
My brow furrows in confusion, my eyes glazing over with equal parts curiosity and spiked eggnog.
Then I feel like a giant dick because I didn’t get her anything.
Cora and I have never exchanged gifts before—well, except for that one year I gave her a vibrator shaped like Santa Clause that said, ‘Ho, Ho, Ho’ as it vibrated.
She, in turn, gifted me with a sharp punch to the shoulder.
“Shit, Corabelle. I didn’t get you anything. ”
Cora sits on the couch, one bronzed leg draped over the other as a champagne flute dangles from her hand. I’m sitting across from her on the floor, leaning back on my hands. The sequins of her red cocktail dress sparkle against the Christmas lights, a festive compliment to her bright, green eyes.
It’s honestly annoying how pretty she looks.
“It’s probably for the best that you didn’t.”
I’m certain we’re both thinking about the Santa vibrator when a rosy blush kisses her cheeks.
I shoot her a sly grin. “Well, hand it over. Is it a car? Tell me it’s a car.”
Mandy shoves her pointy fingernail into my arm. “Why would Cora get you a car?”
“Because she loves me.”
“Ew.” Cora sets her champagne down on the coffee table in front of her, bending over just enough to reveal a dangerous amount of cleavage. I look away. “ Only you would confuse love and hate. I’m sure it’s very complicated for your itty-bitty pea brain to keep straight.”
“You two are ridiculous,” Mandy mutters through a slow breath. “I need more brownies.”
Mandy stands up on her wobbly heels, and I can’t help but wonder why she’s been wearing stilettos all night in her parent’s living room. She disappears into the kitchen, leaving me alone with the more aggravating sister.
Not that I mind. Sparring with Cora Lawson is pretty high on my list of preferred activities.
She thinks I’m an idiot, and I let her think it. I get a rise out of the incredulous look in her eyes when I say or do something stupid. It’s part of our game.
“Whatever, Corabelle. Show me what you got.”
“Don’t call me that.” Cora delivers her classic, irritated glare, then leans over the armrest of the couch to retrieve a gift hiding underneath the tree. “Catch.”
She tosses me the present wrapped in colorful twinkle lights, and I catch it with skillful ease, winking at her as I start to open it. “You’re pretty good at wrapping. Did you take a class on it?”
Another glare.
I continue to peel back the paper and discover a book. I’m not a reader—I prefer podcasts and audiobooks. But I suppose it’s the thought that counts.
“ Of Mice and Men ,” Cora states, reaching for the spine of her wine glass and bringing the rim to her lips. “It was required in sophomore English class, but I think it’s safe to assume you never read it. It’s a good one.”
I purse my lips together. She’s right about that. I never read it. “Well, thanks. That’s actually kind of nice of…” My voice trails off as I start flipping through the pages.
They’re all blank.
Every single one of them.
My head snaps up and I twist the book around, feeling bad that she ordered a defective one. “Uh, slight issue,” I tell her.
Cora sits up straight, blinking slow. She stares at me in what looks to be utter confusion before replying, “Crap. I didn’t think you’d notice.”
Ah, hell.
Next Christmas? It’s on.
“Goodnight, Mr. and Mrs. Lawson. Merry Christmas,” I say, waving to my second parents, my arm slung around Mandy’s waist. “Thanks for the great dinner.”
And for the delicious eggnog with a fantastic amount of rum.
I sway from one foot to the other as Mandy tries to hold me steady. I see her mouth ‘ I’m driving’ to her parents as we head towards the front door.
I notice Cora slipping on her winter coat, gathering her bag of gifts as she follows us out. Before she sweeps past us, she pulls something out of the giant bag and slaps it against my chest.
“For you,” she mutters, her face unreadable.
I look down at the book— Of Mice and Men . Only, this time there are words.
“Read it. You might like it.” Cora spares me a final glance, then blows a kiss to Mandy as she moves to the door. “Merry Christmas.”
She disappears outside, her sugar cookie scented body mist trailing behind her.
Mandy puckers her lips, studying the book in my hand. “We can donate it. She’ll never know.”
I trace my fingers along the cover, smiling at my very first Christmas present from Cora Lawson. I shrug. “Nah. I think I’m going to read this one.”
I stare at her across the kitchen island while she helps her mother slice the ham. Her hair bounces back and forth along her back in champagne waves, her emerald dress landing mid-thigh, and a serrated carving knife shaking in her right hand.
“Want me to finish up, sweetheart?” Bridget proposes, and I wonder if she sees what I’m seeing.
Cora dismisses the offer with an abrupt shake of her head. “I got it.”
Slice. Slice. Slice.
Back and forth. Careful and slow.
I want to slide up behind her and wrap my arms around her petite waist, whispering in her ear that it’s okay. Everything’s okay. But I can’t do that because my fiancé is standing beside me posting Christmas memes on Facebook and she wouldn’t understand.
“Oh, my God. Allie is engaged!” Mandy announces, beaming with excitement as she taps away at her keypad, reindeer ears bobbing atop her teased head of hair. “She better ask me to be a bridesmaid.”
Slice. Slice. Slice.
“Ooh. I forgot Allie’s brother is recently single—do you think Cora would go for him?”
My eyes shift from Cora’s careful cuts to Mandy sipping on a glass of holiday punch. “What?”
“Jason. Remember we went to his Superbowl party? He was dating some chick then, but I swear he kept checking my sister out.” Mandy slurps her punch through a red straw. “Cora thought he was cute.”
I don’t realize I’m tensing my jaw until it starts to ache. “It’s a little soon, don’t you think?”
“She’s been single for three years, Dean, and she’s almost thirty.”
“Yeah, but she’s still recovering from a trauma. She’s probably not looking to date.” I chew on my cheek as I avert my eyes back to Cora, who successfully finished carving the ham and is now transferring the slices to a festive serving plate. “She needs more time.”
Mandy glances up from her phone and her cocktail, a knowing grin blooming on her face. “You’re protective of her now, aren’t you? That’s so stinkin’ sweet. You’re like a worried big brother.” She releases a whimsical sigh. “I always knew you two would work out your issues.”
Fuck. The term ‘big brother’ makes me want to gag. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Well, as her sister and primary wing-woman, I’m going to set something up. Maybe we can do a double date to ease her into it.”
My jaw keeps ticking, and I want to slap it. “I don’t think I liked Jason.”
Actually, I don’t even fucking remember Jason, but I’m confident I don’t like him.
Mandy gives my chest an affectionate pat. “You don’t have to like him. You’re not the one who’s going to get naked with him.” She shoots me a teasing wink and chugs down the rest of her punch.
My stomach feels queasy as my mind flashes with images of Cora getting naked with some douchebag.
It’s way too soon. And maybe I am protective, but how can I not be?
I’m the only one who understands what she endured during those three weeks in Hell.
If anyone is going to have her back, it’s me, and I won’t apologize for it.
I make my way over to the alcohol cart adorned with a bowl of spiked punch and rum-infused eggnog.
Mandy and Cora’s little cousins are running around, chasing each other with red and green glow sticks, while the adults mingle in the living room awaiting supper.
I spoon myself some punch with the ladle and chug back the entire glass in four gulps.
Then I serve myself another glass, then another, until I’m feeling well-past buzzed by the time dinner is over and we’ve made our way to the Christmas tree for the gift exchange.
I’m sitting on the floor with my back to the front of the couch, my legs splayed out in front of me as Mandy sits behind me and rubs my shoulders. I’m nursing my sixth, and hopefully final, glass of punch, watching with bleary eyes as Cora unwraps one of her gifts across from me.
It’s a sweater.
She forces a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. No one seems to notice but me.
It’s my turn to open a gift.
It’s a sweater.
I also force a smile.
When one of the little cousins tears through a gift bag and pulls out a police officer costume, he jumps up and down with excitement. He keeps digging through the tissue paper and shouts, “Cool! Handcuffs!”
My stomach pitches and my gaze settles on Cora, who starts scratching at her wrist and fidgeting in her chair. Her eyes dance over to me, but only for a moment before she excuses herself from the festivities and disappears up the staircase.
Shit .
I wait a few minutes until it doesn’t look obvious that I’m following her, then I announce to Mandy that I need to use the bathroom. But Mandy is too absorbed in a conversation with her aunt about weighted blankets, so my escape goes unnoticed.
I find Cora in the same place I found her the night of our reunion—sitting on the edge of the guest bed in her childhood room, squeezing the covers between her fists. She notices my presence before I speak, and I wonder if she anticipated me following her up here.
“I’m fine, Dean.”
I click my teeth together as I stand in the doorway, noting how she doesn’t look up at me. I decide to approach, stepping into the bedroom and closing the door behind me. The sound makes her flinch. “Merry Christmas,” I say in a low voice.
I can almost feel some of the tension leave her as I sit down beside her on the bed, the mattress sinking beneath my weight. Cora finally glances up at me, finding my eyes with a tiny frown. “You smell like vodka and Skittles.”