Eleven Days of Christmas #2
“An incredible liability,” he says, opening the doors at the top of the stairs for me.
We enter, and he leads me across the room, his hand still holding mine in an easy, comfortable grasp.
It feels natural, like we’ve held hands a million times, though I can’t remember if I’ve ever done it before.
We stop at the door on the far end of the room, the one that leads to the rest of the east wing.
Preston unlocks it, and we step into a wide corridor.
“I want you to have this,” he says, holding out the old-fashioned key. “Just lock up at night, so you’re behind a few locks instead of just one. The bedroom has a separate key, which I’ll also give you. This key works on all the doors to the east wing, including the one into the rest of the house.”
“You’re letting me out?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says. “I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner, Dolly. I want you to have free rein of the rest of the house—except for the west wing. That’s not safe for you, but you can come and go from the rest of the place, even go outside if you want. This is your home now, too.”
I bite my tongue to keep from arguing. There’s no point. I told him I was leaving. I can’t do much more, can’t force him to face reality. If he needs to live out this fantasy to get it out of his system and realize this will never work, so be it. It’s not hurting anyone but himself.
“Besides, you’re going to need to go out for this,” he says, opening a door. I hear a little voice inside, and when I step in, I’m greeted by the cutest little Yorkie face in the world.
“Peanut Butter,” I cry, my heart filling with happiness as I drop to my knees and hold out my arms. She comes racing over like she’s still a pup, her whole body wiggling as she jumps her front paws on me and licks frantically at the air, trying to reach my face.
Tears fill my eyes, and I scoop her up and hold her close, pressing my cheek into her soft fur.
Though she lives with Mama now, she’ll always be my dog.
It broke my heart when I had to leave her, and part of me still feels guilty that I didn’t take her to LA.
But I know it’s better for her at Mama’s, where there are kids to love her and play with her, than sitting alone in my tiny apartment all day while I work long hours and she can’t even take a potty break until I get home.
“How’d you get her?” I ask, sitting back on my heels and running my hands along her soft ears.
“I asked your mom,” Preston says. “What, you think I’d kidnap your dog?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“She had a pet sitter watching her, but I know she’ll be happier here with you.”
“Thank you,” I say, standing and throwing my arms around Preston. “Thank you so much. I can’t believe you thought of that.”
“Of course,” he says, his hands cradling my hips and pulling me forward. He plants a soft kiss on my lips and then pulls back. “I know you better than anyone, Dolly Beckett. Give me some credit. I know you wouldn’t be happy without your dog.”
“Well, you’re right,” I say, turning to scoop up my little Peanut.
“Ready for the next one?” he asks.
“I don’t need another present,” I assure him. “This is all I want.”
“Well, there’s more, whether you want them or not.
Let me show you, and then you can decide.
” He leads me out and stops at a door a bit down the hall, then gestures for me to go ahead.
I pause, remembering when he locked me in the first night.
Is this another trap, and his promises of freedom were just to lure me here?
“What is it?” I ask, my hand resting on the knob.
“Open it and see,” he says with a hint of a smile. “I had it made for you.”
Watching him warily, I push open the door.
He steps inside, which gives me a bit more confidence.
I reach for the light, flipping it on to find myself in a small sitting room with a couple comfortable leather chairs, a coffee table, end tables with lamps, and a few potted plants.
Three entire walls are covered from floor to ceiling in sturdy wooden shelves segmented into squares with labels on the bottom.
Each one is filled completely with vinyl records.
I gape around at what must be tens of thousands of albums.
“There are four turntables, and we installed state of the art speakers with a surround sound option,” he says, approaching a freestanding wooden cabinet.
He swings open the doors to reveal a vintage-looking stereo with a dozen or so knobs and a panel with a needle for adjusting the radio station on the front and a record player on the top.
“We restored Grampa’s old player, and we got a couple new ones too, since now that records are cool and vintage, they’ve started making record players again.
A lot of the records themselves are used, but there are some new-in-plastic ones on the shelves, too.
They’re organized by genre and then alphabetically. ”
“Preston,” I say, staring at him in shock. “This is… This is way too much. What are you doing?”
“You love music,” he says with a shrug, picking up a tablet from the top of the cabinet.
“I want you to be happy here. You can listen to anything you want, and if there’s anything missing, I’m sure I can find it and order it for you.
They’re all in a spreadsheet you can access from this tablet, and there’s a couple binders with paper copies in here, too. ”
“How long did this take you?” I whisper.
“A few years,” he says. “I wanted it to be here for you if you ever came home.”
I swallow, the knot in my throat too tight to speak, and hold Peanut Butter close.
Preston slips the tablet into the cabinet next to the binders and closes the doors before standing and returning to me. He pulls me into his arms and kisses my cheek. “I told you, Doll. I’ll take care of you. I know what you like, what you want, what you need. All you have to do is let me.”
I nod against his neck, laying my head on his shoulder. It would be so easy to just give in, to just say yes and let him take over. But I let everyone run my life for way too long. I don’t want to do that anymore, to lose myself in making someone else happy.
“Thank you,” I say at last. “I’ll use it while I’m staying with you.”
“Come on,” he says. “One more.”
“More?” I ask incredulously. “How can there be more?”
“You’ll see,” he says with a smug grin, taking my hand and leading me out of the room. He pulls me across the hall and opens the door to another room, switching on the light. There’s a fancy microphone setup and a glass wall, behind which I can see a complicated electronic panel.
“Is this… A studio?” I ask.
“I’m sure it’s nothing compared to the ones you used at Nyso,” he says.
“But it’s the best home studio you can get.
The walls are soundproof, like your bedroom, and all the equipment is top of the line.
You can make a full studio album here if you want.
I knew the records wouldn’t be enough, that you want to make your own music, too.
I can bring a band in if you need it, and Maggie can sing backup for you any time. ”
“Oh my god, could I?” squeals a voice from behind us. Magnolia comes skipping into the room, her curls bouncing. “Can you imagine, me singing on a real album with a real celebrity?”
“I wouldn’t call myself—”
“Oh, shut up,” she says, waving a dismissive hand. “You’re on the radio, and I could be, too. Thanks for showing her without me, asshole.” She scowls at Preston. “Not like I helped you land all this equipment.”
“Flirting with Colin Finnegan doesn’t qualify as helping,” he says, glowering back at her. “If anything, it put you on his radar and gave me one more creep to worry about. He’s way too fucking old to be sniffing around a fourteen-year-old.”
“Whatever,” Magnolia huffs. “You’re just jealous because he’s hot as fuck, and you look like a gargoyle. Not to mention girls cream their jeans when they hear his accent.”
“Magnolia,” I scold. “Don’t talk to your cousin that way. You’re lucky to have Preston looking out for you. Guys like that only go after younger girls because the girls in their own age group know better.”
“But can you imagine how popular I’d be if I had a boyfriend in college when I went back to school?” she asks. “I mean, I’m only a freshman. All the other girls would be so jealous, they’d totally want to be friends with me again.”
“Like fucking hell,” Preston growls. “If I even see that asshole around here, he’s going to wake up in a hospital.”
“Y’all are both so lame,” Magnolia says, flopping down in a chair. “My parents were cooler than you. And that’s saying something, because my parents are, like, literal boomers.”
“Literal boomers would be our Grandparents,” Preston corrects. “Our parents are Gen X.”
“Oh my god, literal doesn’t literally mean literal,” Magnolia says, slumping back in the chair. “Otherwise you couldn’t be a total boomer, and you literally are.”
I shake my head, holding back laughter when my eyes meet Preston’s. I can see what he means about Magnolia being incredibly challenging.
“Want to try it out?” Preston asks, squeezing my hand.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” I say, holding Peanut to my chest with my other arm. “I mean, I love it. I’ll try it out tomorrow, for sure. But I just ate, and I haven’t warmed up…”
“Can I?” Magnolia asks, hopping up and clutching her hands in front of her chin, apparently forgetting that we’re too lame for her company. “Please, please, please?”
She bats her eyes and pouts her plump lips at me, making a Peanut-worthy puppy-dog face that’s way too hard to resist.
“Go right ahead,” I say.
“You don’t want to be the first to use it?” Preston asks.
“I don’t mind,” I assure him. “Let her have her fun.”
“Okay, y’all go back there, so I can feel like I’m in a big studio at Sun Records or something,” she says, gesturing for us to go behind the glass.