Chapter 30 #3
“My dad’s never happy, Wren. It’s easier if you just accept that he’s a miserable man.”
She looked up at him. “That’s not true. I saw him…” Her words trailed off as she tried to explain the look in his eyes.
“What? Smile? Impossible.”
“No, not smile, but I saw him get emotional a few times. He’s not as unaffected as you all think.”
“I’m sure it’s a welcomed distraction.”
Maybe her expectations had been too high. “How are you doing?”
“Me?” He smiled. “I’m great.”
She studied his sharp blue eyes. “This isn’t too much for you?”
“No. I can handle it.” He swiped a fleck of glitter off her cheek. “You’re very sparkly.”
Rising on her toes, she kissed him. It was only meant to be a quick peck, but it quickly turned into more. When the kitchen door swung open, Greyson covered her mouth and yanked her into the pantry.
“My god, will you get off my ass!” Jocelyn’s voice carried through the closed door and Wren’s eyes widened.
Greyson slowly pulled his hand away, and continued kissing her.
“Would it kill you to ask for help?”
Wren broke the kiss, distracted by their bickering. They never stopped. Greyson, in the shadows of all the shelves and dry goods, rolled his eyes.
Wren frowned when he flicked open the button of her jeans. “What are you doing?” she hissed.
“Shh.”
“Grey, we’re in a pantry!”
Rather than answer, he sank his hand into the front of her panties. “You’ll have to be quiet then.”
His fingers pressed into her as soon as Jocelyn snapped, “I’d rather fall and crack my skull than owe you anything.”
“That can be arranged.”
Greyson tugged her close, distracting her with a kiss as he worked her into a tizzy. He guided her hand to the bulge at his crotch and pressed her fingers around his length. How far did he want to take this?
“Do you always stalk women who can’t stand you, or did I do something special to provoke this sort of unwanted attention?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Oh, please. You get off on annoying me. It’s like some sort of twisted foreplay.”
Grey shoved down her pants and turned her toward the wall, planting her hands on the built-in shelves. Wren’s eyes widened as she realized he planned to go all the way.
His warm breath teased her ear. “Hold on tight.”
She gasped, rising on her toes, as he gave her no chance to object.
“Shh,” he chuckled, gently covering her mouth as he drew back and thrust hard. “You don’t want them to hear us.”
She whimpered against his fingers as he plunged into her again. Outside of the pantry, the two idiots continued to argue. A box of pasta fell with a thud and Wren froze, digging her nails into Greyson’s arm.
“Did you hear that?”
Shit, shit, shit… With her jeans twisted around her legs, she couldn’t move if she wanted to. Greyson froze, but didn’t pull out. Wren winced, squeezing her eyes closed against the kitchen light when the pantry door opened.
“Uh…” Soren’s voice was amused as much as it was confused.
“We’re looking for nutmeg,” Greyson blurted.
“Up her ass?” Jocelyn laughed wickedly.
“Seems like a deep inventory,” Soren joked.
Greyson stretched and slammed the door in their faces. “Goodbye!”
Wren wilted into the shelves—death by mortification.
Grey only chuckled and continued on, stroking her back to life and not stopping until they discovered all the spice that pantry could offer.
When they returned to the den, Wren needed a drink. Jocelyn sidled up to her at the bar, smiling around the straw of some mulled concoction. “So… Come lately?”
“Please stop.”
“Can’t. It’s a sickness.”
It really was. “Please don’t tell anyone.”
“Your secrets safe with me. But can I just say how proud I am of you? Not only for getting it in public, but for holding that position while he covered your mouth.” She tipped her head and sauntered away. “Nicely done, my friend.”
Wren poured an oversized glass of wine and took it to the less judgmental atmosphere of the kitchen. Every inch of the marble countertops were covered with fresh herbs, cranberries, and copper pots as Astrid had now taken over the preparations.
“Can I help?”
“You can stir the gravy.” Astrid handed off the spoon. “Heard about your little holiday foray in the pantry.”
Wren stilled. “Who told you?”
“You know I have a sense for these things.” When Wren gave her a doubtful look, her aunt confessed, “Jocelyn. That girl’s lips are looser than tea leaves.”
Wren covered her face and groaned. “I told her not to say anything.”
“Sounds like you told her too late. Maybe by this time next year we’ll be celebrating a New Year’s baby.”
“No,” Wren laughed, but her hand stilled from stirring the gravy. It had been a few weeks now and she couldn’t recall the last time she’d… “What’s today’s date?”
“The eighteenth.”
“Oh, God.” Her eyes widened as she did quick math. She should be safe, but they should probably have a serious conversation about children soon. Would he mind if she got pregnant? It wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. She couldn’t stop the smile that curved her lips.
Aunt Astrid nudged her hand. “Keep stirring.”
Once dinner was ready and the table was set, Wren moved the guests into the dining room. Greyson, of course, noticed a shift in her mood.
“You okay?” he asked quietly as they took their seats, squeezing her thigh, his eyes creasing with concern.
She smiled nervously. If she was late, it wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. Just an unexpected one.
“I’m fine.” She pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Merry Christmas.”
Crystal rattled at the other end of the table as Magnus wobbled up from his chair.
“Dad, what are you doing?” Logan sprung to his feet.
His father shook off his support. “I can stand on my own damn feet.” He gripped the edge of the table with an unsteady hand, and pulled aside his oxygen mask and glared at his youngest. “I’m not dead yet.
” Their father took several seconds to continue as he struggled to catch his breath.
“It’s been a long time… since we...” He huffed as if coming off the last mile of a marathon.
Defeated by his limitations, he gave up.
Waving a hand in a way that showed no affection but some level of acceptance.
He raised a crystal goblet and mumbled under his breath, “Merry Christmas.”
“Cheers.” They responded in unison.
Dishes were passed and the chatter continued. Wren smiled at the cheer emerging from the majority of the table, but never lost sight of Magnus’s moody tells.
Magnus lost interest in the food when his hand trembled too fast to control his fork. He tossed down the silverware with a clatter, and the chatter silenced.
“Dad?” Greyson asked, as everyone stared at the patriarch of the family.
Worry tightened Wren’s stomach. Magnus had too much pride to accept the help he needed, and she knew his vulnerability embarrassed him. All three sons watched their father with bleak concern, likely having the same thought.
Jocelyn, understanding her role as best friend, broke the silence and theatrically sampled the nut roast. “Sweet Oden, Bodhi, did you marinate this in despair?”
The table snapped out of its trance, and everyone laughed. Dishes clinked, and the happy chatter started again. Magnus merely sipped his wine after swatting away Logan’s hand when he tried to cut his meat.
Conversation rose in volume as chaotic conversation topics shifted faster than the seasons. Overall, it was exactly how a holiday dinner should be—over planned, under prepared, and mildly off balance.
Magnus scanned the faces around the table and stilled when his stare met Wren’s. His eyes narrowed.
“You okay, Dad?” Greyson sensed the moment she shrank in her seat.
His father called her Haven several times that day, and Wren wasn’t sure who he saw now.
Magnus’s glare snapped to the foot of the table where Greyson sat. “Where’s Sable?”
Again, the table stilled, and the conversation stopped.
Magnus’s cold gaze lifted past his son and his chin trembled. Everyone followed his stare except Wren, who kept her eyes on Magnus. His breath caught, and he abruptly dropped his gaze. “I’ve had enough.”
Soren sprung to his feet as Magnus started to rise. “Take my arm, Dad.”
His father shook off his help. “I can walk.” But he couldn’t, and when he realized that, Soren’s arm was there.
The room seemed to hold a collective breath as the patriarch shuffled away from the table, grumbling and snapping, ridiculing anyone brave enough to help him.
“I said wait!” Magnus snapped, and Soren’s patience visibly diminished.
Leaning heavily on his son’s support, he turned to face them one last time—not an ounce of kindness in his sharp gaze.
“Your mother always hoped you boys would stay close. Thick as thieves, every last one of you. She always got her way.”
Wren’s breath turned unsteady as she realized what was coming. Greyson’s hand clutched hers, tightening ever so slightly.
Magnus met her stare, then glared at Greyson. “You never wanted real responsibility. Always looking for an escape. The real work was a cage to you.”
Silence fell like a guillotine.
Wren’s grip tightened around Greyson’s as Magnus turned his attention back to her. “Your mother…” He grunted a derisive laugh and scowled. “She was an ache in the shape of a woman.”
A chair squealed as Bodhi abruptly stood, a look Wren didn’t recognize burning in his weathered eyes.
Magnus didn’t appear threatened in the least. “Haven taught Sable not to need anything from a man. Your mother wanted me to suffer.” Eyes still on Greyson, his mouth curved with a wicked smile. “She’ll never need you.”
Greyson stood in one fluid motion and thumped his fist on the table with a hard, warning bang. Wren’s stomach dropped as she felt all her hard work wither into ash.
“That’s the difference between you and me. I don’t need her codependence. I only want her love.”
“Love,” Magnus spat, as if the word tasted like rust on his tongue. “The prettiest lie ever whispered. Fools die under its spell. Real men know better.” His cold gaze slid back to Wren. “Beautiful things hiding teeth. She’ll eat you alive.”
“That’s enough,” Logan said, standing from his chair. “Soren, take him to bed or I will.”
His father laughed gruffly. “Well, well, look who grew a spine.”
Greyson jerked his chair back and took a warning step. Wren caught his arm. Despite his hurtful words, something told her they needed this moment to play out. Her hope of ever redeeming Magnus in their eyes was now gone, so they needed to face down their demons together.
Magnus pulled the oxygen mask to his face and drew a deep breath, as if reloading a weapon. Wren braced for whatever came next. “I should have never let that woman into our lives. You boys were lost the day you met her.” He angled a trembling finger at Wren.
“Soren,” Greyson said with zero reflection. “Get him out of here.”
“Can’t run, so now you chase me away?” His cold chuckle was framed in a cough. “No need for old Dad anymore, eh? Got everything you wanted. Just like your mother.”
The effort to stay calm radiated from Greyson. Tension filled the room.
Wren pried her fingers free of his grip and rounded the table, not stopping until she stood in front of Magnus. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Hawthorne.” Despite the way she internally trembled, she rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to his dry cheek. “Thank you for a beautiful day.”
He frowned, confused by her contrasting gratitude.
Wren didn’t flinch or recoil from his bitter stare. It was clear, years of rotted pride had poisoned him. “You don’t have to understand it,” she said gently. “But this is what love looks like.”
Magnus glanced over her shoulder at the table. She didn’t look back to see what he saw. She already knew what was there.
It was not the image of greedy sons circling his deathbed like vultures, waiting for his legacy to fall into their palms. No brittle alliances had formed. Despite all of his efforts to turn them against each other, their bond remained strong to the very end.
“I love your sons, sir. All of them. And they love you. You can thank their mother, and mine, for that. They taught us how to love without expectation. The more you try to divide them, to divide us, the tighter we’ll hold onto each other.
” She cradled his cold hand in his. “Can’t you see?
Christmas is grace unearned. That’s why we’re here today, with you.
Our love might be undeserved, but we’ve given it anyway.
And we expect nothing in return. Your legacy has nothing to do with it.
We’re here, for you, out of love. Just love. The kind, even death, can’t destroy.”
She released his hand and stepped back. No one said a word for several seconds, until Soren softly whispered, “Come on, Dad. I’ll take you to bed.”
When they left, she turned. They stared at her in shock and Greyson crossed the room, not stopping until he hugged her tightly. There were no words. There didn’t have to be. After years of emotional silence, she understood everything he wanted to say.