Jameson
“Good night, Mom.” I say, heading up the stairs to my room.
“Good night, sweetie. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” I say, heading up the stairs, totally exhausted because even on Christmas, the chores have to be done. My father uses every single bit of Christmas break to keep the farm going. Every year, he calls my brothers and I being home a true blessing.
Adam is already snoring in bed when I get into our room, getting undressed and sliding under the covers when I check my cellphone and see a message from Dixon waiting for me.
Fuck. He sent it two hours ago, asking me to meet him in the barn.
That crazy fucker. How did I not see him? I was out there not that long ago, but not actually in the barn. There’s a lot to do on this property.
I quietly pull on a pair of sweats, boots, and my coat, sneaking downstairs and outside, thankful my parents were heading to bed at the same time.
I’m eighteen years old. It seems so damn dumb to be sneaking around like this. But it is their house.
When I get into the barn, I climb up the ladder and, sure enough, Dixon is waiting for me. Thankfully, he’s fully clothed—I mean, that sucks for me because he looks damn good naked—but I’m glad he’s being careful.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask as I approach him.
“It’s Christmas. I couldn’t let the entire holiday go without you seeing me. That would have been just wrong.”
I snort a laugh and then sit next to him on a bale of hay. “I thought we said no more barn.”
He shrugs. “No more fucking in the barn.”
He’s not here to fuck. He really did just want to see me. Or for me to see him, as he put it. But the thought hits me directly in the chest. “What are we doing, Dixon?” I ask. With an inch of snow outside, it’s so cold in the barn, I can see my breath.
“I don’t know,” he answers, and I can see the blatant honesty there. He has no clue what we’re doing either.
We don’t move, just sitting there together, freezing our asses off. “I’m sorry I hit you.”
“What?” He sounds amused as he cocks his head to the side and looks at me.
“I am. I shouldn’t have hit you that day.”
He chuckles at that, smiling big. “Oh, come on. You’d wanted to do that for a long damn time. Don’t regret it.”
I laugh with him, but I do regret it. I can’t believe I hit him. “I mean, that’s true. You did have it coming for stealing my glue stick.”
He laughs, his hand resting on my thigh. “You and that fucking glue.”
I shrug. “Pissed me off.” I brush my hand over his smooth jaw. He probably shaved for church this morning. “But I’m sorry I hit you.”
He shrugs again. “I’m not.”
“Why not? I made you bleed.” I think about that locker-room fight.
The rage I felt that was built up from years and years of holding everything in.
Because I thought I’d lost my best friend, and I thought I hated Dixon, even when I didn’t.
I hated this town and even my parents. Resented my brother Adam because he’s the perfect son, and I’m not.
Because maybe I’m selfish and want something different.
It all just got to me that day, and I lost it.
“Hey, I got some good hits in.” He squeezes my thigh with his hand. “But really, I’m glad it happened. We wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t. If I hadn’t kept pushing you.”
“That’s probably true.” I drag my thumb over his bottom lip and look into his eyes. “I’m still sorry.”
“You’re forgiven,” he says, leaning in for a kiss that’s too slow. Too perfect. Too damn good because it makes my heart ache.
I don’t know what the hell we’re doing together, but I know I don’t want it to end.
Not ever.
And I also know, without a doubt, it will have to.