Chapter 9 No, Not Tonight
No, Not Tonight
Cassidy
Iwake up to the sound of Axel’s excited whisper-shouting from downstairs.
“It’s Christmas Eve! It’s Christmas Eve!”
I pull the pillow over my head, trying to block out the sound of Ethan’s low rumble responding to him, but it’s no use. Even through the floorboards, I can hear the warmth in Ethan’s voice as he talks to Axel about their plans for the day.
Cookie decorating. Christmas Eve traditions. Making magic happen for a little boy who’s never had a real Christmas.
And here I am, hiding upstairs like a coward.
Your sister drugged me. Then raped me.
The words have been circling in my head for hours, refusing to let me sleep. Part of me wants to dismiss them as a desperate lie, but there’s a sick feeling in my stomach that won’t go away. Because deep down, I know Britney was capable of almost anything when she wanted something.
And she’d always wanted what was mine.
I force myself to sit up, rubbing my swollen eyes. Through the thin walls, I can hear Ethan explaining something, his voice patient and gentle.
God, what if I was wrong? What if I’ve spent eight years hating the man I loved over a lie?
Axel’s laughter floats up from the kitchen, and I close my eyes against the sound. This little boy deserves better than two adults who can’t get their shit together. He deserves a family who wants him and can provide the love and stability he’s never had.
He deserves parents who fight for him instead of with each other, and I want to be that for him. I want to be his family.
And that means I have to stop running.
My one-bedroom apartment in Atlanta would need to go. I’d need at least two bedrooms now, perhaps a place with a backyard, preferably in a good school zone.
I could adjust my hours at work, taking the morning shift so I could be home when school lets out. He’d need new clothes, a proper winter coat, and school supplies. All the things Britney clearly never prioritized.
Tuesday evening story time at the library would be perfect for him. Many of those children have been through trauma too, and Miss Joan is brilliant with the quiet ones. I’ve watched her coax smiles from the most withdrawn kids week after week.
My mind races through logistics. I could add him to my health insurance and get him therapy appointments. The spare room at the library could become his homework spot on the days I couldn’t leave early.
It wouldn’t be easy, but I could do this. I could be what Axel needs. And maybe he could be what I need too.
With renewed purpose, I force myself downstairs, following the sounds of laughter and the sweet smell of vanilla. In the kitchen, I find Ethan and Axel surrounded by cooling racks full of sugar cookies, flour dusting every surface.
“Ms. Cassidy!” Axel’s face lights up when he sees me. “Look what we made! Mr. Ethan said you might want to help decorate them.”
Ethan glances up from where he’s mixing what looks like homemade frosting, his expression neutral. There are dark circles under his eyes that match mine, and I wonder if he slept at all after our fight.
“I found some food coloring in the back of a cabinet,” he says quietly. “And there’s sprinkles.”
The softness of his tone is a sudden pressure on my throat. After everything I said to him last night, he’s still trying to make Christmas special for Axel.
“That sounds perfect.” I settle at the small table where dozens of star and tree-shaped cookies are laid out on parchment paper.
For the next hour, we work in harmony. Ethan mixes colors while I help Axel spread frosting with a butter knife.
“This one’s for you,” Axel says, holding up a lopsided star covered in blue frosting and way too many sprinkles. “Because blue is your favorite color.”
My throat closes up. “How did you know that?”
“Mr. Ethan told me. He knows lots of things about you.”
I glance at Ethan, who’s focused intently on turning white frosting green, a flush creeping up his neck. Even after years apart, he remembers.
When our fingers brush reaching for the same bottle of sprinkles, neither of us pulls away immediately. The simple contact sends electricity racing up my arm, and I hear Ethan’s sharp intake of breath.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
“Don’t be.”
Axel chatters happily between us, oblivious to the tension, and I find myself studying Ethan’s hands as he works. The same hands that once traced patterns on my skin, built fires, fixed broken things and made me feel safe.
The same hands I’d convinced myself had betrayed me.
What if I was wrong about everything?
“Do you think Santa will come this year?” Axel asks suddenly.
“You know,” Ethan says, “when I was little, my mom had a special rule about Christmas presents. She said Jesus only got three gifts from the Wise Men, so that’s all we needed too.”
“Really?” Axel looks skeptical.
“It’s true,” I add, catching on quickly. “And those gifts weren’t about how much they cost. They were about meaning something special.”
“Like what?” Axel asks.
“Well,” Ethan continues, “in our family, we got one thing we needed, one thing we wanted, and one surprise. It made each gift matter more.”
“And sometimes,” I say softly, “the best gifts aren’t things at all. Sometimes they’re promises, or time together, or a new beginning.”
“Like us being here together?” Axel asks.
“Exactly like that,” Ethan whispers, his eyes meeting mine over Axel’s head.
After Axel runs outside to play in the snow, I take a deep breath and turn to Ethan. The kitchen suddenly feels too small, the air thick with everything we haven’t said.
“I’ve made a decision,” I say, my hands trembling as I set down the frosting bowl. “About Axel. I’m going to retain guardianship.”
Ethan goes very still, his eyes searching my face. “Cassidy—”
“I know it’s not what I planned, but he needs stability. He needs someone who—”
“That’s generous of you,” Ethan interrupts, his voice controlled. “Making room in your life for him like that. But I’ll be raising my son.”
“Your son? Really? Where was that paternal instinct for the past seven years? You’ve been a deadbeat father, Ethan. Axel has been living in squalor, being hit by Britney, apologizing for existing, and where were you? You have money now, clearly. You could have fought for custody, could have—”
“And where the fuck were you?” Ethan fires back. “You’re his aunt. You knew your sister was using. You knew she was unfit. But you stayed away.”
“Because I was pregnant with our child and lost it the same day she announced she was pregnant with your child!”
“What!”
My mouth opens and closes. “I... we were going to have a baby, Ethan. I was going to tell you about it on Christmas morning. But I found you in bed with her?”
Ethan’s expression falters. “That’s impossible. You were… No! No!”
The back door slams open, cutting off our argument. Axel stumbles inside, snow clinging to his coat and tears streaming down his red cheeks.
“Are you fighting about me again? I heard you yelling.” Axel looks from one of us to the other with those too-serious eyes. “I’m sorry,” Axel whispers. “I didn’t mean to make you mad at each other. I’ll go with my new family soon.”
“Hey, buddy,” Ethan says, reaching out to brush snow from Axel’s coat. “We weren’t fighting about you.”
“We were just... discussing Christmas plans,” I add lamely. “Adults sometimes talk loudly when they’re excited.”
Axel looks between us skeptically, but the hope in his eyes breaks my heart. “Really?”
“Really,” Ethan confirms. “In fact, I think we need to help you build the snowman. Every little boy needs a snowman.”
“And maybe we could make snow angels?” I suggest, forcing brightness into my voice. “I bet you’ve never made one of those.”
Axel’s face lights up despite his tears. “Can we really? All of us together?”
“Absolutely,” Ethan and I say at the same time.
Five minutes later, I’m digging through Britney’s closet looking for something warmer than my thin sweater. The clothes smell faintly of cigarettes and cheap perfume.
I’m pulling down a heavy cardigan from a high hanger when it knocks into a stack of books on the shelf above. Several fall, scattering across the floor with soft thuds.
With a sigh, I kneel to gather them. Mostly paperback romances with creased spines, a few notebooks, and a yearbook. As I’m stacking them, a small leather journal slips from between two books, its pages fanning open as it lands.
I almost close it immediately. Reading someone else’s journal feels wrong. But a date catches my eye. December 20th. Eight years ago.
My fingers hesitate over the page. I shouldn’t. But that date...
Britney’s familiar handwriting sprawls across the lines:
C + E are back for Christmas. He has a ring.
Saw it in his bag. Always Cassidy, never me.
But he doesn’t really love her, he loves me.
He always helps with homework when I call and always answers my calls.
Lila says her brother’s stuff mixed in his drink will make him relax enough to admit the truth.
Just need to get him alone. I’ll prove to Cassidy that Ethan wants me. She can’t win everything forever.
I flip to the next entry. Then the next. Each page reveals more of my sister’s scheme. They detail Britney’s resentment, her fixation on Ethan, the elaborate plan she’d concocted with her friend Lila to gain Ethan’s interest.
When I reach the entry dated two days after Christmas, I pause, pressing my hand to my mouth. The casual way she wrote about the aftermath, about watching my relationship implode, her satisfaction in knowing I would never forgive Ethan…
The journal slips from my numb fingers.
All these years, I thought... I believed...
I sit back on my heels with a strange buzzing in my ears. Eight years of pain. Eight years of doubting myself, of wondering what I’d done wrong, of blaming Ethan, then blaming myself.
All because my sister couldn’t stand to see me happy.
My phone buzzes loudly, startling me. Ms. Rodrigue’s name flashes on the screen.
“Hello?” My voice comes out strangled.
“Ms. Morgan? I have wonderful news. We’ve found a placement for Axel.”
The words don’t register at first. I’m still staring at Britney’s diary on the floor.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“A foster family. The Hendersons have agreed to take Axel immediately. They have a snowmobile and can pick him up tonight. I know it’s short notice, but with the holiday—”
“No.” The word bursts out of me before I can think.
“Excuse me?”
“No,” I repeat, my voice stronger now. “Both Mr. Whitmore and I are interested in obtaining guardianship.”
There’s a pause. “Ms. Morgan, two days ago you were very clear about this being temporary—”
“Two days ago I didn’t know what an amazing little boy he is,” I say. “We’ll see you at the guardianship hearing.”
From downstairs, I hear Axel’s delighted laughter as Ethan says something. The sound of family. The sound of what we should have been all along.
“I have to go,” I tell Ms. Rodrigue, hanging up before she can respond.
I need to find Ethan.