Chapter 8
James has been outside for hours.
I think he’s probably shoveled the driveway six times by now. And it’s still snowing, so he just keeps redoing it.
Avoiding me.
It’s obvious, and I fucking hate it.
I tried really hard this morning to forget about my unfortunate… sleep-blowing. As much as I don’t want to forget about it, I have to. The only way we’ll be able to survive this is by pretending it never happened.
Sure, it’ll kill me inside to do that, slowly and painfully, like a withering disease. But I’m already sick as it is… Wicked and damned, lusting after the man who raised me, like some kind of heathen.
What’s the alternative, anyway? I can’t lose my father figure…
He’s all I have. If he ends up hating me because of this, I’ll cease to exist.
I woke up on the couch at six in the morning, alone. No hope of playing that whole thing off as a dream… Not with the ache in my jaw, and the taste of him still lingering on my tongue.
I took a quick shower and immediately launched into my default distraction; baking.
I definitely went overboard, but I couldn’t help it.
In order to clear my mind, I went on autopilot, baking and decorating every single sweet known to man.
Cookies, brownies, and cupcakes galore. It worked for a while, but as soon as James came downstairs, it became clear our tryst wouldn’t be swept under the rug.
Opening presents with him felt normal, but the whole time he was looking at me differently. With this simmering shell-shocked hopelessness in his eyes, and an aura of dubious vexation surrounding him so thickly in the air I could almost taste it.
The guilt that settled in my gut like a brick has been there since. I fucked everything up. My secret obsession somehow turned into action last night, and now I’m stuck waiting for him to either lash out and disown me, or worse.
What if we remain in this tense and mortifying purgatory forever?
I’ve been trying to busy myself with more cooking, starting on dinner, though it’s only four in the afternoon. Still, I have to do something with my hands. I have to keep moving, and working in the kitchen is really the only option I have.
Instead of turkey, I’m making a roast chicken, stuffed with my homemade cranberry cornbread stuffing, and some sides. Mashed sweet potato casserole, beet salad, asparagus. It’s a whole thing.
I’m flitting about, diligently, though my mind remains outside. Out in the freezing cold where my guardian is risking hypothermia just to avoid me. I really want to bring him something hot to drink… It’s eighteen degrees outside, and he’s been out there for hours.
Awkward or not, I’m worried about him.
But I just keep myself focused on my tasks. Once everything is in the oven, I feed the wood stove and toss a couple more logs on the fire in the living room.
By the time James comes back inside, it’s dark out. I’m on the couch, reading, my eyes sticking to the words on the page, the ones I’ve read five times without having absorbed a single morsel of the story.
Using my peripheral, I see him stomp the hall, listening to the sounds of him shedding his boots and wet outerwear. My stomach is in my throat, heart rate steadily increasing as I hear him rummaging in the kitchen.
And then I feel him approaching, entering the living room with a few clunky footsteps.
My gaze lifts as he sidles up to me, arm extended, holding out a mug.
I take it, without words, peering down at the hot cocoa with a few little white marshmallows floating at the top.
He has one for himself, and I try not to actively watch him as he takes a sip, wandering over to the fireplace.
With his back to me, I can see how bunched up he is, shoulders tense, rigid in his stance. Closing my eyes for a moment, I take a deep breath and hold it.
I have to fix this. I have to do something, anything to placate him. To let him know that last night was a fluke, and it meant nothing.
Even if it’s the furthest thing from the truth.
Taking a sip of my cocoa, I place the mug on the side table by the couch. “I would’ve gotten that for you…”
He doesn’t respond. I can’t see his face, but from the way he’s just standing there, warming himself in front of the fire, I can barely even tell if he heard me.
So I decide to keep going; keep trying to bring back the normal. “Dinner will be ready soon.”
“Not hungry,” he grunts, the second the last word leaves my lips.
“That makes no sense,” I argue. “You haven’t eaten all day and you were just outside working for five hours. You need to eat.”
He spins slowly, his eyes dark with a weighted glare. “Who’s the parent here? Me, or you?”
I can’t help how that question makes me fumble. “I… I don’t…”
“You don’t what?” He lifts an accusatory brow, clasping the mug between his hands.
Letting out a strong sigh, I stand up. Time to take on a different approach here.
Maybe I just need to give him some assurance that last night didn’t happen because I’m harboring misguided feelings for him, even if it is a bold-faced lie.
“Well, I’m gonna eat. And then I’m going out.” I fold my arms over my chest, ignoring how hard my heart is banging beneath them.
He looks momentarily stunned but covers it up quickly with a scowl. “Going out? Where?”
“This guy I’ve been dating invited me over his place to hang out,” I force myself to project, hopefully disguising the shake that wants to take over my voice. “That’s why I made so much dessert. I’m bringing some over for his family.”
It’s only ninety percent lie. Tanner definitely texted me earlier for a booty call, which obviously has nothing to do with his family. And I wasn’t considering it whatsoever until things became insufferable in this house.
The emotions on James’s face are locked up tight. Resentment in his eyes is swallowing up the confusion, and all I’m getting is an angry glare made up of more flames than the fire behind him.
“You haven’t mentioned any guy,” he grumbles, jaw ticking visibly through his words. “I asked you last night if you were dating anyone and you said no.”
“I didn’t say no.” I stand my ground, riding this stupid excuse straight to hell. “I said not much. We aren’t exclusive or anything… It’s just fun.”
Okay… That look is a little scary.
His eyes are black, lined with a fury that seems to be puzzling him even more than it is me, as he grips the mug in his hands so hard it looks like it could crack down the middle.
“Fun…” he breathes the word like a threat, then cocks his head to the side. “Absolutely not.”
I can’t help how my brows zip together. “Excuse me?”
“You’re not going anywhere,” he states, as casually as telling someone the time. “It’s Christmas. You’re staying right the fuck here, where you belong. With your family.”
That word, family, has an awful lot of bite to it for something theoretically positive.
Gawking at him like he’s lost his mind, my mouth hangs open in perplexity as he lifts the mug to his lips. He takes a sip, all the while eyeing me over the rim, almost as if he’s daring me to protest.
I have no idea what’s going on here. I thought lying about my relationship and suggesting I leave him alone would help the situation. Give him the out he so clearly wants. But now he’s telling me no…
He wants me to stay?? In this bubble of suffocating awkward tension??
Now I’m really lost.
“I just figured I’d give you some space,” I grumble. “After…”
My voice dissolves when his eyes widen, pleading with me not to mention it, while simultaneously imploring me to clear the air.
But I’m too much of a coward to go there first. I’m fucking terrified, shaking down to my bones. “You clearly don’t want me here. Christmas or not…”
“What would make you think that?” He blinks, sipping once more.
Don’t make me fucking say it… “Look, I just… I don’t know what to say. So I’m gonna go—”
“Hang out with your boyfriend?” He hisses, eyes narrowing into slits.
I gulp. “He’s not my boyfriend…”
“Right. It’s just fun.” He places the mug down on the table with a thunk. “But I said no. You’re fucking staying, Jesse. End of discussion.”
“End of discussion?” I scoff. “What am I? Four?”
“No. You’re eighteen, but you’re acting like an ungrateful little brat,” he seethes at me, shooting icy rage in my direction.
It’s crippling, but now my adrenaline is jacked up sky-high. I have no idea where this stern fatherly attitude is coming from, but it’s pissing me off. He’s never treated me this way, even when I was a kid.
“Why are you being such an asshole?” My fists ball at my sides. “I just wanted to go out for a few—”
“It’s Christmas,” he says again, like that suddenly means something, even though we’ve barely looked at each other today.
“So?” I huff. “What’s the big fucking deal? I’m an adult, I can come and go as I please.”
He takes a step forward, squinting at me as he holds firm. “As long as you’re living under my roof, you’ll obey my rules.”
What in the name of baby Jesus in a manger??
Apparently, me sucking him off turned him into the stiflingly strict Dad I never had. Or wanted.
“Are you fucking kidding?” An outraged chuckle slips out with my words. The audacity right now, I swear.
“No.” He steps forward once more. “I’m not fucking kidding. I’m deathly serious.”
Fury bounds through my limbs, unexpectedly. I haven’t been this heated since I was thirteen and he wouldn’t let me play PlayStation until I finished my chores. This is beyond ridiculous.
“You’re not my real father…” I mutter under my breath, sounding exactly like that thirteen-year-old brat.
Some sort of realization dawns on his face, and in this moment, he seems to hate it and love it at the same time. He lurches forward, stalking closer to me slowly, like a predator. My pulse is pumping so hard in my ears I can’t tell if I’m struggling for air or breathing too much.
“And a real father would let you go out on Christmas to get laid?” His voice is eerily quiet, eyes alit in their darkness.