Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Everett
Caleb and I stand at the edge of the staging area, staring at the mechanical monstrosity.
Red nose. Antlers. A saddle that looks like it was designed by someone who's never seen a reindeer or a bull or basic human dignity.
Grammie Bea’s orange scarf she made for Roman tied around its neck.
“Beautiful, isn't she?” Caleb sighs like he's watching a sunset. “I think I'll call her Vixen.”
“I think I'll call my lawyer.”
“Don't be dramatic. You two are gonna look great together. Really capture that man-meets-machine magic. Just think,” Caleb says dreamily. “Mount Everett, mounting Rudolph. The hashtags write themselves.”
“I will end you.”
“#MountEverettMountsVixen. We're going to break the internet.”
“I'm going to break your face.”
“So grumpy today. Ink is barely dry on the transfer papers and you’re already turning into your father, all ornery and shit.”
The sound that echoes from the depths of my soul, until now, has only been heard in movies and makes Caleb’s mouth snap shut.
I have never—in twenty years of friendship with this man—been closer to telling him the truth. Because nothing would make me happier in this moment than shocking him into silence and making him wither on the spot simultaneously.
Bonus points if I painted a colorful enough picture to put his boners on moratorium for at least a year.
You want to know why I'm so fucking ornery?
Because my father's worst moment is playing on loop for strangers who've already decided I'm a fraud.
Because the internet thinks I abandoned my family, stole my friends' money, and came crawling back for scraps.
Because I'm about to ride a mechanical reindeer for the same cameras that gutted me this morning.
And on top of all that?
Because it was even more of a mindfuck on the heels of having three fingers inside your sister last night while you pitched a sexy Santa campaign three feet away.
That's right, my guy. I fingered your sister right in front of you and you watched her come all over said fingers.
And I've been rock hard ever since. Sure, I could rub one out, but you know what... I'm saving every last drop I've got so I can put every last bit in your sister.
How do you like me now?
Still care about whether or not I take a ride on old Rudolph?
You want viral content? That's viral content.
“Caleb?”
“Uh, not sure I should speak.”
Astute of him to finally notice.
“When this is all over, I’m going to bury you under the Shred Shack.”
Eight seconds.
That's all it takes to turn a fifth-generation lodge owner into one more meme.
The crowd cheers. The nose lights up. Tara's cameras capture every humiliating second.
And I smile through it like my dignity isn't bleeding out on the snow.
When I finally dismount—Loss? Victory? Does it even matter at this point?—my legs are unsteady and my pride is somewhere in the stratosphere, never to return.
I scan the crowd for Sierra. For her camera. For that look she gives me when she's trying not to laugh but failing.
I find her.
But she's not looking at me.
She's talking to Justin.
Justin who’s standing too close. Leaning in.
She’s smiling at him like—
The world tilts.
No.
No.
Not him. Not now. Not after everything.
And now she's laughing.
The air leaves my lungs like I've been tackled from behind.
This is how it started.
This is exactly how it started.
I can see it. I can fucking see it unfolding like a movie I've already watched. The one where she panics. Where the stakes get too high and she decides it's easier to retreat to something safe than fight for something real.
She did it once. She'll do it again.
Something snaps.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a clean, quiet break somewhere deep in my chest where I've been holding everything together with duct tape and denial.
Last night didn't matter. The hot tub didn't matter. Eleven years of waiting didn't matter.
I broke every rule. Crossed every line.
For her—for us.
And here she is. Smiling at the guy she used to prove she was over me.
The guy she ran to eleven years ago when she decided I wasn't worth the risk.
My vision narrows. My pulse pounds so loud I can barely hear the crowd still buzzing from my eight-second circus act.
History doesn't just repeat itself.
It mocks you.
It waits until you're stupid enough to hope—until you've convinced yourself this time will be different—and then it shoves your face right back into the dirt.