Chapter 14 Ryder
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ryder
The chaos from this morning has finally started to settle.
The crowd has thinned out, and the buzz of excited chatter has quieted. But the effect remains, a static charge that won’t quite dissipate.
I sit at my desk in the relative quiet of my office, trying to focus on the spreadsheets in front of me, but my mind keeps drifting back to what just happened.
Sunny handled it.
Of course she did.
Her bubbly personality seems to turn everything, even the most absurd situations, into something manageable. She’s remarkable that way.
Tinsel’s perched on the windowsill, tail twitching against the glass. She’s been following me around more lately, as if she knows when I’m trying too hard to be fine.
She gives me a slow blink, the kind Sunny says is Tinsel’s way of saying, “Trust me.” I shake my head. A cat shouldn’t be more perceptive than I am.
But Sunny doesn’t let things slide for long. I hear the tap on the door before I even look up.
“Hey,” she says, poking her head in.
She’s still got that look on her face. The one that’s equal parts concern and determination.
“Everything okay?” I ask, trying to sound neutral.
I don’t want her to think I’m still shaken by the spectacle that just unfolded in the lobby. I’m fine. It’s just a lot.
“Yeah, just checking on you,” she says, stepping inside and taking a seat across from me. “You didn’t look great out there.”
I lean back in my chair, rubbing a hand over my face. “I’ve had better days,” I admit. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“No one could have,” she says with a small laugh. “That was wild.”
I nod, acknowledging the understatement. The room feels too quiet now. It should be a relief, but it’s not. It just feels heavy.
Everything that happened today is still hanging in the air, unresolved.
Sunny leans forward slightly, a hint of curiosity in her expression. “So, Christmas Prince, why are you so unfestive?”
There it is.
The question that’s been lingering between us ever since Lisa walked into this hotel.
It’s not that I haven’t thought about answering it. It’s just that every time I do, I find myself wishing I could say more, something that makes it all seem less complicated.
I exhale slowly. “I was a child actor. My parents pushed me into it. I didn’t have much choice.”
She nods, waiting for me to continue. I can feel her eyes on me, and I can’t tell if she’s genuinely curious or just trying to make sense of the mess that is me.
“Christmas was always a performance,” I continue, a little rougher than I expect. “A way for my parents to keep up appearances. We’d go to these glitzy Hollywood events, all dressed up like a picture-perfect family. But it was never real—just a backdrop, fake smiles, and fake snow.
“Everything about it was designed to make us look good to other people, not for us to enjoy it. My parents didn’t care about the holiday or about me and my sister, Claire. It was all about fitting in, about showing up where they were supposed to be. And I—”
I can feel the years of it, the bitterness, tightening in my chest. “After Snowed in With Santa came out, and the sequel flopped, the roles dried up. And so did my parents’ interest. I was just a meal ticket that stopped paying out. Once I couldn’t bring in the checks anymore, they didn’t care.”
I don’t look at her as I say it, afraid that if I do, I’ll see pity in her eyes. I don’t want pity.
I’m quiet for a long moment, my fingers tracing the edge of my desk. “That’s why I hate Christmas. It was never real for me. It was just another obligation. Another stage. Another mask I had to wear to keep people happy.”
I stop there, the words hanging in the room between us. For a long time, there’s just the silence, and I feel the pressure of everything I’ve said pressing down on me.
Sunny doesn’t rush to fill the space. She’s quiet for a moment, too.
“I get it,” she says. “You’ve been carrying that for a long time.”
I finally look at her then, and I’m surprised to see something other than judgment or sympathy in her eyes. She’s not pitying me. She’s not trying to fix me. She’s just listening.
“I didn’t have the family Christmases everyone else had.
I never got to make any real memories of the season.
It was always just another job,” I say, quieter now.
“But I still remember the moments that felt real even if they didn’t last. Even if they were all just fleeting glimpses of something that didn’t quite fit. ”
I pause again, the words coming slower now.
“I guess that’s why I’m so defensive about Christmas. It’s not about the presents or the decorations. It’s about everything I missed. And everything I couldn’t be.”
Sunny is quiet for a moment, and I find myself holding my breath, unsure of what she will say next. When she finally speaks, her voice is gentle, almost teasing.
“Well,” she says with a small, knowing smile, “I think I know exactly how to change your mind.”
I blink, taken off guard. “What are you talking about?”
She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms with an air of casual confidence. “I’m going to take you out tonight. Show you what Christmas really is. Not the fake stuff, not the acting, not the cameras or the forced smiles.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You think one night is going to fix all of that?”
She shrugs, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “Maybe not all of it. But it’s worth a shot, right?”
I open my mouth to protest, to remind her that I’m not some project she can fix with holiday cheer, but she cuts me off before I get a word out.
“You’ve spent your whole life seeing Christmas through a lens that doesn’t feel real. So, let’s give you a new lens. A real one. One you can experience without all the baggage.”
She pauses, letting the words hang above us for a second before adding, “And I’m pretty sure you need to loosen up anyway. I can’t imagine you’re any fun at parties.”
I snort despite myself, an involuntary laugh escaping me. “I’m plenty fun at parties.”
Sunny grins. “Sure you are. But I bet you’ve never actually enjoyed one, huh?”
Her words hit a little harder than I expected. I know she’s right, in a way. Parties, holidays, Christmas, they’ve always been something I’ve had to perform at, not something I’ve been able to experience.
But that’s a line I don’t really want to cross. It’s safer to stay on the sidelines, where it’s quiet, where I can control the narrative.
Then she looks at me, really looks at me, and I can tell she’s not asking for more from me. She just wants me to let go.
I feel a flicker of emotion deep in my chest. Maybe it’s curiosity. Perhaps it’s the smallest thread of hope, the idea that, for one night, maybe I could actually enjoy myself. I could perhaps see Christmas differently.
“Alright,” I say, surprising myself with the ease of my decision. “But this had better not involve any more of your holiday cheer or weirdly festive drinks.”
She laughs, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off her pants. “Deal. But you have to promise me one thing: no more sulking about Christmas. Tonight, you have to let go. No excuses.”
I stare at her, my mind trying to keep pace with what she’s asking. Let go. No excuses.
I don’t know if I can, but I find myself nodding anyway. “Fine. But you’re buying the first round.”
“Deal,” she says, already heading for the door. “I’ll be ready at seven. Don’t be late, Ryder.”
As she leaves, I sit back in my chair, still processing the conversation. The idea of actually going out for something that resembles fun? It feels foreign but strangely liberating.
Maybe it’s the push I need. Perhaps tonight will be the night I finally stop hiding behind this facade.
Maybe Christmas doesn’t have to be a performance after all.
But I’m not going to think about that too hard. For now, I’m just going to let Sunny drag me out and see where the night takes me.
It’s one night. One night to take off the mask.
And for once, I’m not going to resist.