Chapter 8 Wren
Wren
Christmas morning arrives with Edie wrapped around me like a big bow.
She’s wearing one of my old band tees and nothing else, hair tangled against my pillow, lips parted in sleep.
The bruises I left along her throat and collarbone have darkened overnight, little constellations of proof that she’s mine… and that she wanted to be.
“Stop staring,” she mumbles against my chest, her voice still raspy with sleep.
“Never.” I discover a line down her spine, watching goosebumps rise beneath my fingertips. “You’re too beautiful.”
“I’m a mess.”
“You’re perfect.” I tilt her chin up and kiss her. “My perfect, beautiful mess.”
My phone buzzes on the nightstand for what feels like the hundredth time. Mom again. She’s been texting since seven about brunch.
“We should go,” Edie says, glancing at the screen.
“We should stay in bed,” I counter, dragging my fingers beneath the hem of her shirt.
“Wren.” She sits up, the sheet slipping away to reveal a flash of soft skin and half-healed love bites. “She’s trying. That matters.”
“She’s trying to smooth things over so she can post a perfect Christmas family photo.”
“Or,” she says, gently, “she’s trying to accept that her daughter’s happy.”
That one lands like a skydiver whose parachute hasn’t opened.
Edie touches me, brushing the fading bruise where Nick shoved me. “I’ll try. For you.”
“For me?”
“You deserve to have your family accept your choices.”
Her eyes meet mine, steady and kind. I’m used to people challenging me, not this.
“She said he wouldn’t be there,” I say. “But if Nick shows up…”
“Then we deal with it.” She shifts to straddle my hips, my shirt riding up. “Together.”
“Together,” I agree, gripping her waist. “But first…”
“We’ll be late.”
“Good.” I grin and pull her down for another kiss. “Sets the tone.”
An hour later, we’re finally dressed. I can’t stop looking at her—barefaced, wearing jeans and a sweater that slips off her shoulder to reveal the faint shadow of my teeth on her skin.
“Should I cover these?” she asks, fingers brushing the marks on her neck.
“No.” I come up behind her, meeting her gaze in the mirror. “Let them look.”
She laughs. “Possessive perv.”
“When it comes to you? Absolutely.”
I grab the presents I’d bought earlier in the week—scotch for Dad, a spa gift card for Mom, and the tin of cookies Edie made last night while I tried (and failed) to distract her.
“Ready?” I ask.
“No,” she admits. “But let’s go, anyway.”
The short drive is quiet. I’m not compelled to turn on the radio or hook my phone up to Bluetooth. Her hand rests on my thigh. It’s enough.
When we pull up to my parents’ house, the driveway looks the same as it did every Christmas before—except Nick’s BMW isn’t parked there. Small mercies.
Mom opens the door in her Christmas apron, her expression caught between hope and wow, look at these harlots.
“Wren. Edie.” Her voice softens. “I’m so glad you came.”
“Thanks for inviting us,” Edie says, handing her the cookie tin. “I made snickerdoodles. Wren mentioned they’re your favorite.”
Mom is genuinely taken aback. “You made these? From scratch?”
“Family recipe. My grandmother’s.” She taps her temple. “Memorized it.”
A flicker of amusement crosses Mom’s face. “Nick’s… friend brought store-bought to Thanksgiving.” She winces. “Sorry. That was inappropriate.”
“It’s fine,” Edie says. “I’m aware that he’s moved on to more suitable company.”
We follow Mom to the dining room. Dad’s at the head of the table, reading something on his tablet. He looks up, his eyes landing briefly on Edie before flicking to me.
“Morning,” he says. “Wren. Ms. Montgomery.”
“Edie,” she corrects with a warm smile.
“Edie, then.” He sets the tablet aside. “I owe you an apology. Last night got out of hand.”
“Nick shoved me,” I say. “That’s what got out of hand.”
“Your brother was understandably upset,” Dad replies.
“My brother was furious his trophy cracked,” I snap before I can stop myself. “He’s not upset about losing Edie. He’s upset about losing control.”
“Wren,” Mom warns gently, setting down a tray of cinnamon rolls.
“Nick cared for her,” she adds. “You can’t deny that.”
“He cared about how she looked next to him,” I fire back. “Until she started being herself instead of his campaign accessory.”
“Wren.” Edie touches my hand. “It’s Christmas.”
Her voice breaks the tension like light through a thick fog. I take a breath, unclenching my fists. “You’re right. Sorry.”
“We all are,” Mom says, sitting down across from us. “This is just… new. We need time to adjust.”
“Adjust to what?” I ask. “That I’m happy? That Edie’s with someone who likes her?”
Dad sighs. “That you’re with your brother’s ex. There are lines, Wren. Family lines.”
“Lines Nick crossed first,” I say, meeting his gaze. “He saw something I wanted and couldn’t stand to let me have it. Same story as always.”
Silence settles over the table like the snowfall we rarely get here on the coast. It’s soft and heavy, and you can’t ignore it.
Not even if you close your blinds and pretend you’ll get your car out of the driveway in the morning.
The only sound is the faint crackle of the wood stove and the wind nudging against the eaves.
Mom fidgets with her napkin, her lipstick-stained coffee cup forgotten.
Dad stares down at his plate, his jaw working as he processes what I’ve just said.
“Is that true?” Mom finally asks, her voice careful. “Did Nick…?”
“Ask him,” I say. “Ask why he suddenly decided Edie was the love of his life two weeks after we talked about her for the first time in forever. Ask why he brought her to Christmas dinner when he usually kept girlfriends away from family events.”
“To hurt you?” For the first time, it sounds like my dad is invested in my feelings.
“To win.” The laugh that escapes me isn’t kind. “Everything’s a competition with Nick. Always has been.”
“And Edie’s the prize?” Mom’s eyes flick to her.
“No.” Edie sits a little taller, her voice steady. “I was collateral damage. Nick wanted to win. Wren wanted something she couldn’t have. And I…” Her voice falters, then firms. “I just wanted to be loved.” She squeezes my hand under the table. “Turns out only one of those wants was honest.”
Mom studies her in a way I should be able to parse, having been raised by her, but to this day, my mother has the uncanny ability to mask half of her emotions. Or maybe I’m just terrible at reading the women closest to me. “You think Wren loves you?”
I open my mouth, but Edie beats me to it.
“I think Wren sees me,” she says. “The real me. Not a version she’s trying to edit into something palatable to cronies and toadies.
” She looks at my parents, her chin lifting.
“Do you know Nick put me on a diet? Counted my calories? Told me my laugh was too loud, my stories too long, my enthusiasm too much?”
Mom’s face changes—something in it cracking like the thin ice that coats my windshield in the morning. “He didn’t.”
“He did,” Edie says. “Every day for a year. Little corrections. Little improvements. Death by a thousand cuts is what it was.”
I can’t stop myself. “While I had to watch it happen. Watching this incredible woman alter herself just to fit inside Nick’s idea of perfection.”
Dad chokes. “So, you swooped in the moment they broke up?”
“I stayed away for six months,” I say, forcing calm. “Six months of watching her rebuild herself. Until I couldn’t stay away anymore.”
“Three days ago,” Mom says, though she lacks conviction. “You couldn’t stay away starting three days ago.”
“Years ago,” I correct. “I haven’t been able to stay away since the moment I met her.” My throat tightens. “The tree lot was just where I stopped pretending I could.”
The doorbell rings before anyone can respond to me. Mom pushes her chair back, looking grateful for the distraction. “That’ll be the neighbors.”
But it’s not. From the hallway, I hear a familiar voice.
Nick.
When he steps into the dining room, he’s as immaculate as ever. A perfectly tailored coat, polished shoes, a bottle of Pinot cradled in one hand like a peace offering. Outside, the wind rattles the porch lights, and for a second, the whole house holds its breath.
“You said he wouldn’t be here,” I mutter to Mom.
“I didn’t invite him,” she claims. “He just…”
“Showed up to mark my territory,” Nick cuts in, tone sharp enough to cut. His gaze finds Edie and the hand I still have on hers. “Couldn’t let you have Christmas without a fight, right?”
“Nick, please,” Mom starts.
“No, Mom.” He sets the bottle down hard enough to make it rattle. “My sister’s sitting here with my ex, treating her like a damn trophy.” His gaze flutters to Edie’s throat, to the bruises that peek above her sweater collar. “Real classy, Wren.”
“Real consensual,” I shoot back, standing. The chair legs scrape the hardwood. “Something you never seemed to grasp, given how you tried to control every breath she took.”
“I tried to help her—”
“You tried to change her,” I snap. “You tried to make her small enough that you didn’t have to look at yourself.”
He laughs, bitter. “At least I didn’t screw her in our parents’ bathroom like an animal.”
“Nicholas!” Mom gasps.
“At least I didn’t tell her she was fat,” I fire back. “At least I didn’t make her feel like she had to earn her place by starving.”
Color floods his face. “I never—”
“Yes, you did.” Edie stands now, stepping closer to me. “Every time you suggested I skip dessert or bought me clothes a size too small as ‘motivation.’ You said I’d thank you later.”
“I was trying to help you be your best self—”
“I am my best self.” Her voice doesn’t shake. “Right now, with her.” She looks at my parents, aware of what we’ve been arguing about. “I’m sorry this makes you uncomfortable, and that it’s not what you pictured for your family. But I’m not sorry for choosing happiness.”
Nick folds his arms. “Even if that happiness is just revenge?”