Chapter Thirteen
Jacob
“A little more to your left,” Amariah called out. “Your other left,” she teased, giggling at my confusion.
“Don’t laugh at me. It’s your fault that I’m so tired that I don’t know my left from my right.”
“Mm-hmm. While you’re talking…shift,” she said with a grin. “I mean, unless you want to be here all night moving this heavy tree.”
“Yes, ma’am, Ms. Bossy.” I shook my head as if I was irritated, but the grin gave me away.
Today with Amariah had been everything I’d hoped it would be—refreshing, fun, and far too short.
I didn’t account for the extra work or the sweat, but if it meant spending more time with her, I’d be her personal handyman any day.
After a few minutes of tugging and adjusting, I finally got the tree perfectly centered and stepped back beside her to admire the sprawling spruce.
“So,” she said, facing me as I caught my breath, “do you want to start decorating the house first or the tree?”
“I love your enthusiasm,” I said, stretching my back, “but can we start with a break first? I need something to drink and maybe a minute to rest.”
She placed a hand on my shoulder, gazing at me sympathetically. “I’m sorry. I get so gung-ho about things like this. I didn’t mean to be so demanding. I promise I’m not a slave driver.”
“No worries. I know how you get when it comes to Christmas.” She plopped on the sofa while I made my way to the kitchen. “Would you like some spiked hot cocoa?”
“OMG, you still make that?” She laughed. “I remember when you used to sneak your dad’s rum into our hot cocoa when we were teens.”
I leaned against the entryway, arms folded. “Hell yeah. It’s the best way to drink it. I can make yours virgin if you prefer.”
She leaned her head back, closing her eyes, and smirked. “Like hell you will. Slut my drink out, sir.”
My head snapped toward her, caught completely off guard. I wasn’t expecting that, but, hell, I think I loved it. Grown-up Amariah Luke was a whole vibe.
She opened one eye, turning her head toward me. “What?” she asked, noticing my expression.
I waved it off, laughing under my breath. “Nothing. Just…laughing at you wanting me to…umm…slut you out.” My eyes stretched at my slip-up. “Your drink, I mean.”
That came out wrong. Real wrong. “Let me just…make this cocoa,” I stammered, darting back into the kitchen so fast I probably left a trail of smoke behind me.
It gave me a few moments to pull myself together to keep from saying something completely inappropriate.
I didn’t want to ruin this easy bond we’d found, especially if it could lead to us clearing the air between us.
My hope was that we’d finally have the opportunity to speak openly and earnestly with each other.
By the time I came back with our mugs, she was already decorating the family room.
“Getting a head start without me?” I said, pretending my feelings were hurt. “Here you go.”
“As if you’re actually upset,” she teased, accepting the mug, then she gasped and touched her hand against her chest. “Aww, and you remembered the cinnamon stick.”
“As if I’d ever forget.”
“Let’s make a toast.” She beamed. “To happy holidays.”
“And fast decorating,” I added with a chuckle, tapping my mug with hers.
We took our first sips, and either I’d poured too heavy a hand with the rum, or I was too intoxicated by her laughter because that cocoa was extra spiked.
Before long, we were both a little tipsy with decorations scattered everywhere, performing the latest TikTok dances as we sang along to Christmas classics blaring through the speakers.
By the time we hit the last line of “All I Want for Christmas Is You,” we were belting it into gold icicles like microphones.
I twirled her dramatically, dipping her low, but a little too low.
We went tumbling to the floor in a heap of laughter.
“Are you all right?” I asked as we propped ourselves up.
“I’m fine.” She giggled, brushing her hair out of her face. “Are you good?”
“I am,” I said, still catching my breath. “God, I’ve missed this.” It slipped out before I could stop it. When I glanced down, her laughter faded. She looked up at me, her expression unreadable, but I still felt compelled to finish my thought. “I’ve missed you,” I admitted softly.
She shook her head, her brow furrowed. “Then why did you shut me out all these years? What happened to staying locked?”
There it was. The conversation we had both avoided yet needed. One that was eighteen years in the making.
Our senior year, I collapsed in Amariah’s parents’ front yard from a severe hit that I’d taken on the football field the week prior.
What was ruled as a routine concussion turned out to be something far worse—a brain bleed.
Luckily, surgery saved me. The months following were filled with post-op medications and rehabilitation.
It was grueling, but the best part was that I lived to tell the story.
The worst part was that it marked the end of my collegiate dreams and football career. No scholarship. No future NFL.
Still, I persevered, rebuilding my life piece by piece.
I earned my diploma that summer, rehabbed for a year, and then attended a technical college, earning an associate’s degree in computer-aided design/drafting (CAD).
I teamed up with a friend who was a mechanical engineer, and together we developed helmets that improved player safety by monitoring vital signs to better detect injury severity.
The design and development took years, but it was highly successful and lucrative.
Yet, I remained humble, committed to my hometown and my parents, and assisted the medical staff for my old high school’s football team.
As for my health, I was blessed to have only a small surgical scar left after the trauma.
I certainly didn’t look or feel like what I’d been through.
But none of that filled the space her absence left behind.
All of it came to the surface and spilled over like hot water.
“You left me and didn’t even bother to check to see how I was doing, Amariah,” I snapped.
“I could’ve died. Hell, I almost did. I was in the hospital and rehab for months, and then when you left for D.C.
, it felt like the final blow. You went about your plans as if I never existed…
like I meant nothing.” I exhaled sharply.
“I told myself it didn’t matter, that I had no right to be bitter, but we were supposed to be best friends. ”
Amariah stared at me, stunned. “Are you kidding me? I cried all week long after that. I wasn’t even allowed to see you.
Then I called your mother’s cell, and I heard you say, out of your own mouth, that you didn’t want to talk to me.
She tried to cover it up by saying you were resting.
” Her voice trembled. “My heart was broken over your pain, and then you shut me out of your life. I felt so betrayed. It was you who pushed me away, Jacob. Not the other way around.”
Her words hit me like a gut punch. I remembered that day clearly. I’d just been told the devastating news that my dreams were shattered. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to her. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. And honestly, I couldn’t face her when I felt like such a failure.
I’d never known she’d heard that, and my chest squeezed at the thought.
“Is that what you thought?” I asked, my voice dipping low.
When she nodded, I shook my head. “Yes, I said that, but not the way you think. That was the same day I found out my scholarship had been rescinded, and my football career was over. I’d lost everything I’d ever planned for.
I felt like a failure, and I couldn’t allow you to see me like that. ”
Her breath hitched, eyes softening. She reached for my hand. “Oh, Jacob. I could never…would never…think of you as a failure. What happened was unfortunate, but it wasn’t your fault.”
I gave a half-scoff, half-laugh, squeezing her hand.
“Thirty-six-year-old me realizes that. Eighteen-year-old me, not so much.” I tried to swallow the lump that was forming in my throat.
“But that wasn’t the reason I was short with you when you showed up at the store.
” My emotions bubbled up again, and I hesitated before continuing.
“You didn’t come to my father’s funeral, and that hurt more than anything.
We received your flowers and card, but I thought you would’ve been there for us…
for me.” My voice cracked under the tension of years of heartache.
She sat up, her eyes blinking wildly at the accusation. “Jacob, I was there.”
I froze. Confusion detailing my face.
“I came home for your father’s funeral,” she said softly.
“I was only in town for the day, and after so many years, I figured I’d be the last person you’d want to see, so I kept my distance.
I sent the flowers and card, hoping you’d know I still cared.
Your mother even sent a thank-you note, but when I never heard from you, I assumed our friendship was over for good. ”
I closed my eyes. God, I’d been so blind. So sure of my own version of the story that I never even asked. All this time, I’d been upset over…nothing.
I stood, raking my hand over my head and pacing. “Amariah…” My voice cracked, witnessing the hurt in her eyes. “I owe you the biggest apology. I am so sorry. I assumed you’d changed and walked away—that you’d outgrown me. That I wasn’t good enough. But it was me. It was all on me.”
Her eyes shimmered with sympathy. “Oh, Jacob—”
I gently held up my hand, halting her. “I’m not saying this to get your forgiveness. I just need you to know why I’ve been the way I’ve been and to give you the apology that you’ve deserved for a long time.”