Chapter 7
Guy
Fingers stroke through my hair, sending pleasant shivers down my spine. I lean into the touch, moaning softly, hoping it never stops. My head is throbbing, my throat is dry, and I’m fucking starving.
What happened last night?
“Morning, Chief,” Monty whispers. I open my eyes and she places a mug of coffee on the nightstand. “Merry Christmas.”
I grab at the steaming liquid greedily, pushing myself up and glugging it down, ignoring the burning. It’s strong, and wet, and hopefully it’ll wake me the fuck up.
Monty sits on my other side. I must have pulled my T-shirt off in my sleep, so I’m in just my jeans, and I slump back into the pillows and groan.
“Drink too much?” she teases.
“A bit,” I rasp.
My eyes meet hers, and she’s staring at my body. She quickly looks away. “Did you have fun, though?” I nod. She’s in a jumper and leggings, her hair swept into a high ponytail.
“Merry Christmas, Monty.”
“Do you want your presents?” she asks excitedly.
I can’t help smiling. “Sure.”
“Yay!” She hops out of bed, and when she returns, I bolt upright. “Surprise!”
Blinking, I stare at what’s cradled in her arms, then at her. “You got me a dog?”
“Yep! Look at him! Isn’t he cute?” She runs over and hops back on the bed, releasing the German shepherd puppy onto the covers.
He’s mainly black, so though he looks nothing like Motor, he’s still damn cute, and he marches over to me, his wildly fluffy tail wagging behind him.
“It was not easy keeping him quiet last night. Your friends were the perfect distraction.”
The dog reaches me and immediately starts licking my beard. “You really shouldn’t buy twenty-year commitments as gifts.”
“Oh, hush up, Scrooge. I figured you probably missed Motor, so it makes total sense. Look at him!” She tickles his belly. “He’s adorable, right?”
He really is. But can I look after a dog? I suppose so. I’m about to retire, and if I do get a ranch somewhere up north, a dog could be good company.
So, I smile. It isn’t a decision I’d have made for myself, but maybe this can be the start of my new chapter. “Thanks, Monty.”
“What are you gonna name him?” She flops beside me, and we stare up at the dog as I hold him in the air. He pants down at me.
“Fox.”
She angles her head to watch me. “Why Fox?” I wiggle his fluffy tail and she grins. “Right. Cute. Are you hungry? I’m gonna attempt to make breakfast.”
“Starving.”
She hops up. “Food on the way!” she sings and disappears into the hallway. I smile as I watch her leave, then place Fox back on the bed.
“What is she up to, dog?” I ask him and he barks excitedly, wiggling his booty, fat tail swishing back and forth.
Glancing at the door Monty left through, I wonder if maybe I’m being too harsh.
She did a nice thing for me last night, and even though I thanked her, I also accused her of having an ulterior motive.
Maybe, just maybe, despite the murders, she’s like me.
A little lonely.
Before starting breakfast, Monty sits on the living room floor and divides up the dog accessories she bought.
Fox rolls around in the packaging as she organizes toys, leashes, bowls, treat containers, food, and even a Christmas outfit for him.
She immediately pulls it over his head, and Fox bounds about by the tree, his green and red sweatshirt looking damn fucking cute.
“Look at us! A happy family,” Monty says, looking up at the Christmas tree.
I added a few more decorations while she was out yesterday, so it looks a little fuller. A little brighter, too.
Maybe this isn’t the worst way to spend Christmas.
“Okay, now time for food.” She hops up and makes us breakfast sandwiches. As I go to collect the food to take to the dining room table, I pause.
“You said presents, plural. What else did you get me?”
Monty lingers by the kitchen island, searching my face for a few seconds, then takes something out of her back pocket. It’s a small envelope, and inside are six white cards, all with the same words written on them in elegant handwriting.
IOU.
I lift my eyes to her. “What’s this?”
“For the next six days, I’ll tell you six things about myself. Totally true, no bullshit.” She takes out an extra card, but this one is midnight blue. She twirls it in her fingers. “And this one means you can ask me anything.” She hands it to me, and our fingers brush as I take it.
Our eyes meet, and for the first time, I don’t get the familiar sensation that she’s lying. Her expression isn’t one of sincerity, or mischievousness, or anything of the kind. She just looks like … Monty. Like she isn’t hiding anymore.
She looks more beautiful like this than she ever has. No plotting, or lies, or hidden motives.
“Anything?” I ask, showing her the blue card.
She smiles. “Anything. But first …” She plucks a white card from me. “My birthday is July first.”
“Merry Christmas, Grandpa!” Ella says, making Gray wave at the camera.
I grin. “Happy second Birthday, Gray and Asha.”
Gable is balancing Asha on his knee. She’s scowling, as always, and so is he. Gray, on the other hand, is giggling as Ella bounces him. Despite their personality differences, the twins are inseparable. That’s likely why Asha is so annoyed—she isn’t holding her brother’s hand.
“I’ll go get the presents you sent!” Ella says, hopping up from the couch.
Gable and Asha glare at me.
My son-in-law still hasn’t quite forgiven me for putting him through ten weeks of hell. Honestly, I haven’t forgiven myself. I was consumed by Ella’s request to me—to fake her death so she could be with him. I was losing my daughter to him, settling for a life where I see her maybe once a year.
I can’t tell anyone about my grandkids and the things they do. I can’t show anyone photos and brag like other grandparents. I can’t babysit on weekends or take my daughter out for Sunday brunch. She may not really be dead, but sometimes it feels like she is.
So, yes, I punished Gable. I blamed him for everything she went through, so I deserve the heated look he’s giving me.
“Merry Christmas, Gable,” I say, clearing my throat.
He grunts in response, and thankfully, Ella returns. The twins open their presents, Gray squealing in excitement, and Asha is hypnotized. Even Gable smiles when he sees how happy they are.
When Gray gets fussy, Gable takes the twins for a nap, and Ella grins at me.
“How you doing, baby?” I ask.
“Tired. It was a long morning. But they’re so happy. How are you? Are you sure you don’t want to come for New Year?”
I shake my head. “Flights will be expensive, and you should do something fun with the kids.”
“I have fun with you!”
“Maybe next year.”
We talk a little while longer, and Gable reappears with a cup of coffee for Ella. She leans into him, and he remains quiet while I catch up with my daughter.
“Dad, what is that noise? Did you get a dog?”
Fox chews on my sweats, and I lift him in view of the camera. I took him out to the yard to use the bathroom this morning, but he’s been gone since, likely upstairs with Monty.
“You copied my dog,” Gable says. “Boy or girl? How old? Where did you get it from? What did you call it?”
It’s the most we’ve spoken in three years, and it eases my guilt somewhat. I sit Fox on my lap. “Boy. No clue. He was a gift. Fox.”
“Fox!” Gable exhales, more animated than I’ve probably ever seen him. “Look at the size of his paws. He’s gonna be huge.”
“A gift? From whom?” Ella asks.
I glance at the small envelope of cards to my right. My insight into Monty Reid, a glimpse into something no one has seen.
“A friend,” I say, just as I hear Monty descending the stairs.
“Is someone there?” Gable asks, then cackles. “Gibson, your dad is getting laid.”
Ella gags. “Don’t say that!”
“I better go,” I say. “Send me some photos of the kids, okay?”
Gable grins wickedly. “You are so getting laid.”
“Bye Dad!” Ella says and hangs up.
I hadn’t given any thought to how I’d explain Monty’s presence. I was half hoping she’d be upstairs through the entire video call so I wouldn’t have to explain anything.
“How are the Flynns?” Monty asks as she goes to the kitchen.
“Fine. Tired. Should we carry Fox around the block? He can’t go for a walk until his shots,” I say, and she nods excitedly.
“Give me five minutes to get ready!” She darts up the stairs, Fox on her heels, and I take my coat off the hook.
Monty’s scarf falls to the ground, and I crouch to pick it up. The smell of expensive cologne hits me, and I catch sight of a label on the inside and a name. Seth Sinclair.
So, that’s who she was with.
I kick aside my curiosity and hope he at least treats her right, and pray she won’t end up killing him.
It’s bitterly cold out, and we get stopped more than once by people out on their Christmas walks. They fuss over Fox, who is tucked up in my coat. He’s well-behaved though, happy to take in the sights as we circle the block.
“Can I use more than one card a day?” I ask as we walk.
Monty shakes her head. “Except the blue card. You can use that anytime.”
Shit. I really need to think about this. It needs to be an important question, one that I’m dying to know the truth about.
“Does six cards mean you’re leaving in six days?”
“Yep. I have friends in New York. I want to see them.”
That suddenly feels too soon. I may not have wanted her here at first, but now I find myself a little disappointed that she’s leaving so quickly. I must be lonelier than I thought.
“I guess we better make the most of this time, then,” I say, smiling down at her. Her returning smile is warm—maybe even kind.
And I wonder if I’m being offered a week of the real Monty, or if I’m falling for another one of her lies.