Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Alex
I can’t believe I’m caroling. I hate caroling—wandering around like we’re in a Dickens novel, only with phones in our hands instead of warm coals, singing cheesy songs.
It sounded like a good idea when I suggested it at home—at least for about two seconds.
But then we got here, and I saw how excited Finley was—how in awe of something I always took for granted.
Then I noticed the falling snow clinging to her hair—she looked angelic.
I stared at her, awestruck, that I’ve known this woman for nearly two years, yet I never really noticed her.
And then I almost kissed her.
Thank God I came to my senses and tugged her hat down instead.
What is wrong with me? I’ve spent the last six years perfecting control and in less than three hours, I’m losing it.
But there’s something about her that draws me to her. Is it her wide-eyed wonder? The way she lights up over small things? Whatever it is, it pulled me closer—and I almost kissed her.
That would have been a freaking disaster.
Finley made the platonic line very clear—many, many times. Roland thought she was playing a game of hard to get. “The lady doth protest too much,” he’d said with a weaselly smile.
I’d told him if he said it one more time, I was going to punch him in the face.
To my surprise, he believed me.
Even more surprising was that I meant it.
I told myself I was only worried Finley would hear him and change her mind. I tried to ignore that it was six p.m., we were in our office, the coffee shop was closed, and Finley had probably left for her job at the hospital hours earlier. Unless she had superhero hearing, she’d never know.
But I find myself oddly protective of her, which is totally unlike me.
I keep telling myself that even if she gave me the impression she wanted more, I’d turn her down.
Finley’s the kind of woman who wants forever.
Even if she agreed to a fling, I suspect it would end in disaster.
And then where would I get my morning coffee?
Maybe the so-called Christmas magic of Hollybrook was trying to sway me, but thank God I came to my senses and tugged her hat down instead.
But it’s still troubling.
I’m off my game. That’s all. Coming home always messes with me. It’s a tug of war: wanting to belong and wanting to run. There’s a shadow that lingers here, waiting to drag me under. Only the shadow is my deep, dark shame.
Still, things are better than expected after our rocky start. Finley’s turning out to be the perfect distraction. Maybe I can make it through the next ten days without a single emotional catastrophe.
Mallory’s already taken to Finley like she’s a long-lost friend. She’s snapped at least a dozen selfies with her. Grant’s going to lose his mind when he shows up with Eloise on Christmas Eve—not only do I get the bedroom, but our sister actually prefers my “girlfriend.”
I know it’s petty that it makes me ridiculously pleased, but I never claimed to be a saint.
Mallory narrows her eyes at me.
“What? I ask, feigning innocence.
“I know that look, Alexander.” She drags out my full name because she knows it grates on me. “You’re up to something.”
I lean closer and whisper in mock outrage, “Why would you say that?”
She shakes her head, not buying it for a second.
Finley glances over at us with a curious look, and I offer her a harmless smile.
She smiles back, her whole face lighting up before turning her attention to the crowd gathered near the hotel.
Her full-bodied enthusiasm gives me pause about enacting my plan, but she must be cold. I’m only looking out for her—she’s not used to weather like this, and I’d hate for her to get sick on her first day here.
That’s when I notice two teenage boys near the curb—hoods up and smirking. One of them has his phone out recording. They whisper something and snicker, and one mouths this is so lame.
Something pinches in my chest. Finley looks so damn happy, happier than anyone freezing in ten-degree weather while singing century-old carols should be. I slide a half-step in front of her, angling my body to block their view. I’ll be damned if a couple of smart-ass teenagers ruin this for her.
Mallory’s still eyeing me suspiciously. That’s okay. I’ll stay five more minutes, then insist Finley’s too cold and needs to rest after her long day. There’s no way Tyler can call me out if I bring my tired, freezing girlfriend home.
Look how selfless I really am, Tyler.
We finish a rousing rendition of “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer”—apparently still a hit with the ten-and-under crowd—and move to the next hotel.
Now’s as good a time as any to convince Finley to leave.
As she starts to follow the group, I catch her elbow. “How’re you doing?” I ask, trying to sound sympathetic.
The corner of her eyes crinkle with confusion. “I’m good.”
“Are you sure?” I press. “You look tired.”
She shakes her head. “No, I’m fine.”
“You look like you’re freezing,” I counter. “Your cheeks are flushed, and your nose is red. I’m worried you’ll catch a cold.” (The red nose isn’t a lie. Shawna would rather be shot at dawn than be seen like this.)
Confusion fills her eyes. “A red nose never hurt anyone,” she says, then adds with a chuckle, “Now if the tip turns black, then we have something to worry about.”
My brain immediately takes that somewhere it definitely shouldn’t—straight to the gutter. Which is more than disturbing, because she’s obviously talking about her nose. And yet my body doesn’t seem to care.
Mallory notices we’ve stopped and shoots me an evil eye sharp enough to cut glass.
Shit.
I rub Finley’s arm. “Still, hypothermia creeps up on you. I really think we should get you home.”
“I’m wearing fuzzy leggings under my jeans, a sweater over my T-shirt, and two pairs of socks,” she says, smiling. “I’m okay.”
Mallory stops next to us, crossing her arms over her chest. I’m pretty sure she hears Finley listing her layers. “What are you doing, Alex?”
I give her a wan smile. “Finley’s cold and tired, so I’m going to take her home.”
Finley gasps at my declaration. Mallory’s eyes darken, and now she’s literally tapping her foot.
Mallory turns to Finley. “Whose idea was it for you to go home?” she demands.
Finley looks torn between loyalty and truth. Her hesitation is all the fuel Mallory needs.
“You shithead.” Mallory’s outrage lands like a slap.
“What?” I say, playing innocent. “What did I do?”
“You don’t want to be here and you’re trying to convince her to go home so you don’t look bad for bailing.” Mallory snaps. She turns back to Finley, eyebrows up. “Do you want to go home?”
When Finley looks to me for a cue, Mallory slides in front of me and blocks her view.
“Don’t look at him,” she orders, in full Momma-Bear mode. “Look at me. Do you want to go home?”
Finley hesitates, then asks, “How much longer do you think this will last? Maybe Alex is tired.”
Mallory shakes her head and swivels back to me. “Go home. She’ll stay with us.”
“She’s my girlfriend, Mallory,” I say, the words coming out sharper than I meant.
Why do I feel panicked at the idea of leaving her alone.
What do I think will happen? A rogue reindeer will charge up the sidewalk?
A pack of disgruntled elves will jump out of a snowbank? A gang of teen boys will heckle her?
Mallory’s face goes even darker. She jabs her finger at my chest. “Last time I checked, that doesn’t make her your property. If she wants to stay, she can stay.”
No doubt it’s going to look bad if I go back without her, but damned if I’m singing carols for another half hour or more. Especially when watching her like this—so open, so happy—is messing with my head.
“It’s okay,” Finley says, sounding defeated. “We can go back.”
Mallory stomps her foot, balling her fists at her side. “Finley,” she says through gritted teeth, “are you ready to go home right now? Because there’s no reason you need to go back too.”
Finley sneaks a glance to me, then says, “I want to stay.”
“Then it’s settled.” Mallory’s smug glare lands like a dare. “Alexander, why don’t you call Dad and get started on making that hot chocolate?”
Dammit. Why didn’t I come up with that excuse? “Yeah,” I say, a bit too bright. “That was my plan. To warm Finley up.”
Mallory gives a slow, skeptical nod. “Riiiight.” Then she tries to shepherd Finley away, but my girlfriend stays rooted in place, scanning my face as she asks, “Mallory, can you give us a moment?”
My sister looks torn, then says, “Don’t let the fun killer change your mind.”
“Fun killer?” I vehemently protest. “You weren’t even planning on coming until Finley did.”
Mallory flips me off and moves about ten feet away.
I turn to Finley, expecting to see her guilt-ridden face. Instead, there’s a fire in her eyes.
“What is this all about?” she demands.
Oh, shit. She’d warned me she wasn’t a pushover. Still, I plan to plead innocent. “What are you talking about?”
“If you want to go home, Alex, you don’t need to coerce me into going with you. I’m a grown-ass woman. I can take care of myself, especially since I’m with your mom and sister.” She lowers her voice. “Besides, I never expected you to babysit me all week.”
I pause. There’s no way I’m admitting Tyler will roast me if go back alone, but my hesitation stokes her anger.
“Do you think I’m going to embarrass you if you’re not here to keep an eye on me?”
My eyes fly wide. “What? No—why would you say that?”
Something about my delivery does the opposite of convincing her.
“You are!” Tears flood her eyes, but she doesn’t look like she’s about to sob. She looks furious.
Damn, she’s sexy as hell with wisps of hair flirting around her face as she leans toward me like she might attack.
“No, Finley, it’s just—”
She shakes her head and takes a step back. “If you don’t trust me, then you never should have brought me here, Alexander.” Then she spins around and hurries over to my sister.
Mallory loops her arm through Finley’s, then puts her free hand behind her back and flips me off again.
“Real mature, Mal,” I call after her.
Mallory jabs her finger as though she wants to stab me with it.
I watch them go after the group and I feel a sharp ache in my chest. For a moment, I wonder if the stress is going to do me in, but I’m too young for a heart attack and in too good of shape. It’s probably heartburn. I did eat two bowls of chili.
I rub my chest over my coat, watching Finley walk away, realizing the bounce is gone from her step.
You did that, you asshole.
The pain in my chest increases.
I didn’t mean to upset her. It’s not like I was forcing her to go home with me.
But you sure tried to guilt her into it.
Now is not the time for my conscience to start lecturing.
I turn around to walk back to the car, because every second I stand here watching the most generous person I’ve ever met lose her joy makes my guilt bigger.
Pushing out a sigh, I realize I have a new dilemma.
I can either walk the mile home or beg my dad for a ride.
Neither sounds great, so I pull up my rideshare app, then promptly close it when I see the nearest driver is thirty-five minutes away.
There’s a chance Mom, Mal, and Finley will beat me home, so I suck it up and call my dad.
I’m not thrilled when Tyler answers.
“You ready to come home, little boy?” he drawls in a baby voice.
“I called Dad, not you.”
“He saw your name on the screen, and I eagerly volunteered to answer.” His smug tone is like sandpaper on a sunburn.
“Lucky me.”
“I’ll say. I’m guessing you need a ride?”
I want to tell him to give the phone to Dad so I can ask him for a ride, but I know Tyler will just volunteer to do it himself anyway. “Yes,” I say, my voice tight. “I need a ride.”
“Remember stranger danger, little boy,” he says in his mock-serious baby voice. “Your big brother will be there in a few minutes.”
“You don’t even know where I am,” I grunt.
“The town’s not that big. I’ll pick you up at the park bench by the Santa statue.”
He hangs up before I can call him a few choice names, then I shove the phone back into my pocket.
Coming home was a mistake, but it’s too late now. I’m here. I need to make the best of it.
Ten minutes later, I see the Wagoneer pull up to the curb. I walk over, steeling myself for the roast Tyler’s been saving up.
I get in and shut the door. Tyler pulls away from the curb and heads down the street.
“Why’d you really go caroling?” Tyler asks after about ten seconds.
“And there it is,” I say dryly.
“It’s a legit question.”
“I thought I made it clear I did it for Finley.”
“Yeah, I’m not buying that.” He shakes his head.
“You think I wouldn’t do something for my girlfriend?”
“It’s not something you would have done in the past.”
I turn in my seat. “How the hell would you even know? You don’t know me. Not anymore.”
“Exactly.” Sadness creeps into his voice. “You don’t come around enough for us to know you. Mom had to beg you to come home for Christmas.”
“It’s a busy time at work.”
“How convenient,” he says in a snide tone.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“For someone who claims to be so damn smart, you should be able to figure it out.”
“Claims to be smart?”
“Mr. I Got Accepted to MIT. You love to lord that over us.”
“The hell I do!”
“Please,” he groans. “You sprinkle that fun fact at every opportunity.”
“Are you jealous?” I demand.
“Jealous?” he asks with a sharp laugh. “Of you?” He shakes his head as he pulls into the driveaway, then looks at me with contempt. “I feel sorry for you, you asshole.” He gets out of the car, slamming his door shut.
I climb out, furious. “You feel sorry for me?” I shout after him as he stomps toward the back door. “There is absolutely no reason to feel sorry for me!”
No one should feel sorry for me. Disgust? Maybe. Sympathy? Never. I wasn’t worthy of sympathy six years ago, and I sure as hell don’t deserve it now.
Tyler turns back to me, holding his hands out, and shrugs before he opens the back door and walks inside.
I stand on the driveway, fuming.
I should have never come home.