Chapter 9 #2
A part of me understood. The drive from Austin to Lubbock was about six hours and much less treacherous than the arctic hellscape they were watching play out on TV. But it didn’t ease the hollow feeling in my chest.
Teddy and I, trapped together with nothing but sexual tension and unresolved feelings to keep us company. Days of trying not to notice how his jeans fit or the way his arms and chest had somehow gotten bigger.
“Piper even offered to host a baking day at her and Uncle Dane’s house when we get there,” Sky added, stopping me mid-spiral. “We’re gonna make stollen, and struffoli, and some French sponge cake thing that we can’t pronounce.”
I forced a smile, even as my heart sank. “That sounds like fun.”
But it wasn’t fun. It was another Christmas where everything felt wrong. Another year of empty seats. Another reminder that we’d failed at keeping our family together.
My throat clenched painfully, my eyes burning with unshed tears.
I’d been looking forward to my time with them for months, had spent weeks planning the perfect Christmas, buying gifts, memorizing all Sky’s new dietary restrictions, and making lists of Addie’s favorite desserts for our baking day. All for nothing.
“Are you sure?” Sky’s expression softened with concern. “You look like you’re about to cry.”
“I’m fine,” I lied, the same way I’d been lying about being fine for the past two years. “Just tired. Think I’m still trying to get used to the altitude.”
Teddy’s eyes locked with mine on the phone screen, and for a moment, it was like he saw me. The real me. Not the version of me I’d played for the better part of three decades.
It nearly broke me. I could handle his anger, his frustration, even his desire. But this—this softness, this genuine understanding—threatened to dissolve what little composure I had left.
“It might not even happen,” Addie cut in, taking back the wheel. “LuLu said Piper was due at the beginning of January or something, so she could be in labor by the time we get there.”
Sky sighed in disappointment, only to perk up at something on the screen. “Dad! Tell me that’s not your Christmas tree in the background!”
Keeping his hand anchored to my thigh, Teddy twisted in his chair, following Sky’s gaze to the pathetic spruce in the corner of the living room.
“What about it?” he asked, his tone defensive.
“It’s naked!” she exclaimed, her horror evident even through the slightly pixelated connection. “And sad! I didn’t think a tree could look ashamed, but yours does.”
“Skylar,” Addie hissed through her teeth, but even she looked troubled by the state of the tree.
“It’s not that bad,” Teddy muttered, but his hand tightened on my thigh, like he expected me to back him up.
But it was that bad.
Because looking at that tree—listing to the left and half-strung with lights that weren’t even plugged in felt too much like a visual metaphor for our marriage.
Something that had begun with high hopes and the best of intentions, only to end up abandoned long before it was finished.
No ornaments. No star on top.
Just green branches and two people who’d given up on making it shine.
“That tree is a cry for help,” Sky continued, undeterred by her sister’s death glares. “You should do something with it.”
“Like what, take it out back and put it out of its misery?” he asked, though something in his tone suggested he already knew where the conversation was headed.
Sky threw her hands up in exasperation. “Decorate it! You know, like normal people do at Christmas?”
“We sent you two whole boxes of ornaments,” Addie added, her guilt-trip game as strong as ever. “Do you remember how much shipping costs from Texas to Colorado?”
“Sixty-three forty-seven,” Sky answered, nodding solemnly. “That’s a lot of ramen noodles, Dad.”
“I seem to recall I’m the one who paid for shipping,” he pointed out, his jaw tightening with frustration. “It’ll get done. Just haven’t had time—”
“To what? Hang a few ornaments?” Sky’s eyebrows disappeared into her messy bangs. “At the rate you’re going, you’ll be decorating it for Valentine’s Day. Mom, please tell me you’re going to fix this tragedy.”
I looked at the tree again—really looked at it—and something clicked into place.
The other cabin had been decorated to perfection.
Every surface adorned with garland and twinkling lights, mismatched ornaments that somehow worked together, stockings hung by the fireplace.
Teddy had clearly put thought and care into making that space feel like Christmas for the girls.
Making it feel like home.
Yet his own cabin remained stark and empty, like he’d forgotten he was allowed to celebrate too.
Teddy used to drag the tree down from the attic the week before Thanksgiving, insisting it wasn’t fair that the fall decorations got to stay up for months, while his favorite holiday was confined to December.
He used to wake up before dawn on Christmas morning, more excited than the kids, pouring pancake batter into cookie-cutter molds shaped like snowmen and trees while Christmas music played in the background.
Something in me needed to fix that tree.
“I’m sorry your dad didn’t get the tree decorated while he was busy saving me from a blizzard and ensuring I didn’t freeze to death, Skylar Jade,” I said, the defensiveness in my tone surprising everyone, including me.
“He wanted to get it done first thing this morning, but I told him it could wait until after breakfast, so why don’t you both tend to your own cattle?” I placed my hand over his on my thigh, and he tensed but didn’t pull away.
On screen, our daughters’ mouths fell open in synchronized shock.
“Did you just…” Sky started, then stopped, her wide-eyed gaze bouncing between us like she was watching a tennis match.
“Tell us to mind our own damn business in Texan?” Addie finished, though her tone held more amusement than offense. “I believe she did.”
My cheeks burned, but I didn’t take it back.
Couldn’t, really, not when I could feel the slight tremor in Teddy’s hand, the way his breathing had changed.
Not when I remembered the way he’d risked his life to find me in that storm, how gentle he’d been cleaning my wounds, how he’d held me through the night even after I’d made that mortifying confession about having no one else.
“We’re going to decorate it,” I said, trying to sound casual even though my pulse was hammering in my throat. “Together. After we finish our breakfast.”
“Together,” Sky breathed, her eyes lighting up as though she’d just unwrapped the best Christmas present ever. “You’re sitting together. You’re going to decorate the tree together.”
“No, we’ll decorate it in separate rooms and communicate ornament placement using smoke signals,” Teddy deadpanned.
I bit back a smile. For someone who communicated primarily in grunts and monosyllables, the man could be surprisingly funny when he wanted to be.
“What Sky means,” Addie said, shooting her sister a look, “is that we’re glad you’re getting along. For Christmas. It’s nice to see you two in the same room without looking like you want to murder each other.”
Murder wasn’t exactly what I wanted to do to their father right now, but I kept that thought to myself.
“Don’t sound so shocked. We’re both adults.” Teddy turned his hand over, lacing our fingers together. His thumb skimmed my knuckles, sending electricity shooting up my arm.
“What are y’all’s plans while you’re snowed in?” Addie asked as she and Sky exchanged a loaded look.
“All alone in a mountain cabin. God, it’s like a movie,” Sky added with a grin I didn’t trust for a second. “Snowed in with My Ex—no, wait—Christmas Cabin Confessions.”
“Ew, that sounds more like a porno,” Addie said, her nose wrinkling in disgust.
“What else are they gonna do in a blizzard?” Sky fired back, waggling her eyebrows at us suggestively.
If it had been anyone else, I would have been scandalized. But this was the girl who spent most of her senior prom texting her sister live updates about a couple hooking up in the back of the locker room.
“You should make popcorn garlands, and mulled wine, and watch Elf—oh, and bake Christmas cookies!” Sky declared, clapping her hands together.
Teddy lowered his mouth to my ear. “Good to see they’re being subtle about their little plan.”
The shiver that ran down my spine had nothing to do with the temperature. His breath was warm against my ear, the scrape of his beard against my skin sending a fresh wave of goosebumps across my arms.
“Like a brick through a window,” I murmured, trying to keep my expression neutral for the sake of our daughters, who were watching us like hawks.
“Cue the montage,” Sky continued, practically vibrating. “Building a gingerbread house. Slow dancing in the kitchen to Nat King Cole. Hot chocolate by the fire. Kissing under the mistle—oh wait. Looks like they already covered that one.”
Addie lowered her voice, as if she were doing the voice-over for a movie trailer. “Two people, trapped together in a blinding snowstorm.”
“Now, they’re forced to confront the past that tore them apart as well as their burgeoning lust,” Sky managed in an equally deep tone before dissolving into another fit of laughter.
I could feel Teddy’s gaze burning into the side of my face, but I refused to look at him. Not when my cheeks were flaming and our daughters were basically writing erotic fan fiction about their parents’ reunion.
“We’re hanging up now,” I announced, reaching toward the screen with my free hand.
“We’ll stop, we’ll stop,” Addie pleaded through her laughter. “It’s just really good to see you two together again.”
“Jesus, we’re capable of being friendly without it having to mean anything,” I protested before catching myself.
Friendly.
God, I hated that word. Hated how it reduced whatever this was—this electricity, this pull, this complicated mess of want and hurt and history—to something safe and sanitized.
We weren’t friendly. Friendly was what you were with your neighbor. Your coworker. Hell, even the barista who remembered your coffee order. Friendly didn’t grip the backs of your thighs and leave marks on your throat.
But admitting that to our daughters—admitting it to myself—felt like stepping off a cliff with no guarantee of a soft landing.
“Right,” he said quietly, his voice carefully neutral. “Friendly.”
“Well, whatever you want to call it, there’s nothing like a blizzard to make you realize you never stopped loving each other. Okay, we love you. Bye!” Sky rushed to say, ending the call before either of us could respond.
The silence that followed felt deafening. Teddy released my hand and pushed back from the table, leaving me alone and painfully aware that I’d done it once again.
Because apparently, my superpower was taking any moment of connection we managed to build and blowing it to smithereens with my big mouth.