Chapter 20
Annie
As Christmas crept closer, unease tugged at me in quiet, relentless ways.
Usually by now, I’d be running on fumes—barely present for myself, hanging on only because Ruby needed me.
Most people wore their joy easily this time of year, stringing up lights and humming carols as if merriment were stitched into their bones.
For me, the season had always carried a different weight.
This year, though, the heaviness had held off longer than usual.
I couldn’t help but wonder how much of that had to do with Brooks.
He was a distraction in the best and most unexpected way—a steady hand when my days blurred with responsibility, an anchor when my thoughts wanted to drag me under. With him around, I could breathe just a little easier, laugh just a little more often.
But tonight was different.
During a long, grueling meeting with the Mayor’s board, I’d swear I heard my mother’s laugh. Just for a second. Clear as day.
The sound had hit me like a freight train, scattering my focus, leaving me rattled and raw. I kept my composure, nodded at the right places, even managed to string together rational words—but the ghost of that laugh followed me home.
Now, in the quiet, the ache sharpened. I missed her.
Missed my dad, too. No matter how many years had passed, Christmas hadn’t been the same without them, and I doubted it ever would be.
And when I layered that grief with the betrayal of catching my husband cheating not long after their deaths—well, it was no wonder the holidays felt more like a storm than a celebration.
It was almost cruel, living in a town where joy was practically the brand. Where people sang in the streets and decorated every porch like it was a contest. All that cheer only served as a reminder of what I’d lost.
“I can see something’s on your mind,” Brooks said quietly.
I glanced at him. He was kneading slow, firm circles into my foot, his head bent in concentration like he was determined to undo more than just knots in my muscles. My other hand cradled a glass of wine—also his doing. He’d poured it the moment I’d walked in late, drained and brittle.
Ruby had been long tucked into bed, so I’d kissed her forehead, whispered goodnight, and then collapsed here, unwilling to move further. Food had no appeal, though Brooks wasn’t thrilled about that. It had taken negotiation—me promising to let him rub my feet instead—for him to relent.
“This time of year is just… hard,” I admitted at last, my voice quieter than I meant it to be.
He nodded knowingly. “You’ve mentioned your parents before, and that buffoon of an ex-husband.”
I snorted despite myself. “Exactly. Not exactly a recipe for holiday cheer. I used to love Christmas, but somewhere along the way, it lost its spark.”
Brooks’ lips curved into a sympathetic, tight smile. “You miss them.”
I swallowed, the truth sharp in my throat. “Not my ex-husband—my parents.”
“I figured,” he said, his thumb pressing into the ball of my foot just right. The tension in me cracked, and I let out a groan, tilting my head back. God, it felt too good.
“What’s bringing it up tonight?” Brooks asked after a beat.
I lowered my gaze to the wineglass in my hand, tracing the rim with my finger.
“I thought I heard my mom’s laugh today.
Just for a second. I’ve been holding it together so far this year, but that…
” My voice faltered. The familiar sting gathered in the corners of my eyes.
I tried to blink it back, tried to hold myself steady.
I didn’t cry in front of people. Especially not in front of men.
My tears were for the dark and the quiet, for spaces where no one else could see me unravel.
But Brooks noticed. His hands stilled. He gave my foot a gentle tap, as if asking me to meet him halfway.
I kept my eyes fixed on the glass.
“Annie.”
Just my name. Firm, commanding, cutting through my silence.
I knew the second I looked at him, I’d fall apart.
There was something about Brooks—about the steadiness in his gaze, the quiet patience in his touch—that made walls crumble before I could reinforce them.
He had this unshakable presence that coaxed honesty out of me, even when I wanted to hide behind practiced smiles.
Part of me wanted to fight it. To hold on to the fragments of control I had left.
Another part—the exhausted, aching part—wondered if maybe, just maybe, it was safe to let go here.
So, I did.
I looked directly at him and just as I feared, the tears came. They slid down my cheeks in quiet streams, but I sat tall, letting them fall into my lap instead of hiding them.
Brooks reached out, his hand steady and open. I slipped mine into his, and in the next heartbeat I was shifting onto my knees, setting my wine glass on the table, and falling into him. He opened an arm, strong and sure, and I fit perfectly against him, like I’d been there a hundred times before.
He was solid, warm, the exact comfort I didn’t realize I’d been aching for. His chest rose and fell beneath my cheek, the steady rhythm soothing me more than words could.
I laced my fingers with his, lifting our joined hands into the faint firelight. My gaze traced over his tattoos, the ink curling and wrapping across his skin like a map of places and stories I didn’t know yet.
“Tell me about them,” Brooks murmured, his voice low and gentle.
I shook my head. My throat closed, heavy with everything I wasn’t ready to let out. “I can’t.”
The words landed between us, fragile but final.
“I just don’t like to feel,” I admitted softly, almost ashamed. “I don’t like to fall apart, especially now. Especially for Ruby. This time of year should be about magic, not… grief.”
His hand flexed in mine. “I know. And for the record, you do a damn good job of keeping it together.”
A dry laugh escaped me. “Maybe too good.”
“This year’s been different though, hasn’t it?” His tone was easy, but there was a pull beneath it, like he was tugging me toward something he wanted me to say.
My head rested against his broad chest as I tilted my chin, meeting his gaze. His blue eyes pinned me in place.
“I’ve been able to hold it together much longer.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’ve had the perfect distraction,” I confessed.
Brooks smirked, shaking his head. “So you’re using me?”
“Maybe.”
His hand slid up, cupping my jaw as he pulled me to him. His kiss was long, firm, unapologetically deep. Heat flared inside me, burning away the edges of sorrow.
“I like it when you use me, Red,” he murmured against my lips.
Warmth rushed through my veins, the kind of warmth that left no room for grief. I melted into him, kissing him lazily, hungrily, while the fire crackled. His hands roamed, strong and certain, gripping me like he didn’t intend to let me go.
I wanted more. Needed more.
Shifting, I swung a leg over him, straddling his waist. His breath hitched against my mouth, but he didn’t stop me.
Kiss after kiss, I leaned into him, grinding slowly against the growing hardness pressing up beneath me. My tights did nothing to dull the sensation—if anything, the thin barrier only made me crave him more.
“Use me right now,” he whispered, his voice husky and low. “Let me be your escape.”
The words unraveled me. I clutched at him, giving in, letting myself drown in the way his hands gripped my hips, his thumbs dipping beneath the waistband of my tights. Clothes shifted, removed in the heat of the moment, just enough for bare skin to meet bare skin.
Passion sparked like a match. Fire. Heat. All-consuming.
Brooks let me take the lead, his hands anchoring me as I moved, claiming what I needed, chasing the sharp edge of release. I rode him hard, wild with want, each thrust driving me deeper into the escape he promised.
And for those moments—those fevered, breathless moments—I wasn’t a woman haunted by loss or heartbreak. I was simply alive, burning bright in his arms, losing myself in the heat of Brooks Bennett.