Chapter 15
At the sound of bare feet padding across hardwood floor, I glance over my shoulder. Bellamy, sleepy eyed and messy haired, wearing an oversized Blue Mountain Tree Farm T-shirt and fuzzy socks, heads toward me. She’s adorable as all hell.
And all fucking mine.
The thought is instant. Primal.
I’m a damn lucky man.
Zelda scrambles up for a pet, and Bellamy drops into a crouch, crooning sweet words and accepting sloppy kisses.
When Zelda’s satisfied, Bellamy stands. “Okay, now we really, really, really have to decorate the tree.” She slips her arms around my waist.
Setting the spatula down, I press back into her.
Her warm breath pulses against my neck. “It’s December twenty-fourth. Santa would consider it a crime. He’ll arrest me.”
“He takes you away from me, we’re gonna have words.” Twisting, I curl my body possessively around hers.
She peers up at me, eyes dark, and grips the front of my flannel. “Hank Blue, don’t you dare try to fight Santa. You’ll get coal for the rest of your life.”
“Risk I’m willin’ to take.” I grin, kiss the tip of her nose. “You want breakfast?”
“Later.” Wagging a finger, she moves for the living room. “I’m three-for-three with this tree, cowboy. No distractions.”
“I’ll help.” I remove the last pancake from the pan, turn off the stove and follow her into the living room.
She stops in front of the tree, fluffing branches and taking it in with a sniper’s gaze.
“Assume the position?” I ask with a knowing grin.
She wiggles her eyebrows. “You know it.”
I lie on the floor, half under the tree, and get a grip on the base. Slowly, I spin it around.
“There’s a hole back here,” she says when I’ve made a quarter rotation. “So…to the left—no, the right.” She paces around me, her socked feet making no noise.
Warmth grows in my chest. Bellamy’s such an artist. No constraints. This part of her has always been my favorite. Goofy and free and happy, while I keep everything steady.
I give the tree another slow spin.
“A little more…stop…right…there.” Her yelp of victory tells me I nailed it.
I pull myself up off the floor, grinning. From there, we fall into a routine so easy, it’s hard to believe we haven’t done this in three years. I dig the tree decorations out of tote bins while Bellamy, singing along to Christmas songs, decorates.
The Christmas lights go on first. She chooses white lights and, starting from the bottom, slowly winds them around the tree, working her way up.
She’s busy fighting with the end of the strand when I step beside her.
She eyes me and groans. “Tinsel?” Despite her complaint, her lips twitch. “Hank. Be serious.”
“Bluebell, it’s Christmas. Have a little fun.” I step close to the tree, tossing handfuls of tinsel over the branches.
Her squeal is ear-piercing. “Hank, no!”
I bark out a laugh. “The more undignified, the better.”
Her lips flatten as she smothers a smile. “Fine. But one strand at a time.”
Slowly, I circle the tree, covering it with tinsel until it’s a shiny silver mess.
“It looks…” Propping her hands on her hips, she evaluates the evergreen with a scrunched nose.
“Goddamn gorgeous.”
“Horrifying.” Leaning into me, she gives me a kiss and a warning. “You’re gonna be the one to pull the tinsel out of Zelda’s butt.”
I dig out the tote bin full of ornaments and remove the bubble wrap from the one on top. Each one is a walk down memory lane.
The ocean wave carrying a starfish and a pair of flip-flops is first. Holding it up, I ask, “You remember this?”
She turns to look at me, a smile tipping her lips. “We got it on our honeymoon. Cabo.”
Memories soar. Bellamy in a teeny bikini, salty skin and wavy hair. So many damn pina coladas, bad hangovers and bogarting the microphone at the karaoke bar until we were banned.
“I don’t think we left the room more than twice.” My mouth ticks up.
Flushing, she takes the ornament from me and hangs it high on a branch.
I smile as she oohs and aahs over each one. With each memory we unearth, it feels like we’re moving another step closer to us. Keeping our holiday traditions, the roar of the fireplace, snow falling outside, Christmas music blasting from the speaker, Zelda nipping at our heels…
If I could keep only one memory from the last three years, this would be it.
I lift another bauble from the box, and Bellamy’s chatter stops. I blink at the look on her face, the little furrow between her brows, then look at what I’m holding.
My stomach drops. It’s the ornament she got me the Christmas she was pregnant. A mini framed photo of her sonogram. Beneath it the words BABY BLUE.
The decoration is tiny, yet it feels like it weighs a hundred pounds.
“Fuck.” I take in her bright eyes, her pale face. “Sugar, I’m sorry.” I didn’t mean to do this. Make her sad.
“No.” She steps forward, cupping it in her shaky hand. “Cody was a part of our life. We shouldn’t forget him.”
“You’re right.” I push the words out through my thick throat.
A wobbly nod of her head, at the small frame, at me. “You should hang it.”
I do, choosing a sturdy branch at the front. With sweaty hands, I loop the twine over pine needles, arranging it gently, ensuring it isn’t hidden.
Bellamy tilts her dark head as we step back to take in the tree. “It was hard, wasn’t it? Seeing Clint with his baby.”
“Yeah.” I take a shaky breath. My fingertips graze hers, and she moves a fraction closer. “It was. Felt like it should have been us.”
“He’d be four in April.”
My heart thuds painfully. “I know.”
Her voice comes out rushed, choked, as she says, “He was the best thing we ever did. And we were good together without him.”
“We were.” I drape an arm around her, pull her in.
She sighs, tipping her head to my shoulder.
We hold each other in the warmth of the cabin.
In the place we love. In the place that holds so much pain.
This is the most we’ve ever talked about our son, about our loss.
It feels like some kind of healing. It gives me hope that even though we’ll never get over it, we can move on.
Bellamy sniffles, then wiggles her way out from under my arm. My hands itch to pull her back to me. To earn her softness, her warmth.
She wipes beneath her eyes, gives me a teary smile. “Well, that was cathartic.” As she stacks up the totes, she says, “Maybe I can get some painting in before I go after all.”
It takes a second for my brain to play catch-up, for her words to register.
Fuck.
With my heart in my throat, I ask, “Why do you? Have to go?”
She stays quiet for too long, her back to me. “Because of my job, Hank. Because of my life.” A scoff pops out of her mouth, the slender line of her shoulders stiffening. “That’s what people do when the holidays are over.”
“When the holidays are over,” I repeat, “but what about us?” My voice is raw with emotion. It’s do or die. Tell her everything. Get some answers of my own.
“What about us?” She frowns, turning back to me.
“Bell. Don’t do this.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Don’t pull away from me.”
I step in front of her. She ducks her head, dropping her gaze from mine. She’s trembling, her face a mask of pain. She doesn’t want to do this. Talk about it. But we have to. Because I don’t want her to go. How can I let her walk away again? The answer’s obvious. I can’t. I won’t.
Bellamy doesn’t get to play pretend. Not anymore. The spark between us, the tether are still there. I won’t let her off the hook that easily.
She edges away, nerves creaking her voice. “We had some drinks. We had some fun. But that’s all it can be.”
“That’s bullshit.” I step closer, curling my fingers around her wrist to pull her toward me.
Eyes widening, she lets out a small gasping exhale. “What are you doing?”
“What I should have done three years ago.” I slide my hand to her neck, my thumb caressing the high line of her cheekbone. “I still love you, Bell. I never goddamn stopped.”