A Holiday Seduction: A Holiday Novella

by Tiffany Patterson

  Taking a final glance over my shoulder, I look back to Neil.

  “I’ll have you back to your family soon enough.”

  “Fine,” I say, stepping forward but not taking his hand. My right hand is still tightly gripping the neck of the vodka bottle. It aids in me remembering why I walked out of Neil’s place two days ago. I need to feel the bottle in my hands to recall the betrayal I felt the moment I found it. I want the fear that if I didn’t leave right then and there, I’d allow myself to stay and listen to more lies to remain fresh in my mind.

  Just like with Deirdre. My sister fed off of the love I had for her, and I believe if she were alive today, that she’d still have the ability to manipulate me into believing whatever she could come up with next. That’s how deeply I love—to my detriment.

  But I learned from my sister’s death. I can’t let those same instincts cloud my judgment when it comes to Neil.

  “We need to be back within the hour,” I insist as he holds his car door open for me.

  “Fine.” He nods.

  As I start to get in, I pause and ask, “You haven’t been drinking tonight, have you?” The last thing I need to do is get in the car with someone who’s been drinking.

  He visibly flinches, and I feel as if I punched myself in the gut.

  “No.” His voice is tight and rigid.

  I nod and get in the car. The bottle is still firmly in my hand, even as I buckle my seatbelt.

  As we pull off, I realize one thing: Neil hasn’t asked for the bottle or even looked at it since I initially pulled it from my bag.

  She doesn’t trust me.

  Very few things in my life have hurt me as profoundly as this realization. Losing the trust of my parents as a teen hurt, but I was young and drinking too heavily to care. The loss of friends hurt also, but again, all that mattered then was getting enough booze.

  It took years to regain that trust, especially from my parents and my sister. But this loss of confidence from Desiree? This hurts to my core, in particular, because I don’t have anything to numb me from the emotion in her eyes.

  “Where are we going?” she questions after about ten minutes of driving.

  “LaGuardia Bridge.”

  “Why?”

  I don’t respond because, as I’ve said already, I need to show her to make her fully understand.

  “We’ll be there in another ten minutes,” I inform her as if she doesn’t know where the bridge is. Most people from this area of our city are very well aware of the bridge and travel it frequently.

  “Okay, we’re here,” she says as we cross over onto the bridge. It’s only about six o’clock in the evening, but because it’s Christmas Eve, there aren’t many cars on the bridge.

  Pulling over to the parking lane, I come to a full stop about mid-point on the bridge and put it in park. I glance over at Desiree before getting out and walking over to the passenger side.

  “What are we here for, Neil?” she questions as I open the door for her.

  I allow my gaze to fall to the bottle in her hands. “I’m explaining why you found that in my home.”

  Her lips pinch, and her gaze falls to the ground before she inhales and then takes my hand to allow me to help her out of the car.

  Still holding onto her hand, I walk us to the side railing of the bridge, pausing and staring at the dark water below. A million memories come flooding back.

  “Sit with me.” I bend until my bottom hits the pavement, and my legs dangle over the edge. “I won’t let you fall,” I say to Desiree, holding my hand out to her.

  She takes it, yet I still see the wariness in her eyes. “I’m not worried about falling. Besides, there’s a barrier ten feet below that would prevent anyone from falling to the river.”

  I nod, staring down at the metal barrier she’s referring to. “Yeah. That wasn’t there ten years ago.”

  I feel Desiree’s gaze on me as she turns her head; however, I continue staring out into the growing darkness of the night.

  “I can make out the Christmas lights that line the main highway from here.”

  Desiree looks up, and upon seeing the lights, she says. “Yeah.”

  “Same as that night ten years ago.”

  We lock gazes, and I nod to the bottle in her hands. “Flip it over.”

  Her face scrunches up, but she begins spinning the bottle around.

  “No, this way,” I correct, turning the bottle upside down.

  “What’s this?” She fingers the white piece of paper taped to the bottle.

  “That’s the receipt for that bottle.”

  She looks down at it again, and her fingers move over the phone number in blue ink. “And this?”

  “That’s the number of the man who saved my life. He’s still my sponsor today.”

  She turns to me with parted lips.

  “Christmas Eve, 2010, I sat on this bridge and teetered between life and death.”

  Turning to face Desiree, I continue telling her the rest of the story of the night that changed my life.

  “My parents hadn’t spoken to me in a year. Neither had my sister or close friends that I’d grown up with. The party was over. Hell, the party had been over, but I couldn’t stop drinking. Even when I wanted to. Even when I knew it was fucking killing me. Alone and living in a dump the size of a shoebox, the only place I had to go on Christmas Eve was to the liquor store. I only had about two bucks, so I resorted to panhandling.”

  I pause, looking between the bottle and Desiree to see if she’s following me.

  “I asked a guy coming out of a grocery store if he had any change. He must’ve noticed my gaze shifting between him and the liquor store at the other end of the parking lot. I swore he would tell me to fuck off when he realized why I was begging for money. Instead, he walked me to the store himself and told me to get whatever I wanted, and he’d pay.”

  “Why would he do that?” she asks, appalled.

  “Because he knew my secret.”

  “What was the secret?”

  “That at that moment, no speech about the perils of drinking would’ve sufficed. Instead, he bought me that very bottle in your hands. Then he took the receipt and wrote down his number on it. Told me his name, and once we left the store, he said if I ever wanted to stop drinking to give him a call, day or night.”

  I shook my head, blinking away the wetness in them. That memory always makes me teary-eyed, no matter how many times I tell it.

  “That was when you stopped?”

  “Almost. I didn’t give him much thought, even though he did sound sincere. Instead, I hopped in my car with the gas tank nearly on E and drove out here. I sat in this same spot as I untwisted that cap.” I dip my head toward the bottle. “And took my first swig with the thought that once I finished the bottle, I’d jump off this bridge.”

  “It got that bad?”

  I nodded. “I didn’t see a point in living. I was only living to drink, and it was killing me. The very thing I felt like I needed to survive was ultimately going to be the death of me. Better I take my own life than let the bottle take me.”

  “What happened? What stopped you from jumping?”

  Shaking my head, I push out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know exactly. But, I was only able to get a quarter of the way through the bottle before finally saying, ‘Screw it, I’m doing this.’ I stood, took a deep breath, and just as I started, I remembered his words.”

  “If you ever want to stop drinking, give me a call. Day or night.”

  “They were so genuine. So real. He didn’t lecture me or try to cart me off to rehab. Something told me he understood, and because he was the first person, in years, I didn’t feel judged by, I stepped off this bridge, got in my car, and called him from my cell. He talked to me for two hours. And the next morning—Christmas, 2010–he picked me up at seven a.m. to attend a meeting. I haven’t had a drink since.”

  Desiree remains silent as she looks between the Smirnoff bottle and my eyes. I can see sh
e’s still searching for an explanation of something.

  “This is the last bottle you ever took a drink out of?”

  I nod. “I keep it for two reasons. One, a reminder of sorts. Of how low my life can get if I drink again.”

  “And two?”

  “You’ve seen me leave out at night when I get a call for help. It’s the same thing with that.” I nod toward the bottle. “Coming off of years of drinking isn’t an easy thing for the body. I got lucky and was able to do it cold turkey, but I was young at twenty-five. Others have been drinking for twenty, thirty, or even forty years. They might need a drink or five to even out the rough spots of their detox, or else their body could go into shock, killing them.”

  Finally, I take the bottle from her hands and look at it, grateful that the liquid inside of it no longer has a hold over me.

  “I keep it in case I ever need to give a shot or two to someone who’s trying to sober up. Sounds counterintuitive, but—”

  “No, it makes sense,” she says. “I remember once when I tried to help Deirdre detox at my apartment.” She shakes her head. “It was brutal. That time she only lasted a few weeks without getting high again.”

  I frown, placing the bottle down, and taking her hand into mine.

  With her free hand, Desiree cups her face and moans. “I’m so fucking stupid,” she murmurs as her shoulders shake.

  “Hey, why are you calling yourself names?” I insist, pulling her hand away from her face. A tear cascades down her cheek, and I quickly wipe it away.

  “I should’ve just asked you instead of walking out like that. I got so scared that it was happening all over again. That I was putting on blinders with you the same way I did with Deirdre. I let my mother and the words of a stranger cloud my judgment.”

  “Your mother was trying to protect you. She loves you deeply, as do I. We came to that understanding a couple of days ago. And that guy from the other night …” I sigh. “He was a pawn.”

  Desiree’s face crinkles in confusion.

  “His brother, Charles, I told you about. He’s had a vendetta with McKenna Rehab since Charles died. A few weeks ago, I turned down Waldrich’s offer to merge and Larry, the head of the project, tried to use that vendetta against us. He helped restart rumors about McKenna Rehab employees using our facility as a front to sell drugs. This morning, I had my attorney file paperwork to move forward with a lawsuit. We’ll be owners of Waldrich Healthcare by the time all is said and done.”

  “Neil, I had no idea.”

  I shake my head. “No one did.”

  “I feel even more like an ass now.”

  “Don’t. It’s a big, confusing mess of a scheme he tried to run, and given my history and yours, I understand where the confusion came from. I just need you to promise me this one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  I lift myself to stand and hold onto her hand to help her up as well. Cupping her by the face, I say, “That if there is ever, ever a time where you don’t trust me or need clarification, you come to me about it. Don’t just walk away.”

  She dips her head sheepishly. “I promise,” she says above a whisper.

  “Good. The last thing I want to have to do is tear this damn city apart to get to you.”

  She smiles up at me through watery eyes, blining. I pull her face to me, our lips meeting in the middle.

  Too soon, Desiree pulls back. “It’s your ten year anniversary.”

  “Tomorrow, officially. Will you come somewhere with me tomorrow morning?”

  “Anywhere.”

  “You didn’t even ask.”

  “I don’t need to, but where?”

  “That same meeting I went to ten years ago. I’m speaking and then getting my ten-year chip.”

  Her smile is a mile wide as she pulls me into her for another kiss. “I’d be honored,” she answers.

  The kiss becomes all-consuming before I can tell her that the honor, the pleasure, and joy is all mine.

  “Merry Christmas to us,” I say against her lips.

  Epilogue

  Christmas, 2021

  “Neil, what are you doing? The cookies aren’t done,” I squeal as he pulls me by the waist from the kitchen.

  “The cookies will be fine. The oven has an automatic timer, and you have at least three dozen for my family and yours,” he insists, still dragging me over toward the living room where our Christmas tree stands, lit up.

  “Speaking of, both of our families will be here any minute. You know my mother loves showing up early.” I cast my wary gaze over to the clock on the wall above the door, noting that it’s nearing three o’clock in the afternoon. Dinner is supposed to start at four, and both Neil and my family are eating at our place.

  Yes, that’s right. I agreed to move in with him on Christmas of last year. I made the move a few days after the New Year, breaking my old lease and all. It was worth the leap.

  “Don’t blame me because you wanted to spend most of the morning at the bakery,” he teases.

  “Ha, and you spent most of the time taste testing all of my new recipes,” I retort.

  Changing addresses isn’t the only big move I made within the past year. A few weeks after moving in with Neil, I turned in my resignation to the school district. That was two days after I signed my lease to open my bakery, Sweet Seduction.

  I finished the school year out and worked evenings and weekends at the bakery, hiring a part-time manager and baker to be there during the day when I couldn’t. My days have been jam-packed as the popularity of the bakery grows right along with my online business. We continue to sell online and ship out orders. Now that I have a staff and an industrial oven, I can fulfill orders as quickly as they come in.

  I’m in my happy place.

  “And I’m surprised I haven’t ended up in a sugar coma,” he groans, holding his flat stomach as he comes to stand in front of me.

  I wave him off, laughing.

  He glances at me, grinning.

  “What?”

  “We’re standing under the mistletoe.”

  Looking up, I see that he’s holding up a branch of the mistletoe over our heads.

  Rolling my eyes, I say, “If you wanted a kiss, all you had to do was ask.” Cupping his face, I pull him in for a kiss. He soon takes it over, his lips possessing mine in that unique way that always melts my heart.

  “I’m so damn proud of you,” he murmurs against my lips.

  “Me? What about you? Happy eleventh anniversary, baby.”

  We went to Neil’s Christmas meeting this morning. This was my second year in a row hearing him share his recovery story with all who attended.

  “Thanks, but I can’t take all the credit for it. Anyway, you know what would make me even more proud?”

  “What could make you more proud than having eleven years sober, successfully growing McKenna Rehabs thanks to winning that lawsuit against Waldrich, and being my hero?”

  “If you would call me your husband instead of your hero.” He steps back and goes to his knee before opening a black ring box.

  My mouth falls open, and I stare at the center-cut diamond sparkling beautifully. I try to make words come out, but it’s impossible.

  Reaching up, I feel for the pearl earrings on each of my lobes, wondering if this morning’s present had been a joke. But they’re still there.

  Earlier in the year, I told Neil about the time Dierdre pawned the earrings my mother gave me when I turned thirteen. I don’t know how he did it, but he spent months tracking down the earrings and repurchased them from their owner. I knew what they were as soon as I opened the gift this morning because my grandmother’s initials were engraved in the 14K gold setting.

  I bawled like a baby.

  Now, hours later, he’s here proposing.

  “I was going to wait until New Years’ to propose but I’m impatient when it comes to you. Besides with Jackie and Mark coming to celebrate the New Year with us, I wanted to choose a time where I could prop
ose in private.”

  The tears start flowing yet again as I swallow the lump in my throat. I smile widely as I think of my friend Jackie and her new husband, Mark, who’ll be coming in a few days for New Years’. Though she isn’t alive to see it, I believe Deirdre is smiling down on the both of us from wherever she is.

  “Desiree Jackson, will you marry me?”

  Still unable to find words, I bob my head up and down vigorously.

  Neil releases a breath, coming to stand as he places the ring on my left ring finger.

  “Thank you,” he says against my lips before cementing our engagement with a kiss right in front of the lit up Christmas tree, the smell of freshly baked cookies wafting around us.

  * * *

  The End

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  More Books by Tiffany Patterson

  The Black Burles Series

  Black Pearl

  Black Dahlia

  Black Butterfly

  Forever Series

  7 Degrees of Alpha (Collection)

  Forever

  Safe Space (Book 1)

  Safe Space (Book 2)

  Rescue Four Series

  Eric’s Inferno

  Carter’s Flame

  Emanuel’s Heat

  Non-Series Titles

  This is Where I Sleep

  My Storm

  Miles & Mistletoe (Holiday Novella)

  Just Say the Word