The Mistletoe Wedding

by Izabella Brooks

  “Why? Because you’re too scared to take a chance?”

  Bree looks at me like she wants to swing that tote and take me out. She’s totally pissed, though she’s trying to hide that from me, because it indicates that she actually cares. I have to press her further, like digging my finger into an open wound. It’s messy and ugly, but I know if she walks out that door, she walks out with an armour that I might not be able to pierce through again.

  “The Bree I knew in high school wasn’t afraid to take chances. The Bree I knew wasn’t scared to crash and burn. She knew what she wanted and she went for it. Fearlessly.”

  She shakes her head, her face crumpling. “I do know what I want,” she says so quietly that the dull roar behind us nearly drowns her out. “I’m sorry, Karsyn, this just isn’t it.”

  She turns. Leaves me standing there, my jaw scraping the floor. She gives me her back and pushes the metal door open and slips through. Disappears. It slams shut behind her with a finality that feels like I’ve just dug my own grave.

  I wait. A second. Two. A minute. Two. Ten? An hour? I don’t know how much time fucking passes. I stand there staring at the door like she’s going to walk back through it and tell me she’s just kidding. That she just wanted to get one final jab in at me. I want her to prove that she hasn’t lost that dry, sick sense of humor that she’d never admit to back when we were teenagers.

  Finally, I pull my phone out of my back pocket and check the time. It’s past midnight. I think that’s when all the magic is supposed to happen. Or not. That’s when all the magic finally comes to a close. When everything that was glorious and beautiful and hopeful goes back to the way it was, because that’s what’s real and the rest of it was just a really nice, fanciful dream.

  I know what hotel Breona is at. I could go there. I could cause enough chaos that I’d either see her again or get arrested trying. I could beg her. Get down on my knees. Tell her that I pushed too hard and too far, but it was because I was desperate. Desperate to show her. To make her feel. To bring us back, to take a chance this time around since I was too scared to do it the first time and I lost her. I wanted to put a big old bandage on all that mess, bridge the gap and walk right into a life with her.

  Yeah. I guess that was pretty much the shit of fairy tales.

  It wasn’t reality, at any rate.

  It’s exactly what I just thought it was. Desperate. A little pathetic, maybe. She probably thought that pity sex was the best way to move on and get some closure. It’s a shit thought, but one that probably borders on the truth. Although, it didn’t feel like pity sex. It didn’t feel like closure. It was hot, sinful, and just fucking right. Unless I just handed in my balls big time and I’m dreaming things up.

  Maybe I just don’t know when to quit. I’m standing here staring at a metal door. Yeah, I definitely don’t know when to quit. And I’m not done yet. I have one more chance. One more shot. If it doesn’t work, then I’ll admit defeat in the most embarrassingly epic fashion.

  Hell, maybe we can even be friends after.

  Who am I kidding? If this doesn’t work out, we’ll be right back to being the only thing we can be.

  Enemies.

  Chapter 15

  Breona

  I don’t even know why I bothered sleeping at a hotel the night before. I should have just driven straight to my parent’s house in San Diego and surprised them. It’s not like I slept at all. All I did was toss and turn and torture myself with thoughts of Karsyn. What we did.

  The feel of his skin against mine.​The way he moved inside me.

  His scent all over me, rising thick in the air between us, filling me the same way he did physically, marking me.

  I could say that I’ll never be the same, but I already know that. I’ve known it since the second I got seated next to Karsyn in biology class. I knew he was one of those people who was going to change my life forever. That it wouldn’t end when high school ended, even though I never imagined us going our separate ways for a decade. I knew it wouldn’t be over then. That it would never be over.

  I spend the entire two-and-a-half-hour drive from Malibu to San Diego trying to talk myself down. Fighting tears. Telling myself it never would have worked. That we really are different people leading different lives. That there’s always the distance, even if nothing else was a factor. That most people don’t work out anyway.

  Bryn and Cozzie have been in love forever. I thought they were going to make it, and seeing them at the wedding just made me realize that things aren’t always what we think they are. Sometimes people break. Sometimes everything breaks. Love isn’t enough to hold two people together.

  Not that I know that they’re breaking. Maybe they’re just going through a rough patch. Weddings, Christmas, it can all be stressful. And a wedding at Christmas? That’s just a double dose. Maybe they’re fine. I really need to talk to Cozzie. I need to make time to see her before I go, but seeing as I’m leaving in two days, I don’t know if that’s possible.

  By the time I roll down the street my parents live on, an older neighborhood that saw its prime in the sixties when most of the houses were built, I know that I’m home. I’m also convinced that when it comes to love and happiness, Jake and Arla are a one off.

  So what if I love Karsyn? I’m doing us a favor by averting years of bitterness, struggles, and, finally, heartbreaking disaster.

  I near my parent’s house, composing myself. I can’t walk in there with my face a mess. Mom will know right away that something is up. She’ll ask questions. She’ll get my brother, Sam, and my sister, Missy, in on it. It’s Christmas morning. It’s early. Not even nine yet. I don’t want to talk about any of it. Not now. Not ever. So, poker face it is.

  I even check it in the rearview mirror just to be sure.

  “What the hell?” I mutter as I pull up down the block. As usual, there isn’t any parking on the street and it’s worse with Christmas and everyone coming over to everyone else’s house. I have to park so far away that I can barely see the house.

  But what I see makes me pause.

  Blow ups. Those big, weird, plastic blow ups.

  My parents like Christmas as much as the next people. We do the tree and the baking and the presents and everything else, but what my mom isn’t big on is decorating. She likes the tree. That’s about as far as she goes. She doesn’t put up any other décor. She hates packing it all away after. It’s too much fuss. She’s busy. She had three kids and a job and my dad to look after. She didn’t need one more extra thing. So my parents don’t put lights on the house. And they sure as hell don’t do blow up décor on the front lawn.

  I shrug as I pull my suitcase out of the trunk. It must be the neighbors. They’re the ones with the blow ups.

  As I wheel my suitcase down the sidewalk and get closer to the beige bungalow with the white and green trim that I grew up in, the small front yard with the porch that my dad had to replace when I was ten since the old one finally rotted through, the winding sidewalk and the green grass on either side that my dad takes way too much pride in, the flower garden bordering that, it really looks like those big blow ups are on my parent’s lawn.

  A jolly looking Santa. A huge snowman. A reindeer. A yeti looking thing. A second Santa.

  I roll right up to the small white fence surrounding the house and blink. Nope. I wasn’t imagining things. It isn’t the neighbors. There are seriously blow ups all over my parent’s front lawn. It must be some kind of joke. Maybe my brother. He has a weird sense of humor.

  I unlatch the gate, which is about chest high, and wheel in. I stop at the first Santa, right near the fence, because there’s something weird about it. There’s a big white sign taped to the chest, with big, black block letters.

  Don’t turn around and walk back out.

  Okay. That’s weird. Of course, I glance behind me, just because the sign told me not to. This is really strange. It probably is my brother’s idea of a joke. Maybe they planned a weird Christmas scaven
ger hunt just to teach me for showing up late even though they all knew about Jake and Arla’s wedding last night.

  I have to look at the next blow up. A huge snowman with a blue beanie and the usual carrot nose, button eyes, and the pipe that actually protrudes from his drawn on dotted mouth. He looks cold, even though this is San Diego and it’s hardly ever cold. He has a sign taped to his right red mitt.

  The only mistake I’ve ever really made…

  My heart bottoms out to land with my stomach somewhere around my ankles. I drop the handle of my suitcase and it topples over backwards, but I don’t care. I rush on to the next blow up.

  This can’t be real. I’m still half convinced it’s some prank my brother and maybe even my sister are playing on me.

  The reindeer with the red nose and a strand of Christmas lights draped around his neck has a sign taped to his middle.

  Is not telling you how I felt about you ten years ago.

  The next blow up, the yeti with his hands outstretched a blue scarf, has the biggest sign yet taped to his even bigger midsection.

  Or eleven.

  Or twelve.

  Or thirteen.

  Or fourteen.

  The last Santa, one holding a plate of milk and cookies and smiling broadly with a red tinged nose and the usual red and white outfit, has the final sign.

  All I can do is tell you now.

  And then he’s there. Through my haze of tears and bewilderment, I almost don’t believe he’s real as he pushes through my parent’s red front door—the one my mom insisted on, just like the classic white picket fence around the yard when my dad wanted chain link—and walks across the porch.

  He has a ridiculous ugly Christmas sweater on with a happy tree surrounded by tons of gifts. The whole thing has blinking lights all over the tree and the presents, which is really just crazy.

  Almost as crazy as finding Karsyn standing on my parent’s porch in his black faded jeans, a stupid sweater, and even sillier red and green mismatched socks. He slowly crosses his arms over his chest as he leans up against the pillar of the porch only a few feet away.

  I expect, when I finally find the courage to look at his beautiful face, to see his signature smirk there, but instead I just get a smile. A smile that hurts to look at just as much as it does to actually look at the rest of him.

  “What are you doing here?” I think it’s pretty obvious, but the question just comes tumbling right out.

  Karsyn points to the blow ups. “Exactly what the signs say. I’m here to tell you that I made a mistake ten years ago. I should never have let you leave the way you did. I should have gone after you. I should have made you listen. I should have told you about everything that was going on and told you I was applying for the scholarship. I should have done a lot of things, but the point is, I never should have let it get to the point where here we are, ten years later.”

  I cross my arms over myself, since it’s the only way I can protect myself from him. The boy I grew up with. The first boy I ever loved. The only boy I’ve ever loved.

  Except he wasn’t really a boy then and he’s sure not a boy now. There is nothing about him that is boyish, except maybe the dimple in his cheek when he smiles at me. And he is. Smiling. Even after what he just said. He moves slowly, like I’m a frightened mouse that might run skittering away, to sit down on the porch steps.

  “That’s the past,” I mumble, still in shock that he’s here. In person. That he brought five blow ups to my parent’s house at the butt crack of dawn. “We’ve already talked about it. It’s fine. You don’t have to say anything else. We’re good.”

  Karsyn’s brow wrinkles. “Are we good? See, I’m not done. Not by a long shot. I shouldn’t have done all that ten years ago. I know that now. Which is why I’m not going to do it now. I’m not going to let you go back to Raleigh until you know how I feel.” He swallows hard, his throat bobbing as wildly as my heart is hammering. “The thing is, Breona, I love you. At least, I did. All those years ago. I know it. I wasn’t confused about it just because we were young. I knew what I wanted and I let it go. Let you go. I don’t think I’ve changed my mind. I know that’s not firm sounding, but I don’t want to scare you off, so I’m watering it down.”

  “If this is your watered down version, I’d hate to taste the full on one,” I grind out, seemingly unaffected. Which is an act, by the way. A really good act, because on the inside, I’m dying and melting and flying and a hundred other verbs that I can’t come up with at the moment because what I feel is actually indescribable.

  “No, you wouldn’t.” Karsyn smirks. “I promise you wouldn’t. I’m not asking for you to love me right now. To tell me that. To make any sort of commitment. I’m just asking you to consider it. To take a chance. To take that risk. You said we’re strangers now. I agree. I want to spend time getting to know you again. You said we live in different cities. That’s true, but I could always transfer. I do have a good job, but there are tons of good jobs out there. I’m just asking for a start. A point A. Some kind of mutual ground to try to figure out of this is worth pursuing, because I can’t let you go again. I don’t want to spend another ten years missing you and wondering if this could have been something. If I missed the one shot I had. For me, there’s never really been anyone else. I’ve tried dating. I’ve tried to find that spark, but it’s been dark. This whole time. I finally figured out what the problem was. The problem was that no one else was you. No one else is ever going to be you. There might be plenty of fish in the sea, but they’re all rubbery and inedible. You’re the only fish I want.”

  “Right,” I breathe. I squeeze the heck out of my lungs with my arms just to try and force a breath out and in. It barely works. “So you came here on Christmas morning to ask for a second chance and tell me that I resemble a fish?”

  “You don’t resemble a fish.” Karsyn grins and rolls his eyes so casually that he makes it look hot. “Not at all. That was a really shitty metaphor. I might be smiling at you right now, acting like I have it all together, but the truth is, I’m a wreck. I’m so nervous that I feel like I could barf. And if you say no, I don’t know what I’m going to do, because I wasn’t just guessing at in back when we were friends. I know it’s true now. That we’re good together. That we could be something great.”

  “Not as great as Jake and Arla,” I deadpan, because I’m not sure what else to do.

  “No,” he agrees. He unfolds his long limbs from the porch, strides down the steps, and stops right in front of me. He doesn’t touch me, but his gaze is so intense, so deep and wild and filled with longing that he might as well have wrapped me up in his arms and squeezed the air right out of me. “No, I think Jake and Arla are a one off.”

  It’s the exact thought I had in the car not twenty minutes ago, and the fact that he used the same words makes a shiver trace its way up my spine. Okay, that might be the way Karsyn is looking at me too. Like all this time he hasn’t been the sun. I am, and I just never realized it. Like I really am everything for him. Like he truly will be lost without me. He used to look at me that way too, when we were in high school, but I never got it and I was too scared to take a chance on my own heart.

  Kind of like now.

  “I know you’re scared,” Karsyn says softly.

  I shake my head, so done with him reading my mind. He extends a hand, palm up. He’s so close that I can practically feel the warmth radiating off of him. I can smell his dark, spicy scent and the underlying aroma of coffee, which tells me my family knows all about this, or at least that they welcomed the idea of him setting up a crazy display on their lawn and joining us for our family Christmas.

  “It’s Christmas,” Karsyn implores me, his eyes flashing and his lips twitching, his palm still outstretched. “Give a guy a chance.”

  “Christmas isn’t a legitimate reason,” I hedge. Slowly, I unfold my arms. Even slower, I set my palm in his. “But maybe all that other stuff you said, and the fact that I’m pretty sure I’ve also been in
love with you since the day I saw you, that I’m still in love with you, and that I’m also scared shitless and completely lost, might be a reason to give it a chance.”

  “We might mess it up.” His fingers curl over mine, hot, scalding, a little rough, entirely beautiful.

  “We might.” The thought sends waves of terror through my chest. It turns my stomach.

  “Or we might not.”

  “That’s doubtful.”

  “It is, but we can always try. And keep trying. And try some more. You think Jake and Arla became epic by having an easy ride? Look at his mother. Arla loves him enough to put up with that. I’m sure they fight. I’m sure they’ve had doubts. I’m sure they’ve had rough moments and times when they wanted to quit.”

  Actually, now that he mentions it, I can think of a couple times Arla came to me in high school in tears over something Jake did or said. And how she’d call or text me or have those heart to heart moments with me when she came for a visit or when I saw her at home. He’s right. She did have doubts. She cried about being hurt. About doing the hurting. She never once said she wanted to give up though, even when it was hard as hell to hold it together.