A Very Marycliff Christmas

by MacMillan, Jerica

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue Off Limits

  Dear Reader

  Acknowledgements

  Book Club

  About Jerica MacMillan

  Other Titles on Amazon

  A Very Marycliff Christmas

  Players of Marycliff University Book 7

  Jerica MacMillan

  A Very Marycliff Christmas

  Players of Marycliff University Book 7

  Copyright © 2020 by Jerica MacMillan

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Abby

  The expected knock on the front door brings an irrepressible smile to my face. I’ve been looking forward to today for weeks. Megan is finally here, and I rush to the door to let her in.

  True to form, she makes a dramatic entrance, grunting with effort as she dumps all her stuff in a pile just inside the door. “Guh. I’m not used to lugging all my own shit everywhere anymore.” Then she turns a wide smile on me and holds out her arms.

  Laughing, I give her a tight hug, happy to see her for the first time in months. While Seattle isn’t really that far away, we’re all so busy that we rarely make the five hour trek across the state. I wasn’t expecting to see her at all this winter—because who wants to drive over the passes for no real reason when the weather’s bad?—but then the university announced Coach Hanson’s retirement and word got around about the party the first weekend in December.

  As soon as I heard in October, I was on the phone with Megan to start making plans. I knew there was no way Chris wouldn’t want to come. Coach Hanson is a big part of the reason Chris managed to graduate and worked his ass off to get into the NFL.

  Chris and Megan aren’t the only ones coming, either. Our whole friend group from college is making the trek—those of us who aren’t still in town, anyway. Megan’s actually here a few days early, so we can hang out. Chris can’t get away until the day before the party. He suffered a shoulder injury earlier in the season and has to finish his weekly rehab sessions with the team trainers in Seattle.

  “It’s good to see you in person for the first time in ages,” I tell her, stepping back and reaching for the pillow she dropped on the floor. “We even have a guest bedroom now, so you won’t have to sleep on the couch.”

  “Yippee. Look at us moving up in the world.” She laughs and reaches for her suitcase, following me down the hall to the second bedroom. Lance and I moved over the summer out of our one bedroom and into a larger place. I get the second bedroom as an office, since I work from home, but he insisted that we get a bed in there too so that if our friends or one of his sisters or parents ever decide to visit, they can stay here if they want to.

  The odds of his parents or his youngest sister visiting are pretty low. His dad’s running his garage pretty much singlehandedly now that Marissa is off on her own adventure, and Gabby’s tour schedule and notoriety mean that they spring for a hotel when they’re in the area, otherwise we’d run the risk of paparazzi hanging out on our doorstep.

  While it’s technically possible that Marissa could come visit, she’s busy getting herself set up in California, so I doubt that’ll happen anytime soon.

  “You’re actually our first guest to stay here,” I tell Megan as I place her pillow on the bed.

  She parks her rolling suitcase at the foot of the bed and surveys the room, taking in my desk and the framed prints of her paintings—the originals sold for thousands at her show last year—hanging on the walls before she turns to the bed. It’s nothing too fancy, just a decent mattress on a basic frame, with a fluffy sage green comforter and chocolate brown accent pillows. I wanted red or purple or something more bold, but Lance insisted it needed to be neutral so anyone would feel comfortable. Pffft. Boring is more like it, but I have to admit, it’s a soothing palette, even if I would’ve liked something different.

  “Nice,” Megan says at last. “Sticking with the green blanket theme, I see.” She cracks a grin, and I laugh too. When we were roommates, she always stole my fuzzy green blanket. I eventually gave it to her when I moved in with Lance. She loved that thing more than I did.

  “Of course.” I give her a cheeky grin. “Since I knew you’d end up staying here eventually, green was the only option.”

  She cackles and flops down on the bed. “Naturally. This one is almost as good as the original, I have to say. Less fuzzy, more squishy. I approve.”

  “Good. I was dying for your approval, you know,” I deadpan. “I lost sleep wondering if you’d like it or not.”

  Smile still on her face, she raises one hand and shows me her middle finger, and we both burst out laughing.

  “Do you still have my old blanket?” I ask.

  She gives me a look like I must be crazy. “Of course. That’s the best blanket ever made. And my bestie gave it to me. I’m not going to just toss it because I move to Seattle. What kind of monster do you take me for?”

  With another laugh, I hold up my hands in surrender. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to imply you’re a heartless monster. Just curious.”

  “Well, lay your curiosity to rest. Your old blanket is safe and sound, and I still use it almost every day. It’s my couch blanket.” Rolling onto her side, she snuggles into the pillows and lets out a tired sigh. “I’m wiped out.”

  I frown. Megan’s usually very high energy. “You feeling alright?”

  She lifts a hand and waves it around. “Fine, fine. I just woke up early and it was a long drive all by myself.”

  “Coffee?” I offer. “Lance will be on his way home from work soon, I can have him stop somewhere and pick up a fancy coffee if you don’t want boring made-at-home coffee.”

  “Nah,” she says. “I’m trying to cut back on my caffeine intake.”

  That provokes another funny look from me. Megan cutting back on caffeine? Next she’s going to tell me she’s given up drinking.

  But I don’t say anything because she pushes herself up to sitting and climbs to her feet. “I need a snack,” she announces. “I’ve been craving cheese and crackers lately. Do you have any? Or should we make Lance hit a store on his way home?”

  Amused by the fact that despite cutting back on caffeine for whatever weird reason Megan seems to be entirely unchanged, I lead her to the kitchen in search of cheese and crackers.

  A few minutes later, we settle on the couch with a spread of three kinds of cheese—cheddar, muenster, and string cheese—two kinds of crackers—Ritz and Wheat Thins—plus some sliced ham for me, and we have ourselves a fancy version of Lunchables, the colored lights of the Christmas tree in the corner adding a cozy ambiance.

  Megan laughs as she prepares her plate. “I feel like I’m in elementary school again, but this is the only thing I’ve been able to eat latel
y.”

  I give her a quizzical look as I break off a piece of cheese and lay it on a cracker. “Are you okay, Megan?”

  She nods, holding a hand in front of her mouth as she chews. “Yeah, fine. I’m fine. I’m just …” She bites her lip in an uncharacteristic display of reticence. Megan usually blabs everything that comes into her head. Especially to me.

  “You’re just …”

  She raises her brown eyes to mine, something in her expression that I can’t quite define—excitement? Fear?

  Taking a deep breath, she straightens her spine. “I’m pregnant.”

  My eyes grow wide, and I blink a few times. That wasn’t at all what I expected her to say. “You’re pregnant?” I squeak.

  She’s the one that’s always hassling me about getting pregnant. Anytime I don’t feel good, she’s always popping up with comments about how Lance might’ve knocked me up. So for her to beat me to that milestone is surprising.

  Her cheeks turn a little pink, and I reach for her free hand, giving her a squeeze. “That’s so great. I’m so happy for you. When did you find out? When are you due? What did Chris say?”

  “Um, well.” She ducks her head again and pushes a stray dark curl behind her ear. “I haven’t quite told him yet.”

  That has me blinking in astonishment again. I clear my throat and lick my lips. “Um … why not?”

  She sighs, her shoulders slumping in a defeated posture that I so rarely see on Megan that I’m immediately concerned. I nudge her plate closer. “Eat. Spill. What’s going on?”

  She pops a cracker into her mouth and chews slowly before shaking her head. “I honestly just found out a couple days ago. I haven’t told anybody else. You’re the first to know.”

  That sends a shot of … something through my gut. While I’m thrilled she chose me to be the first to know, I also feel a little weird that I’m finding out before Chris. Shouldn’t he be the first to know he’s going to be a father? I mean, after Megan of course.

  She shakes her head at the expression on my face. “I know. But he’s been so busy and all worried and out of sorts. He got hurt, you know”—she waits for my nod—“and between the talk of surgery and the physical therapy and how long he’s going to be on the injured list and what that might mean for his long-term career prospects …” She sighs. “I just didn’t want to add anything to the pile yet. He’s all wound up about Coach Hanson retiring. Chris thinks there’s something hinky about the whole thing, since Coach is young to retire. So he’s worried maybe Coach is sick or …” She waves a hand. “I’m not sure what exactly. So between pushing himself so hard I’m afraid he’ll make his shoulder worse instead of better and worrying about Coach …” She spreads her hands in a helpless gesture, then lays one gently over her belly. “I figured the news could wait a bit until things calm down.”

  “Have you scheduled a doctor appointment or anything?”

  She shakes her head. “No. I want to tell him before I do that. He’ll want to come with me, as long as he’s not at an away game or anything. I just don’t know if telling him will make him work harder at his therapy or if it’ll make him slack off and claim his injury has him sidelined for the rest of the season so he can be there for all my doctor appointments, you know?”

  I spread my hands. “Or you tell him and let him make his own decisions because he’s an adult.”

  That makes Megan laugh. “Oh, Abby. That’s a bit rich, coming from you, you know. You’re the one who always tries to make sure the outcome will be exactly what you want before making any decisions or giving out too much information.”

  Heat rises to my cheeks. “True. You’re right. But I’ve been working on not taking on responsibility for other people’s emotions anymore. And Chris loves you. He’ll be thrilled at the prospect of having a baby with you. He’ll be hurt if you wait too long to tell him.”

  She sighs again. “You’re right. I know. It’s just …” She closes her eyes and sucks in a deep breath. “I’m terrified,” she whispers. “I didn’t plan for this. My birth control failed, apparently, and here we are.” When she opens her eyes and meets mine, her expression from earlier becomes more clear. That’s fear. Trepidation. It’s obvious now. “I don’t know how to be a mother. What if I screw up my kid? I mean, look at me. I’m such a fuckup that my parents cut me off.”

  I reach for her hand and give it a squeeze. “That’s not what happened, and you know that as well as I do. You cut them off.”

  She makes a derisive noise and drops her gaze to our joined hands. “That’s not quite true, and you know it too. I wanted to still have a relationship with my parents. Want to. But … they don’t want me.” A fat tear slides down her cheek and makes a damp spot on her jeans next to our hands. She sniffs and scrubs at her eyes. “And now my hormones are all wacky, and I keep crying at the drop of a hat, and it’s driving me crazy.”

  “Megan,” I say calmly, waiting for her to look at me. “Listen to me. You are not the problem in your family. You gave your parents every opportunity to get to know you as the person you are and have a relationship with you. They are the ones who’ve decided that they want nothing to do with you. They are the ones who put untenable restrictions on your ability to be whole and happy and healthy.” I pause, examining her face. “You’ve been talking to your mom again.” It’s a statement, but she nods confirmation anyway.

  “Why can’t my parents accept me for who I am?” she wails. “Why is being an artist such a horrible, horrible thing? Why can’t they accept that I’m in love with Chris and that marriage is just a piece of paper? What difference does it make if we say, ‘I do,’ in front of a witness when we say it to each other every day?”

  I squeeze her hand harder, wishing I could do more than offer empty platitudes. “I know, Megan. It sucks. It super sucks. Your parents are just about the worst. I mean, my dad abandoned me, which is super duper shitty, but at least I don’t have to worry about him or what he thinks. Even if he showed up on my doorstep, I don’t think I would give a shit what he had to say about anything in my life. If he wanted to be a judgmental asshole, I’d invite him to go crawl back under the rock he ran off to a billion years ago and never return. I’m sorry your parents can’t accept you. You’re an amazing artist, and I’m glad that you’re my family, even if we’re not related by blood.”

  She blubbers out a half laugh-half sob, and I release her hand to grab the box of tissues from the coffee table. Grabbing two, she presses them to her eyes then blows her nose. “You’re right,” she says after taking several deep breaths and calming down. “I know you’re right. It just sucks that they’re going to be grandparents, and I can’t even tell them. But I feel guilty for not telling them. I want to tell them, but I also don’t ever want them to know about their grandchild, because I know if they’re ever around, they’ll fill my baby’s head with lies and myths and judgment about their parents and by extension themselves. No, thank you. Hard pass.”

  “It sounds like you know what you want to do. It’s okay to stop trying to heal a rift they have no desire to cross. You’re allowed to let go of people who hurt you.”

  She gives me a trembling smile, seeming to calm down a little. “You’re right. Thanks, Abs. I’m glad I came.”

  I give her a reassuring smile. “Me too.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Megan

  Spilling the beans to Abby makes me feel like a weight has lifted off my chest. When I peed on the stick two days ago first thing in the morning, I’d blinked in astonishment when the pink plus sign showed up in a matter of seconds.

  I mean, I suspected I was pregnant. My boobs have been super sore lately, and they’re never sore like that on the pill. Plus my period was supposed to have started days prior. I was due to start taking my next pack the next day, so I took the test, because I didn’t want to keep taking birth control pills if I was pregnant.

  But somehow, I didn’t quite expect the test to be positive.

  And when it was, I fre
aked. I reverted back into some high school version of myself who was terrified my parents would find out I was having sex with my boyfriend and disown me.

  Chris was already at the stadium when I took the test, working with his trainers to rehab his shoulder, meeting with the coaches, doing all the professional football player things he does during the season. Regular workouts still feature prominently in his schedule, strengthening the parts of his body that aren’t affected by his shoulder, though a shoulder injury is apparently more irritating than you’d think at first. He can’t do regular barbell squats, so he’s having to work in more isolation work on all his leg muscles, which isn’t his favorite. Being sick or hurt turns him into a grumbly bear at the best of times, and this injury is one of the more serious ones he’s suffered. He’s been out for a week or two here and there before, but he’s been out for over a month already. He’d caught an interception during a game at the end of October and got hit by two opposing players at the same time, and they’d jammed his arm up and back in its socket, damaging the rotator cuff.

  One of the team PTs claimed surgery was his best hope, but another one insisted that no, a solid therapy program could have him back in fighting shape sooner and with less long-term potential for consequences. The coach ultimately sided with the therapy plan, which was a huge relief to Chris. Surgery would’ve meant he was out for the rest of the season for sure. With therapy, he might be able to make it back into rotation during the regular season, definitely by the postseason.

  But he’s stressed and frustrated that he’s not healing at a miraculous pace, despite everyone cautioning him to be patient and do the work and he’ll come back at the top of his game.

  Adding a baby on top of all this?

  If I’m freaking out, is he going to freak out?

  Is he going to be happy? More stressed? Worried?

  I’m worried. I’ve spent way too much time on the internet the last couple of days reading horror stories about pregnancy and birth and far too few positive stories.