by Angel Payne
Ha. Easier said than done, especially because every ho-ho-ho action the man took brought a flurry of local press love—and the inevitable incredible pictures too. Hating herself for every second, Celina pored over each photo like the sick stalker she’d once accused him of being. When she was sure nobody was looking, she’d run a tender finger over the handsome face in the society pages—only to frown when she looked deeper at the images. His shoulders were too stiff. His smile was more porous than newsprint. Didn’t anyone else see all this? Was anyone there to get angry at how tired he looked, to order him to slow the hell down and lighten the hell up?
The only picture that gave her hope was the shot of him and his new puppy. The shot, taken on that incredible couch of his, showed him next to a Christmas tree that looked plucked out of a State Street window. The pooch was a swoon-worthy yellow Lab. He looked happy and satisfied, like he’d finally decided to get on with his life too.
That was before she found out what he’d named the puppy.
Star.
Celina had tossed that article into the trash can, then took the rest of the afternoon off, claiming she needed to get in some packing. She put up eight more packages worth of lights on the house, then sat on the front lawn and watched the star-shaped bulbs glowing in the twilight. It wasn’t long before the lanterns turned into golden blobs instead. Eyes brimming with tears did that to one’s vision.
“Idiot,” she muttered at herself. You want him. He wants you. There are twenty more days until you leave. What’s the harm of taking one more magic carpet ride? How much worse can the crash landing be than this?
“Worse,” she’d commanded back. “Don’t do it, Cel. Don’t do it. Just get this part the hell over with. Just a few more days, and it’ll be better.”
Dear God, it had to get better.
She still caved to a moment of weakness the next day. After sneaking out of the office “for some air,” she pulled out her cell and punched in his direct office number. But before the line could click through, big brother came to the rescue in the nick of time. Dylan was calling from the base; he’d been called up on one of his famous last-minute, it’s-a-favor-for-the-CO flights, and would Celina like some one-on-one time with her niece before shipping out for the Land of the Rising Sun? Thinking three days with an eleven-year-old wild child was just the distraction she needed, she picked Sami up from school and dragged her promptly to the grocery store for supplies to bake Kourambiedes. Despite Sami’s horrified glance, she’d persisted. How hard could coated butterball cookies be, right?
She had, of course, burned the whole first batch. Sami sheepishly suggested the Web site for Good Day Chicago. Some really cool guy was on it just this morning, she explained, detailing the finer points of Kourambiedes creation. They’d yanked up the site on her laptop.
That “really cool guy” was Dante. Who in the course of the segment, was more than happy to tell the show hostess how passionate he’d suddenly gotten about Greek food. The perky blonde flashed a flirtatious smirk and joked about researching her family tree for some hidden Greek DNA.
Celina had slammed the laptop shut, ditched the cookies, and bought ten more boxes of lights.
By the time Christmas Eve came, Dad had decided that since her place was now the official beacon into outer space for any aliens seeking a holly-jolly rager, the family’s holiday festivities for this year would be relocated to her living room. He gave her all of twelve hours’ notice for the switch, however, meaning that when she opened the door for him on the twenty-fourth, she’d just gotten done setting the world’s record for the fastest tree-trimming job.
After he greeted her with a bone-crushing hug and a buss to her forehead, Dad turned his piercing green stare onto her drooping tree. “Well.” He sighed. “At least you got it up, paidi mou.”
“Well,” she countered, elbowing him as she did, “I only had the dregs to pick from at the tree lot, Captain.”
“A good sailor’s—”
“Ready for anything at any time.” She rolled her eyes. “I know, Dad. I know.”
“Can’t say that Sami’s cell phone shots lied about the outside, though.” He swiveled the force of his gaze back to her. And by force, she meant a look that had surely served him well in prisoner interrogations. “Engaging in a little twinkle-twinkle therapy, sweetheart?”
She shrugged and turned for the kitchen. Anything to avoid his stare, which was cranked to the frequency of a piercing shot into her head. Shit, his scrutiny was like the bright green version of—
No. Don’t think of him. Not now. Not when Dad’s watching for every change down to the sweat in your pores. Don’t think of him, don’t imagine him, don’t remember his frittata right there on your stove, or the way he backed you into that counter…
“I like lights, okay?” she managed to retort.
“Those aren’t lights, daughter mine. Those are a fire hazard.”
“You want a beer?”
“After you tell me who the hell he is.”
Crap.
“What? He who?”
“Celina. Cut the skata.”
The doorbell dinged, but Sami didn’t wait for her to get to the door. Her niece came bounding in with a plate full of perfectly baked Kourambiedes and a potted poinsettia.
“Saved by the eleven-year-old on the holiday break buzz,” Celina muttered. She waved to Dylan, who swaggered in after his daughter and as usual, seemed to take up half the entryway. He looked especially formidable tonight, as he was still dressed in his camouflage work clothes and boots. His arms were filled with presents clearly wrapped by Sami, their seams lined in tape and a multitude of bows topping each package.
“Sorry for the grunge, Cel,” he called. “Long-ass day.”
“Yeah, yeah, likely story.” The comeback came from behind him, with the distinctive dry drawl of the guy who occupied the birth order between her and Dyl. Sure enough, Nikola slipped inside, carrying himself with wildcat grace, still finger combing his navy reg haircut. Though just an inch or so shorter than Dylan, Nik always carried himself with an elegance that made him compensate for the difference. Even tonight, though he still wore camos from the waist down, he’d changed into a long-sleeved navy crewneck that accented his torso in all the right ways. Yep, Nikola was her sib with the smooth wardrobe and the smoother nerves. It had surprised no one that he applied for Explosive Ordnance Disposal training as soon as he was able.
“Hey, Versace boy.” Dylan chuffed as he gave Nik a once-over. “Who the hell you trying to impress?”
Nik snorted. “It’s Christmas Eve, ass munch. Did you even shower?”
“Hey!” Dyl jerked his head toward Sami. “Language, dick wad.”
“Dear Lord,” Celina mumbled.
“All right, you two.” Dad issued the interjection. “Grab some beers and take it outside for a few.” He reached inside the fridge and pulled out three of the bottles Celina always kept on hand for her brothers. But instead of keeping the third bottle for himself, he handed the trio over to her. “Your sister will be joining you.”
Her nerves went on alert. Hell. She smelled a setup.
“Dad, I have a turkey and a ham in the oven.”
“And now that I’m monitoring them, we know nothing will come out black.”
Celina swung a glare at Sami. Her niece gave up a giggle. “Sorry, Auntie Cel. I couldn’t help telling them about the cookies. It was funny!”
From the front door, Dylan yelled, “Get your ass out here, kopelia mou. Bring some of that flawlessly made Kourambiedes too. Gee, I wonder which awesome brother is responsible for that.”
“Not funny, Dyl,” she called back.
The snow they’d gotten on Thanksgiving had long since melted. Now it was just plain cold outside, making her glad for the beer’s warmth in her blood as she joined Dylan on the front porch swing. She’d be even warmer if she were drinking some of Dante’s scotch—a thought that got banished as soon as it struck. Damn it, she wasn’t going there. Not tonight. Not eve
r. She was better than that. She had to be. Mom and Natalie had let the beast suck them in. A few flashes of bling and a shiny sugar-daddy lollipop, and they were gone without a thought about the emotional destruction in their wake. She’d beaten the beast. She could sure as hell live without Dante Tieri’s stupid expensive scotch.
Living without Dante Tieri was another issue altogether.
“Crap almighty, Cel.” Nikola stood on her lawn between a family of snowmen and a pair of reindeer that dipped their heads up and down, “feeding” on his boot. “Thank fuck I don’t have to disarm this time bomb.”
“I think you got that wrong, Fusion.” Dylan wielded Nik’s service call sign with an affectionate smirk. “Looks like the device has detonated already.” He took another swig of his beer and stretched a hand around her shoulder. “The question is, Celinitsa, when are you gonna blow too?”
She surged to her feet. “Damn it, I knew it. Dad—”
“Is concerned about you, like we are.” Nik barely moved as he said it, but his tone still struck like a slap. “You think because you’re not hitting a front line that the rules of departure don’t apply to you? Things at home need to be clean and right, or you’re going to be worth shit to your country over there.”
She turned on them, heading for the porch rail. She wished she could grip it, but it was wound tight with little glowing candy canes. “I’m fine, okay? Things are clean.” Damn it, the “clean” was driving her crazy.
“What about right?”
The question came from Dylan. It made her shiver. He never resorted to using a funeral-parlor murmur like that, unless he felt the situation was just as serious. Celina locked her teeth and gulped deep, fighting back the words she desperately wanted to give her brother, preferably in huge sobs against his rock-hard shoulder.
Right? No, Dyl. Things aren’t right, because the only man who’s made me feel more “right” in my life is fourteen years older than me, makes more in an hour than I do in a year, and turns me to applesauce by paddling my ass raw. I’m not sure how to make all that into a nice big case of “right,” do you?
“I—I’m fine, you guys.” She forced it out, knowing they wouldn’t let up if she didn’t.
“And reindeer really know how to fly,” Nik countered.
Still using the funeral home voice, Dylan asked, “You want to tell us about him?”
She backhanded the tears off her cheeks. “No. Just—you guys—no, I don’t.” I can’t.
What the hell could make this Christmas Eve more morose?
The next moment, she could’ve shot herself for the question. Dylan’s cell, though set on vibrate in his pocket, buzzed into the night like a bomb fuse set afire. Celina turned and watched her brother’s face as he looked at the screen. Correction: her brother’s glower.
“Is it Natalie?” Her logic went there naturally. It would be just like Dyl’s ex to call from some glamour port on the other side of the world, where it was Christmas Day already and she was celebrating with a sangria while some hunk named Hans gave her “stressed-out” shoulders a rubdown.
“No,” Dylan snapped. “Worse.” He rammed the phone to his ear as he said, “Kouris here, Commander.”
Celina’s stare locked to Nik’s. “Now?” she whispered. Her brother only shrugged.
Dylan got off the call fast. He didn’t say anything as he repocketed the phone.
“What’s up?” Nike asked. “You’re not buggin’, are you?”
Dylan’s gaze, normally the shade of decadent chocolate, went thunder dark. “Yeah. I’m afraid so.”
“What?” Celina slammed her beer on the deck table. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing basic transports and shit now? Is that why you requested to be based here, mister single dad?”
“Sometimes situations call for duty in different ways, Cel.”
Comprehension hit like all the lights on the house really did blow up. “Crap. Crap. These ‘little hops’ you’ve been doing… Oh Dyl, are you going on fighter runs again?”
Her brother looked down at the hand she gripped to his shoulder. Then raised his somber gaze to her face. “This isn’t the time, Cel. There’s shit happening that I can’t tell you about. Let it rest.”
“Let what rest?”
The question came from Dad, who’d opened the door and let out a tantalizing draft of roasted meats, fresh potatoes, and something with pumpkin in it.
“Damn,” Dylan muttered. “That smells fucking good.” He threw a fast glance at Dad. “Sorry, Captain. I’m not gonna be able to stay and enjoy it.”
Dad nodded. “You do what you have to do, Lieutenant.”
“Thanks, Dad. I will.”
“What?”
The interruption burst from Sami this time. The girl poked out from behind Dad, an iPod in her hand and new grief welling in her big dark eyes. “Daddy? What’s happening?”
Dylan crouched down and reached for his daughter. “Samantha Karena,” he said softly. “Come here.” As his daughter rushed and clutched him, using the seat he created for her with his thigh, he squeezed his eyes shut and kissed the top of her head. He enfolded her like she was a fifty-three-inch version of the Hope Diamond. Celina palmed back more tears, caught between wanting to embrace her brother in pride and knock him up the side of the head in fury. The dilemma only worsened when Sami’s heavy sniff cut through the thick silence that had taken over the porch.
“Do you have to go, Dad?”
Dylan dipped his face into his daughter’s hair for a long moment before speaking again. “Who are you?” he charged softly.
“Samantha Karena Kouris.” The response wavered with tears.
“Again.”
“Samantha. Karena. Kouris.” She raised her head and said the syllables boldly this time. “The kid of the bad-ass, supersonic, bad-guy-whooping Falcon.”
Everyone erupted in chuckles. “No coaching going on there, huh?” Nik quipped.
Sami was the first to go sober again. “I understand you need to go, Dad. But now who’s gonna be my date for the Kris Kringle Ball tomorrow night?”
Celina looked up. Nik was already prepped with the don’t-look-at-me scowl. Though attending the base’s annual Christmas night bash was a family tradition, Nikolas made it a point to stay off the dance floor. Nobody ever argued. Nik’s creator had given him the hands of a surgeon, the nerves of a Zen monk, and the dancing ability of a drunk monkey.
Thankfully, Dad spoke up. “I’ll be proud to take you to the dance, manari mou.”
Sami but her lip. “Uhhh, no offense, papou, but…errr, you’re my grandfather and…”
Dad chuckled. “I understand, honey. Your friends will be there. You want somebody with a hotness factor.”
From the shadows just beyond the flare from the house lights, an easygoing baritone called out, “Will your new Navy SEAL uncle do?”
They all let out gasps of shock. The next second, a handsome, familiar face materialized from the darkness. Dad got his voice back first. “Cam?”
Her little brother grinned and waggled his dark brows. He still wore his uniform. On the right side of his chest, there was a brand-new SEAL Team trident patch.
“Holy shit!” Nik was the closest to the street, so got to his brother first. The whole family fast piled on top of their embrace. Celina gave up trying to hold in her tears.
“When…how…” She couldn’t seem to form a full sentence.
Cameron laughed at her and looked up at the house in amazement. “Cel, I swear to God, I saw your house from the transport.”
“Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?” Dad broke in. “I could’ve picked you up, Son.”
“I didn’t know myself until this morning,” Cameron answered. “They put us through a crappy-ass morning PT and were waiting with the patches when we got back. Believe me, after that PT, the walk here from the ‘L’ was a jaunt in the fucking park.”
“Hey!” Dylan cuffed Cam across the top of his head. “SEAL or not, watch your language a
round my kid.”
“Eat me, asshat.”
Nik chuffed. “Nice one, Cam.”
Dylan barreled into both of them at once. The three men rolled across the lawn like bears fighting over a salmon.
“Ahhhh!” Celina screamed. “Watch out for the rein—”
Too late. The decorations got kicked out to the street.
Sami shook her head and planted her hands on her hips. “Jeez. Boys. They’re never easy, are they, Auntie Cel?”
Celina curled Sami’s head into the crook of her shoulder. Naturally, even thinking of answering the question filled her mind with Dante. She wondered what he was doing on this starry, chilly night. She wondered if he was spending the evening with all those people from the photos in his home, laughing and eating, or if he even tumbled across a lawn somewhere with his own brothers. Shockingly, she could really envision that. The image made her smile softly, before she scraped it free from her mind and forced it to vanish.
“No,” she finally answered her niece. “They’re not easy, sweetie…but every once in a while, they can be worth the trouble.”
Chapter Seventeen
Dante thought about backing out of the Kris Kringle Ball gig this year. This would be his sixth return to the event; surely somebody else was chomping at the bit to get into the Santa suit for once. But Lois Stanbridge, the sweet little coordinator from the veterans’ wives group that put on the party, had called and begged until her face was likely more blue than her hair. Just what was he supposed to use for a good back-out? He was out of town? A lie easily exposed. His puppy was crapping all over the condo? Not a lie but not effective; she’d just tell him to bring Star along with him.
For a wild moment, he considered the truth.
I’m sorry, Lois, old girl. You see, I’m barely in the holiday spirit this year because every other beat of my heart is screaming for a woman I can’t have. Let me tell you about the night I gave my heart to her. It also happened to be the night she surrendered her body and spirit to me. Did I forget to mention the paddle and the anal plug I used on her? Did I also forget to mention there’s a good chance she’ll be at this damn ball?
