A Holiday Temptation: A Holiday Novella

by Tiffany Patterson

  “Thankfully, they do.”

  She smiles at me, and I don’t miss that sadness in her eyes. The same that’s always called to me.

  “You’re not close with your family?”

  She shakes her head. “Don’t have much family to speak of, really. Just Mama and I now, which isn’t the worst thing. I have an aunt out on the West Coast, but she prefers traveling with one of her many boyfriends during the holidays. She’s a bit of a free-spirit.”

  “And your dad is gone?”

  Her body tenses up at the mention of her deceased father. Yet, I don’t get the feeling it’s out of sadness for his passing. Jackie again looks toward the living room for her mother. The move brings to mind a parent checking to see if their child is doing okay.

  “He’s giving her a drink.”

  I glance over and then take hold of Jackie’s arm, stilling her. “That’s Buddy. It’s fine. He wouldn’t do anything to her. Look, she likes it.” I motion my head toward her mother, who smiles after taking a sip of whatever Buddy just handed her. The football game is on, so it’s impossible to hear what either one says.

  Buddy is Connor’s former head trainer and still trains and runs the Underground fights that Damon and the other guys here participate in. Joshua Townsend, Aaron’s brother, is Connor’s close friend and will likely stop by later on after their family’s dinner.

  “You know him?”

  “He used to train my brother. Still runs the underground fights.”

  That grabs Jackie’s attention, and her gaze narrows on me. “The underground fights you still participate in?”

  I smirk at the anger in her voice. “From time to time.” In actuality, I rarely get in the ring to fight, but now and again, I do.

  “I should put my foot up his ass.”

  Laughter bursts out of my mouth at how her gaze zeroes in on Buddy. I don’t know what I like more, how protective over me she’s being, or how fucking adorable she looks.

  “Wouldn’t try that shit if I were you.”

  Frowning, I turn to find my brother standing over us with his arms folded, staring at Jackie.

  “She didn’t ask you,” I snap.

  His gaze meanders over to me, his frown deepening before he turns back to Jackie.

  “Buddy’s old as hell, but he’s quicker than he appears.”

  “I’ll take note of that,” Jackie replies, looking Connor in the eye.

  Inwardly, I grin.

  “Food’s ready!” Resha calls as she enters the dining room with bowls of food in each hand.

  Connor and I both move to take the bowls from her and place them on the table.

  “Where’s my baby?” Resha asks, looking around.

  “Being passed around like a damn hooker on Tenth Street. Gimme my son,” Connor insists as he takes Colin from Buddy’s arms. Jackie’s mom had held him for a little while also.

  “You weren’t lying when you said his language was colorful,” Jackie murmurs in my ear.

  “I never said colorful, sweetheart. I said the bastard talks and curses like a sailor.”

  She snickers and turns to help her mother take her seat, which I notice is right beside Buddy, who’s handing her another drink. Jackie sees as well, staring at the glass in her mother’s hand.

  I watch as she says something to her mother, but the older Hinkerson shakes her head dismissively.

  “Everything all right?” I ask as I move my chair in to sit beside her.

  Jackie turns worried eyes on me. “I’ve never seen her drink more than half a glass of wine.”

  “She’ll be okay,” I say, not because I know it to be accurate but because I hate the look of concern in Jackie’s eyes.

  Dinner goes by quickly. For once, I find myself more involved in the conversation with the woman beside me than the food. Don’t get me wrong, Resha’s food is terrific, but something about the way Jackie giggles at my corny jokes makes me want to keep hearing it forever. The turkey, stuffing, and green beans on my plate don’t compare to hearing that sound.

  “You’re ridiculous,” she huffs. “Wilkens is no match for Gabriel Townsend.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? Wilkens has the speed and endurance, and if he can last on his feet, Townsend’s got trouble on his hands.”

  She shakes her head, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “See? That’s the thing … if he can stay on his feet. How many have tried, unsuccessfully, to remain on their feet with Townsend? He’s too strong, and they can’t do it. Wilkens won’t be any different.”

  I shrug and throw up my hands. “I’ll concede that point. I just think Wilkens has what it takes to last more than two rounds with Townsend. If he gets his head out of his ass and trains for it.”

  Jackie nods vigorously. “That’s another thing. Wilkens is too cocky to see the blindspots in his game. His old trainer said that’s why he chose to move on.”

  I nod, enthralled with her knowledge of the MMA fighting world. Another thing we had in common that surprised the hell out of me when I was younger.

  “Hey, with the last name Townsend, do you think your Aaron Townsend and Gabriel’s family are related? Townsend is a common name, but maybe, right?”

  I grin. “First of all, he’s not my Aaron Townsend.”

  She snickers. “You know what I mean.”

  Chuckling, I nod. “Yeah, they are related.”

  Her eyes widen.

  “Turns out, Aaron didn’t even know, according to what I’ve heard. But apparently, Gabriel and his side of the family are cousins with the Townsends here in Williamsport. Isn’t that right, big guy?” I ask, turning to Connor.

  “Don’t ask me. I don’t get involved in other people’s family shit. Pass me those sweet potatoes.”

  I snicker as I hand off the bowl he asked for. “Give me my nephew before you spill food on him while he’s sleeping.”

  Connor frowns but hands me the baby. My heart constricts in my chest as I watch the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps.

  “How he can sleep amongst all this noise is beyond me.”

  Jackie leans in, laughing. “Oh please, he sleeps like his uncle. From what I recall, once you were out, you were dead to the world.”

  Our gazes lock as I pick my head up, and a just that quickly, a charged energy pulses between us. Colin takes that moment to stretch in his sleep, sighing heavily. Jackie’s gaze drops to the baby.

  “You ever think about having one of these?”

  “All the time,” she answers before glancing back up at me.

  That same pulse vibrates around us, only stronger.

  “Just waiting on the right man to do it with.”

  My eyes narrow as I attempt to read the look in her eyes.

  “Mark O’Brien!”

  The sudden burst of sound from the other side of Jackie snaps us out of our connection. I move forward to gain better sight of her mother.

  “Mark O'Brien, that’s you, right?” her mother asks, her voice slurring. She’s loud enough that some at the table and the living room look over at her.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I remember you.” She points her finger at me as if calling in a memory from long ago.

  I lift both eyebrows because I’m certain Jackie’s mother and I never met before. It was one of the things that bothered me about our relationship. She never introduced me to her parents. Never even allowed me over to her home.

  “Jackie talked all about you in that diary she kept in high school.”

  “Mama, you read my diary?” Jackie asks, startled.

  Her mother looks to her and nods. “You never talked to me about your life, and your father—”

  “That’s enough, Mama,” Jackie suddenly cuts her off.

  Mrs. Hinkerson keeps going, despite Jackie trying to get her to stop talking. “She wrote that she loved you.”

  The scene in front of me confuses and then starts to anger me. I recall back all those years ago when Jackie’s reluctance to
let me meet her family brought up the feelings of not being good enough.

  But she was writing in her journal that she loved me? The hell sense did that make?

  “Jackie, why didn’t you tell me we’re having dinner with your old high school boyfriend? Your father would’ve—”

  “Let’s go, Mama,” Jackie suddenly declares, standing from her seat and hurriedly helping her mother up.

  I don’t pay much attention as the pair make their awkward exit. The emotional fog of anger and confusion consumes me whole.

  Why the hell do I keep letting this woman who obviously doesn’t believe I’m good enough for her reel me in?

  Chapter 12

  I’m so pissed with my mother I could spit nails. Not only did she completely embarrass me in front of Mark’s entire family and friends, but she could be the reason this whole thing blows up in my face.

  Sighing, I press back against my driver’s seat as I sit in the parking garage of Mark’s condo.

  “This isn’t her fault,” I say over and over because it’s not. My mother, for better or worse, is hurting. Pain mixed with alcohol is never a good thing. I should know, seeing as how I’ve worked in treatment centers for years. Yet, this is the first night I’ve ever seen my mother drink so much.

  Who knew she becomes a Chatty Kathy when she’s drunk?

  Anyway, my mother’s the least of my concerns at the moment. After leaving the O’Briens’, I got us home, and after some time, I was able to get my mother into bed for the night. Then I tried calling Mark to no avail.

  I kept picturing the expression on his face as we left out the door. He was glaring straight ahead, his jaw rigid with anger and flared nostrils. I couldn’t figure out exactly why, but what my mother said pissed him off. I wanted to call to apologize for her behavior, but my calls went straight to voicemail.

  Once my mother went back to bed, I hopped in the car, knowing I couldn’t wait to speak to him.

  That’s how I find myself heading into Mark’s building, using the security code for the elevator that takes me up to his third floor apartment. As I come to lift my hand to knock on the large, metal door, I pause, wondering if this is the right thing to do. Before I can answer my question, my fist is pounding against the door.

  Stopping, I hear movement on the other side. Bending low, I look into the peephole to see he’s looking through it.

  “Open the door. I know you’re in there.”

  There’s silence on the other side.

  “Open the door, Ma—”

  He yanks the door open before I can finish his name. “What?”

  Pushing through his door, passing him, I don’t let his attitude deter me. Something propels me to get the air between us clear.

  “You were ignoring my calls.” I fold my arms as I spin to face him.

  “Wasn’t ignoring them. I was directing them to voicemail.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m tired and want to go to bed.”

  “Liar.”

  He snorts. “I’m not the only liar in this damn room.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Oh, so now, in addition to being a liar, you’re playing dumb as well?” he asks, slamming the door.

  “You’re going to wake your neighbors.”

  “So? And you know damn well what I mean. But since you want me to spell it out, fine, what the hell were you doing writing how much you loved me in your high school diary, but never let me meet your parents? Why the hell did I feel like the most important part of your world every minute we were together, but you never let me fully into that world? Why the hell did you treat me like I was never fucking good enough for you? And why the hell are you here now doing the same damn thing?”

  His questions are so fierce and forceful that I stumble backward a couple of feet, my arms falling to my sides. The air seeps from my lungs as if I were a deflated balloon.

  “Never good enough? Is that what you think? After all these years?”

  “What the hell else am I supposed to think?”

  “That I was telling you the truth.”

  “When? All those times you refused to let me even meet your parents but had no problem sneaking out of your house late at night to come to meet me at one of my fights? Was I not good enough to meet the state justice?”

  My eyes water as I shake my head. “You got this all wrong.”

  “How, J? How do I have it all wrong?”

  “He was never good enough to meet you,” I shout with my hands fisted at my sides.

  Mark’s eyes widen in surprise, but I keep going.

  “I hated my father more than anyone else on this planet. Hell, I still do. And yes, I wrote in my high school diary about you because you were my world. But I kept it hidden deep in my drawers because I didn’t want him to find it. He’d take you away from me just like he did every other good thing in my life. He was a controlling, manipulative son of a bitch. The one good thing about him is that he’s dead.”

  I pause to catch my breath, just in time to stop myself from blurting out how my father still controls my life from his grave.

  “I was never embarrassed by you, Mark. Not once. I didn’t care that your family didn’t have money or whatever. My father …” I sigh, trying to find the right words to explain all of this. “You met my mother tonight. She’s been weak for him my whole life. He used to hit her and me when he didn’t get his way. Not often, but when he felt like he was losing control. He would’ve done his best to destroy your family.”

  “He couldn’t have.”

  I nod. “He could, Mark. He was a state justice. Some people had him on the shortlist for the next Supreme Court nominee. You think prospects like that don’t come with all manners of power? He had the ear of local, state, and federal politicians. One word from him, and you could’ve easily found yourself in a world of trouble. I couldn’t … no, I wouldn’t let that happen to you. I already caused you enough pain.”

  His eyebrows narrow. “What do you mean by that?”

  I press my hand to my chest as my stomach quivers. “You don’t remember, do you?”

  He moves closer, stopping just in front of me. “What, J? Just say it.”

  “It’s my fault you’re in that chair.” My voice chokes, but I’m able to get the words free from my throat. It’s the first time I’ve said them out loud in sixteen years.

  “What?”

  I shake my head, not wanting to explain, fearing that he really will hate me once he knows the full truth.

  “I’m the reason you can’t walk.”

  He shakes his head. “A drunken fall off a second-story banister is the reason I’m paralyzed.”

  Pushing out a breath, I squeeze my eyes closed. “That’s what happened. You remember that part?”

  “It’s what they told me in the hospital. My memory from that night has always been fuzzy. I remember fighting in one of my usual fights that night and winning. And I remember you being there.”

  I nod. Mark was in a local underground fight group in high school. I’d accompanied him to a lot of those fights during our sophomore and junior years.

  “And we went to that party on Sheffield Road to celebrate your win.”

  He nods. “I had a few too many, got stupid drunk, and leaned too heavily on a wooden banister in that abandoned house. Lights out.”

  “Yeah, but you could’ve walked after that. I remember seeing your legs move after your initial fall. I ran down the stairs to help you as everyone else heard cops and the ambulance coming and ran out of the house. I knew better.”

  “How does any of that make this your fault?” He holds his arms out wide.

  “Because I wanted to help. I was so scared, seeing you lying there, groaning in pain. There was blood, and I just wanted to help. My CPR training kicked in, and I turned you over, moving you around, forgetting one of the first rules. I forgot you’re not supposed to move someone’s who’s been injured like that.

  “Later, I overheard
one of your doctors say to another that your spinal injury was exacerbated by what I did. No one ever told me directly, but I knew it was my fault that you could no longer walk. I’m so sorry.”

  I cover my hands with my face, finally letting go of the tears I’d been holding onto. I hated myself still for what I’d done. Yes, it was an accident, but a horrible accident and something that could never be undone.

  “I’ll go now.”

  I roll myself closer, getting in Jackie’s way, preventing her from leaving. “Go where? You can’t just lay some heavy shit like that on me and walk away,” I say, pulling her arms away from her face.

  She drops them at the same time I pull her onto my lap.

  “What are you doing?” she croaks out.

  “Hell if I know. I hate to see you cry, though.” I bring her face in between my hands and kiss her forehead before lowering to her lips.

  She pulls back and swallows. “Didn’t you hear what I just said? It’s my fault you’re in this chair.”

  Shaking my head, I demand, “Stop saying that shit. Have you been living with this for the past sixteen years?”

  She nods at the same time I roll us into my bathroom. Frowning, I reach down into the cabinet next to the sink and remove a fresh washcloth. I don’t say much as I wet it and then use it to wash her face.

  “You're mascara was running.”

  “I wore it for you tonight,” she admits.

  I kiss her lips.

  “You don’t hate me?”

  Exhaling, I look her in the eye. “I tried hating you for years. Not because I blamed you for putting me in this chair but because I thought you never believed I was good enough for you, especially after my accident.”

  She turns to me, placing her arms over my shoulders. “That was never true, Mark. I wasn’t good en—”

  “Shut your damn mouth if you’re about to say what I think you’re going to,” I growl. “No one’s better than the other here, got it?”

  She hesitates, but then nods. “What about …” She looks down at the arms of my chair.

  Sighing, I turn us around and exit the bathroom, heading across the hardwood floor of my condo to my bedroom.