by CP Smith
Table of Contents
Epilogue
A Scrooged Christmas
Copyright
Titles by CP Smith
Dedication
Note From The Author
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Read all the titles in the Scrooged Christmas Anthology
Table of Contents
A Scrooged Christmas
Copyright
Titles by CP Smith
Dedication
Note From The Author
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Read all the titles in the Scrooged Christmas Anthology
Copyright © 2017 by cp smith
All rights reserved
Luke: A Scrooged Christmas is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author’s ridiculous imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
First Edition: 2017
Editor Julia Goda
Formatting: CP Smith
Cover design: Dark Waters Covers
Titles by CP Smith
A Reason to Breathe
A Reason to Kill
A Reason to Live
Restoring Hope
Property Of
FRAMED
Wallflowers: Three of a Kind
Wallflowers: Double Trouble
Luke: A Scrooged Christmas
Dedication
For those who have lost the unimaginable,
just know that you’re not alone.
Dear Readers,
I intentionally used the name Lucas Deacon Knight in A Scrooged Christmas. I borrowed this name to show respect for a woman, and author, whose worlds have entertained so many of us and whose strength and respect for women, as we fight daily for our place in this world, is unmeasurable. Kristen Ashley's worlds helped me believe in myself when I thought I was useless. Her words lifted me up so I could continue my own story, rather than lying in a hole of despair. Her Luke is a character I adore. I never thought to use his name in my own writing because I knew I couldn’t do it justice. But then this broken man came to me for A Scrooged Christmas, and I knew he deserved a great name, a strong name, so I gave him one I cherish. He may not be as cool as the original Luke, but he has a place in my heart all the same.
Merry Christmas to every one of you. May this holiday season bring you many blessings.
OXOX
Teeny
One
December 21st
Gray clouds hung over Tulsa like a bad mood. Snow was threatening, to the glee of children everywhere, promising a rare white Christmas in the Sooner State. I glanced around my hometown as my brother drove me home from the airport, amazed at how much it had grown in the years since I’d been gone. What used to be farm land, or home to grazing cattle and horses, was now abuzz with activity as new homes sprung from the earth, forever changing the landscape of the city.
Turning toward my brother, I scowled at him, sure I hadn’t heard him correctly as he announced he was leaving town soon. “This will be my first Christmas home since Dad died, and you’re going to be out of town?”
Gregg shrugged, unfazed by my anger as usual. Nothing ruffled his feathers. If he were any more laid back, he’d be dead. “We’ve been booked for six months. I didn’t know when we agreed to play during the holidays that you’d decide to move home. I figured after all the time you spent in the Sunshine State, you’d settle there after you finished your master’s degree.”
I glared at his profile, wishing I had a super power so I could inflict pain. Or, at the very least, bend him to my will so I wouldn’t be alone at Christmas. Though, I suppose the fact he was in town at all was a miracle. He played bass guitar for a successful up and coming country band, and was on the road at least forty weeks out of the year.
“When do you leave?” I asked, then rubbed my hands together to circulate my blood. After years in Florida, it seemed thinner than when I’d left. Now the sub-zero temperature crept into my bones like an unwanted virus.
Gregg’s eyes darted to mine, then his face pulled into chagrin. “Tomorrow,” he mumbled without the least bit of the guilt his expression implied.
“Sorry? Did you just say tomorrow?”
His mouth pulled into a flirty smile that I’m sure worked on most women—except me. “Anna Banana,” he crooned. I hated my nickname. “Next year I’ll be here, I promise.”
“So you’re telling me that I’m going to be alone the entire holiday? New Year’s Day as well?”
He rolled his lips between his teeth and kept quiet, waiting for me to erupt.
“This sucks,” I whined.
“You could come with us,” he offered, and I knew he meant it. But traveling with a bunch of rowdy men while they kicked up their heels wasn’t my idea of fun.
My nose started to tingle, and I knew tears weren’t far behind. “I know it’s been a few years since Mom and Dad died, but it’s still gonna be hard, Gregg. And you want me to be alone in that big house by myself?”
“I didn’t plan it this way,” he sighed, sounding a bit defensive. “I want to be here to support you, but I can’t back out, even if I wanted to.”
My nose tingled harder, and I closed my eyes.
“Jesus. Please tell me you aren’t crying.”
I took a deep breath to control my emotions. It didn’t work. “I’m not crying,” I bit out, then hiccupped.
“Anna Banana.”
“I swear to God, if you call me that one more time,” I growled.
Gregg reached over and tried to tickle me. I slapped at his hand, then punched him in the arm for good measure.
“Keep your hands on the wheel, asshole. And slow down; the roads are getting slick.”
“I’ll slow down if you say you forgive me,” Gregg bargained with a grin.
I rolled my eyes. He knew I couldn’t stay mad at him for long. No matter what. We’d been each other’s safety net our whole lives. Adopted as infants by an older couple, Gregg and I had always been close. He was fiercely protective of me, like any good brother should be, even though we weren’t related by blood. The Stubbs had been wonderful parents, even though they were in their late fifties when they took us on. But adopting us at middle age meant they passed away too soon for either Gregg’s or my liking. Now it was just the two of us against the world.
I reached out and tugged on his chocolate-colored ear. He turned his amber-colored eyes toward me and smiled. He’d never cared that I was white and he was black. We were siblings. The Stubbs twins, we’d used to say. And nothing would change that.
Not even being abandoned at Christmas.
Christmas lights flickered brightly as Luke made his way out of the hardware store. There was an animated Santa Claus positioned by the door, waving as customers came inside. His large belly, bright red suit, and jolly deposition put shoppers in the mood
to spend money, but Luke ignored it. His mood most days ranged from indifferent to downright sullen. And it was worse at Christmastime.
Pausing as he pushed open the glass door, he glanced past the animated decoration and froze. There was a nativity scene adjacent to the jolly old elf, complete with life-size baby Jesus. This particular Jesus had been Americanized with blond hair and blue eyes, instantly reminding Luke of his deceased nephew. In fact, he looked so much like Matthew that the dull ache that came whenever he thought about him burned hotter—until a sharp pain enveloped his gut, threatening to pull him under. In an instant, Luke could see his nephew’s bright eyes smiling back at him as his chubby cheeks pulled into a grin. And he knew if he closed his eyes and focused, he could still hear his voice babbling as he lay in his crib.
For a moment, he let the memories swirl through his mind’s eye until the ache was too much to bear. Then he passed through the door and headed for his truck, ignoring the Salvation Army volunteer as he petitioned shoppers for their spare change. It had been over four years since his nephew died, but at that moment, it felt like it happened yesterday, and Luke could barely breathe.
Casting his gaze to the ground, Luke moved to his truck and yanked open the door, tossing the supplies he’d purchased on the seat before climbing in. Then he took a deep breath to ease the guilt that always came when he thought about little Matthew.
His younger sister, Jess, had gotten pregnant at eighteen by an asshole who’d taken off, and she’d refused to abort the child, going against their parents’ wishes. She was bright and full of promise, a hard worker destined for something better than flipping burgers while being a single mother, they’d said. Jess was stubborn, though, and moved out just to spite them, saying she’d find a way to make it work. That she wasn’t giving up her child for anyone. His parents had turned to him, begging him to talk some sense into her. So Luke, being twenty and out on his own, had moved her in with him so she could keep her child and still attend college like their parents wanted.
Their arrangement had been simple. She would drop Matthew off at daycare, and Luke would pick him up. And at night, they shared the load of changing diapers so she could study.
Matthew was just as smart as his mother, with a ton of energy to boot. It was a full-time job keeping up with him, one that Luke hadn’t minded one bit. Then one day, he’d picked him up from daycare, and his whole world changed. The temperature had been in the hundreds that day, and his AC was on the blink, so he’d had to keep the windows rolled down on his piece-of-shit car. He was exhausted from the heat, having worked outside the whole day, so he hadn’t paid much attention to what Matthew was doing on the drive home. A mile from his house, he looked into the rearview mirror as movement caught his eye, just in time to see Matthew had wiggled out of his car seat like Houdini. One second he was there, and the next he’d tumbled out the open window before Luke had a chance to react. They’d lost him three days later to severe head trauma from the fall.
Luke glanced at the radio as he started his truck. It was December 21st, four days till Christmas. The familiar tug on his heart crept in, and he clenched his jaw. In four more days, Matthew would have been six years old.
Two
“You wanna grab a burger and a beer at Crow Creek?” My stomach grumbled in response. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Gregg chuckled.
“I don’t suppose you stocked the cabinets in preparation for my arrival,” I asked, watching as rain turned to snow and danced its way down to the ground. “If not, I’ll have to go out in this.”
His brows rose. “You think I’d let my little sister starve?”
I snorted. He was older by one day.
I cocked an eyebrow and considered. “Probably not. You only abandon me at Christmas, not starve me.”
“Shrew,” he mumbled.
“Deviant,” I replied.
“Pale-ass pain in my butt.”
“Oooo, I’ve never been called pale before.”
“Dracula has more color than you, woman. What the hell did you do down in Florida? ’Cause it sure as hell wasn’t tanning on the beach.”
“Studied my ass off.”
He looked down to where said ass rested on the seat. “So that’s what happened to it.”
I narrowed my eyes. “It’s big enough.”
“Maybe for a white man. I like my women with a caboose.”
“You like your women easy.”
He grinned. “That too.”
“Like I said, deviant.”
We both grinned. It had been a long time since we’d given each other hell.
“I just need to make a quick stop at the hardware store, then we’ll grab that burger,” he mumbled as we approached Midtown Hardware.
I started to say, “While you’re in there pick out a gift for yourself,” because I’d yet to go shopping, but Gregg started pumping the brakes in preparation to turn. His Jeep didn’t cooperate on the slick roads, though, and we careened out of control. He tried to make the turn into the parking lot, but there was a truck waiting to exit in our path. I braced myself against the dash for impact, but it didn’t help.
We weren’t going fast enough to trigger the airbags, but when we slammed into the truck driver’s side door, my head whipped forward, clipping my forehead on the metal mirror attached to the sun visor. I felt a sharp sting on impact, then warmth trickled down the right side of my face. I started to raise my hand to check for blood, but I glanced up at the other driver through the window, and froze. We’d slid sideways after impact because of the ice, so the position of Gregg’s Jeep put me within a few feet of the driver’s side door, and I could see the driver clearly. Dark, soulful eyes were staring back at me. His expression was hard, angry after the impact. But then it turned into something that I couldn’t quite put a name to, and I shivered from the effect.
“Jesus,” Gregg muttered, making me jump, then ripped open his door and climbed out. I kept my eyes on the driver as Gregg made his way to the hood of his Jeep, caught in the pull of his coffee-colored eyes. He ignored my brother as he checked the damage, scanning my face instead. Then his eyes zeroed in on the blood I felt dripping down my cheek, and his lips moved in what looked like a curse. I grabbed a tissue from my purse to stop the bleeding as he unbuckled his seatbelt and scooted across, exiting from the passenger side, since Gregg’s Jeep blocked his exit. As he rounded the hood, his eyes came back to me while I wiped the blood from my cheek, then shot to my brother, and his jaw hardened.
Words were exchanged as I sat there wondering about the dark-eyed man. He was tall. Broad. With an edge about him that said you didn’t want to tangle with him. And all of it spoke to my inner cavewoman in a huge way. I figured a man like that had to be taken, so I glanced at his left hand, looking for a wedding ring. To my surprise, there was none.
At one point, he gestured toward me, and my brother grew angry, but when he looked back at me, his eyes rounded in surprise. I waved him off, letting him know I was fine as traffic slowed around us.
Since it was snowing, operation Slick Streets was in effect. That meant you didn’t call the police for an accident with no injuries. You just exchanged information and filed a report online. So they exchanged insurance cards with quick, short comments, both holding back their anger. When they were done, the man with soulful eyes looked in my direction one last time before climbing into his truck and driving away, clearing up the traffic jam. I watched closely as his taillights moved farther away, wondering if I’d ever see him again.
By the time Luke reached his house, his jaw hurt from working the muscles to control his anger. The way his day had gone was a perfect example of why he hated the holidays.
It reminded him of Matthew.
From Thanksgiving Day to New Year’s Day, his mood was volatile at best as he fought with the guilt he felt over his nephew’s death. Normally, he avoided the crowds and well-wishers, taking a hiatus from his work as a contractor during the holidays. But he’d had a moment of wea
kness when a good friend asked him to be on call while he took his family out of town.
And look where it got him.
His truck was jacked up. His nephew foremost on his mind. And now he could add a woman with flowing curls the color of honey to his list of things to be pissed about.
He hadn’t had a reaction to a woman in a long while. Not one he’d felt deep in his gut. And it burned like acid that the woman with cornflower-blue eyes was already taken. Taken by a man who didn’t even check on her after the crash. Granted, at the speed he was going, Luke doubted she suffered serious injuries. But she’d cut her head on something, and the sight of the blood dripping onto her golden curls had brought out his protective nature.
Easing into his driveway, he threw his truck into park, muttering the exact words he’d said to the asshole behind the wheel. “You check your woman for injuries before your fucking Jeep.”
Rolling his neck to work out the kinks, Luke sat in the cold before exiting his truck. He looked up at his house, staring at the dark windows. He lived alone now. Jess had eventually moved forward with her life after losing Matthew. Forgiven him without a second thought for being careless with her son. Now she was married with another child on the way. Finally happy. Or as happy as one could be after a loss like that.
Closing his eyes, he pictured Matthew how he remembered him: laughing.
“Miss you, buddy,” Luke mumbled into the gloom, then scooted across the seat to the passenger side and peeled out of his truck, heading inside for another long, lonely night.
Three
December 22nd
“So, you’re back for good?” Jane Wells, one of my best friends from high school, asked.
We’d met at R Bar and Grill in Brookside, a stretch of Peoria Avenue near the Arkansas River where the hipsters of Tulsa liked to hang out. My parents’ house wasn’t far from here, just a five-minute walk as the crow flies, so, hip or not, it was my default stomping ground.
