by Noelle Adams
He also accepted the cocoa Helen offered him, since both she and Ben were already drinking from big mugs.
He made a gesture toward pressing out cookies in the shapes of stockings and stars, but he mostly just watched how Helen acted with Ben.
Her behavior wasn’t hard to interpret. She took every opportunity to touch him casually or smile at him, but Cyrus was pretty sure they weren’t officially dating. They were probably ostensibly still just friends. Obviously, Helen would like their relationship to be something different, and from the way Ben was smiling back at her, Cyrus figured it wouldn’t be long until they were a couple.
Cyrus wasn’t sure what he thought about it. He checked with Helen’s security team regularly, just to make sure his father wasn’t neglecting his responsibilities, so he knew what she did and where she went. She’d never had a boyfriend before.
Ben didn’t seem wild or very sophisticated, so Cyrus thought it was likely that, if they paired up, they would move very slowly. That would be a good thing.
“What do you think, Cyrus?” Helen asked, poking him hard in the arm.
“What do I think about what?”
She frowned at him impatiently. “Ben should come back after dinner to watch White Christmas and eat the sugar cookies with us, since he helped make them. Right?”
Swallowing hard, Cyrus tried to hide his real reaction—which was irrationally one of resentment. He had no particular attachment to the movie, the cookies, or the cider, but he was attached to the tradition. It was virtually the only one he had. Having Ben there would definitely feel like an intrusion. But all he said was, “Sure. If he’s able to. Don’t you do something with your family on Christmas Eve?”
“Yeah,” Ben replied. “I can ask, but my folks probably won’t want me to leave on Christmas Eve.”
Helen frowned, almost pouty, as she sipped her mug of cocoa. It wasn’t her normal expression of disappointment, so Cyrus assumed she was playing it up to look cute for Ben’s benefit. “Well, come if you’re able. It will be fun. Won’t it, Cyrus?”
Cyrus would find it much more fun and relaxing with only him and Helen like it normally was, but he wasn’t about to say as much, since she was obviously counting on him to affirm her invitation. “Of course,” he murmured, “Although I can’t vouch for the sugar cookies this year, given their source.”
Helen huffed and swatted at his shoulder. The gesture resulted in getting more flour on his shirt. It also resulted in her spilling her cocoa all down the front of her sweatshirt.
She squealed and set down her mug, pulling the fabric away from her chest.
When Ben laughed, she scowled at him. “It’s hot!”
“Sorry,” Ben said, looking far too apologetic, confirming Cyrus’s suspicions that Helen would easily be able to walk all over him.
She started to pull her sweatshirt up over her head while keeping the wet fabric away from her skin. It was a rather awkward attempt, since the tank top she had under it kept pulling up with the sweatshirt. Eventually, she ended up trapped with her head and arms caught in the fabric.
Her clumsy maneuverings and muttered exclamations of distress left Cyrus and Ben highly amused. Ben was trying not to laugh, and Cyrus wasn’t even trying.
“Don’t laugh at me, Cyrus!” Helen cried, futilely struggling to escape the sweatshirt, which had twisted into a vice. “Help!”
Cyrus reached over before Ben could and carefully helped untwist the sweatshirt and pull it over her head while she tugged down her tank top so she wouldn’t expose too much of her belly.
She was scowling malevolently at him as he pulled it over her head. “At least Ben isn’t mocking me so heartlessly!”
Ben was visibly struggling to repress his amusement, but Cyrus just shook his head wryly as he put the damp sweatshirt on the counter. “Fitting retribution for trying to hit me earlier.”
Helen stuck her tongue out at him and tried to pat down her hair, which was flying out everywhere with static electricity.
Without realizing it, Cyrus’s eyes had drifted down to do an automatic assessment of her outfit. He couldn’t help but notice that she was now only wearing a thin, clinging tank top, clearly revealing the lines of her bra and the full curves of her figure.
Cyrus’s first reaction was that Helen had developed physically a lot in the last year. His second was that it was highly inappropriate for him to be noticing that at all.
As he looked quickly away, he noticed that Ben didn’t have the same qualms and was eyeing Helen appreciatively in typical teenage fashion.
As far as Cyrus was concerned, it was highly inappropriate for Ben to be looking at Helen that way as well.
He cleared his throat. “Why don’t you go find another sweatshirt? It’s too cold for you to just wear that top. Ben and I can keep working on the cookies.”
Helen nodded, looking a little flustered, and Cyrus was relieved when she left the kitchen, so Ben could no longer leer at her.
Cyrus asked Ben some casual questions so he could get to know him a little. By the time Helen returned, thankfully wearing another thick sweatshirt, Cyrus had concluded that Ben was a nice enough boy and would probably be as safe a boyfriend as Helen was likely to find.
It wouldn’t necessarily be fair of Cyrus to hold against him the fact that Helen had invited him to barge in on their Christmas Eve tradition and that he’d leered at her body too much.
***
When the cookies were made and Ben went home, it was time to change for dinner. Cyrus went to his room to shower and change.
As he was making his way down to dinner, Helen came running down the stairs so quickly she almost barreled into him.
She wore a dark green cashmere sweater that he thought was far too mature for her age in neckline and clinginess. The only saving grace was that she wore a velvet jacket over it. Her hair was loose and shiny, hanging down her back. It had been clipped up before, so Cyrus hadn’t realized how long it had gotten.
“Did you like Ben?” she asked, clinging to his arm and grinning up at him.
“He seemed nice enough.”
She frowned. “That’s not very enthusiastic.”
“Well, I only met him for a half-hour. It doesn’t matter if I like him anyway. It only matters if you like him.”
“Well, I do like him, but I want you to like him too.”
Cyrus thought about that and decided it was a good thing. At least Helen still cared about his opinion and wanted to keep him as part of her life.
Even though, as his father had predicted, he might not be her favorite person anymore.
As he and Helen waited in the dining room, Cyrus figured his father would probably be smirking over Cyrus’s surprise encounter with Ben.
Instead, when Drake Owen walked into the room, his expression was perfectly composed, perfectly cool, and almost arrogant. He walked with his normal slow dignity, and he appeared neither uncomfortable nor self-conscious.
Which was quite a remarkable feat, given the fact that Drake Owen was wearing a thick sweater of bright green, red, and gold on which was appliquéd a hideously gaudy image of a reindeer whose nose was actually illuminated to glow red.
At the sight of him, Helen squealed with excitement, clapped her hands with glee, and did a little jig of pure delight.
Cyrus stared in absolute amazement.
“Well,” his father said, arching his eyebrows and ignoring both responses. “Shall we eat?”
Helen was still giggling helplessly as they took their seats. Finally Cyrus recovered enough to ask, “How the hell did she manage to get you to wear that?”
“He lost a bet,” Helen explained, her face astonishingly pretty all flushed and glowing with amusement.
Cyrus blinked. “What was the bet?”
“I didn’t lose a bet,” his father objected coolly. “I made a calculated decision to accept a challenge and was quite pleased when Miss Coleman managed to achieve it. I am happy to comply with her one condition, wh
ich was my wearing her Christmas gift to dinner.”
Cyrus couldn’t help but smile at his father’s bland tone.
“Call it what you want,” Helen said, “But we all know it was a bet that you lost.”
“I don’t know. What was it?” Cyrus was starting to feel frustrated at being left out of the background on this bizarre scenario.
“I was writing a story for the school newspaper. It was about a bunch of stuff your dad had donated to the school, and your dad was being very close-mouthed about donating them at all. He actually thought I wouldn’t be able to find proof on my own. So our bet—“
“Our negotiated agreement,” Drake corrected.
“Our agreement—which was quite clearly a bet—was that if I could find evidence that he’d donated them on my own, he would wear his Rudolph sweater for Christmas dinner.”
“So I take it you found out all the information you were looking for?”
“I still find it hard to believe you were able to get your hands on that evidence,” his father said, sipping a glass of red wine.
“Never doubt my ability to investigate a mystery,” Helen said with a grin.
“To snoop,” Cyrus added.
Helen gave him an indignant look. “I thought you were on my side.”
“Of course I am. If only because you managed to get my father to wear that hideous sweater. I’ve had to wear mine twice.”
Helen laughed, and his father actually chuckled. When Cyrus looked over at him, he suddenly realized that his dad was actually enjoying himself. They shared a look of genuine warmth that made Cyrus’s chest clench.
For a moment, it felt like they were a real family.
He wasn’t sure how Helen had done it, but she’d been good for his father.
She’d been good for him too.
***
Cyrus was cueing up the movie when Helen came into the media room, wearing fuzzy pajama pants, a fitted t-shirt and a long, red sweater that tied at the waist. She flopped down on the sofa beside him, propping her legs up on the coffee table and revealing blue socks with big white snowflakes on them.
“So Ben’s a no-show?” Cyrus asked.
“Yeah. His parents wanted him to spend the evening with them.”
He couldn’t tell how disappointed she was, since her expression was more wry than anything else. “Well, that’s normal, isn’t it? Most families want to spend Christmas Eve together.”
“Yeah,” she said with a sigh.
As ridiculous and irrational as it was, Cyrus couldn’t help but feel a little hurt that she wasn’t satisfied in spending the evening with just him as they normally did.
He’d finally gotten his life to a decent place. He had worthwhile work to do and was achieving some measure of respect for it. Things were going all right with his father. He was no longer constantly in the gossip columns for partying and one-night stands.
And he’d thought he had someone who felt like family, who would always like him and want to be with him no matter what.
“Sorry I’m only a distant second,” he said dryly, making sure to sound more teasing than reproachful, “when it comes to company for the evening.”
She made a squeaky sound, one that was evidently an objection. “You’re not a distant second!” She scooted over closer to him on the couch and leaned her head against his shoulder for a minute. “I wasn’t upset about him not being here. I was just thinking it would be nice to have parents who made sure you spent Christmas Eve with them.”
Suddenly understanding her mood—which had absolutely nothing to do with a crush on Ben—he felt a surge of empathy and put an arm around her to give her a half-hug.
“I miss my parents,” she said softly, snuggling against him as if she was glad for the comfort. “Sometimes I still sleep with my dad’s sweatshirt.”
Cyrus’s throat hurt as he felt for her, as he hurt for her. He understood her deeply. For many long, aching years, he’d missed having a father too.
After a minute, he cleared his throat. As Helen had gotten older, they’d been able to talk more, but it had always been companionable rather than intimate. He wasn’t used to dealing with the kind of naked vulnerability from anyone that Helen was sharing with him now.
It made him feel vulnerable too.
But it would hurt her feelings if he pulled away, and he wasn’t willing to do that. Instead, he said lightly, “Well, it’s not the same, but you’ll always have me. That’s better than nothing, I guess.”
She sucked in a breath and pulled away far enough to gaze up at him. Her eyes were soft and hopeful. “You mean it? You won’t forget about me when you get married to some gorgeous, sophisticated woman like Alicia Morse?”
“Of course, I won’t forget about you. And what do you know about Alicia?”
“Not much,” she admitted, “Just that you’ve been dating her for the last month or so.”
“You aren’t still reading that trashy site, are you?” he demanded, stiffening at the thought.
For the last two years, he’d given up almost all of his wild, reckless habits. It was partly getting out of school and investing in a real career, but it was also because he had trouble doing certain things when he knew that Helen was watching. If the bloggers wrote about it, Helen would find out.
He’d drunk too much and driven too fast and fucked too many women in some sort of futile attempt to feel alive, but he could no longer do any of those things without feeling guilty about how Helen might regard it.
“No, I’m not reading it. It got pretty boring after you reformed yourself anyway.” Her lips quivered as he rolled his eyes at her choice of words. “But I’ve heard a few rumors about you and Alicia. Do you think it’s serious?”
He felt a little uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, but there was no reason not to answer honestly. He’d always felt safe with her, like she wasn’t a threat. Besides, she was still just a kid. He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh. Well, you’ll eventually find a beautiful, elegant woman you want to marry. You won’t forget about me then, will you?”
“Helen, stop it,” he said, frowning because she sounded like she was really afraid he would. “I’m not going to forget about you. I know I’m not a brother or a cousin or anything, but I’m something. And I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”
He knew he’d said the right thing when her face broke into a glowing smile. She hugged him hard around the neck and said, her voice muffled by his shoulder, “And you’re stuck with me too.”
That sounded about right to Cyrus. It felt safe, secure. He figured it was what family was supposed to be.
“Shall we watch the movie?” he asked, pulling out of the hug. “And we still need to try those sugar cookies.”
“Yes,” she said, beaming at him. “Turn it on, and I’ll go get the cookies.”
Cyrus did as she said. Then he stretched out his legs and let out his breath, finally relaxing. If his life kept going in this comfortable direction, things would be just fine.
It was a pretty good Christmas Eve after all.
Fifth Christmas Eve
three years ago
Helen was trying very hard not to eavesdrop.
Cyrus’s apartment did not have thin walls, and he’d closed the door to his office when the lawyer arrived. If she wanted to overhear the conversation, she would have to do something very obvious like press her ear against the door.
In a different situation, she wouldn’t have hesitated to do so, but she felt really bad for Cyrus and thought he deserved his privacy. She already knew more about his marriage and divorce than she should have, and the whole thing made her feel a little sick. So—even though she wanted desperately to know what his divorce attorney was telling him—she resisted the temptation and instead wandered into the kitchen.
His apartment wasn’t huge and ostentatious like Drake’s penthouse. It had an airy great room with a top-of-the-line, open-concept kitchen and a huge
wall of glass doors leading out onto a wide terrace. The exotic hardwood floors, the classic furniture, and the expensive fabrics obviously testified to the expense, but there was only one bedroom, one office, and one full and one half bath.
Cyrus paid for his place out of his own earnings, although Helen knew his father had offered him a much grander Owen property. Helen figured Cyrus’s reasons were similar to her own reasons for insisting she live in a dorm room for her freshman year in college instead of the high end apartment Drake had offered her.
She’d finished her final exams after her first semester in college more than a week ago, but she’d stayed in D.C., since there was more to do here and no one would be at the house in Clarksburg until Christmas Eve anyway. She’d arranged to ride back with Cyrus to Clarksburg this afternoon, but he hadn’t quite been ready to go when she’d arrived.
To distract herself from the temptation to eavesdrop, she started to rinse off some of the dishes in the sink and put them in the dishwasher. Cyrus was used to having a domestic staff who immediately picked up behind him, the dishes had piled up over the holiday. Helen had been that way too until she’d started living on her own in the dorm.
She loaded the dishwasher and then began to hand wash the stemware.
She hoped Cyrus was all right.
It had to suck to sign divorce papers on Christmas Eve day.
She knew he wanted to get it over with—that even the good memories from his marriage had turned bitter—but that wouldn’t make it any easier to have the relationship end.
Helen had never liked Rose Marie. She’d been worried when Cyrus started to date the gorgeous brunette with a lithe body and startlingly pale blue eyes, and she’d been even more worried when it turned serious. Rose Marie knew how to play up to a man better than anyone Helen had ever seen, but Helen had immediately pegged her as shallow, superficial, and selfish at heart. Time had only confirmed this first impression.
Cyrus hadn’t seen it, though. He’d fallen hard for Rose Marie, and Helen had tried her best to be supportive, since she didn’t want to alienate him.
