A Hunter Brothers Christmas

by M. S. Parker

  I glanced across the room where a petite young woman stood next to the eggnog, talking to Syll. Cheyenne Lamont and my brother didn’t look at all like they belonged together. The artist and the former soldier.

  Slade had joined the military right out of high school and had sported military-approved hair for years, even after he’d left the service and joined the DEA. Even now, with his hair long enough to be unruly, he had the clean-cut sort of appearance that screamed ‘authority figure.’

  His girl, on the other hand, barely looked over eighteen even though I knew she’d be twenty-two in a couple weeks. Her long platinum blonde hair had been streaked with pink just a couple months ago at my wedding, but now it was a deep blue that matched the cute velvet dress she wore. The lights flashed off her piercings, and I noticed that she’d cut down the number by about half.

  “How’s Cheyenne doing away from him?” I lowered my voice enough that only Slade could hear me.

  “Better than we both thought, but it’s still early.”

  Something tightened at the corners of his eyes, his mouth, and I wondered if it was from worry about Cheyenne over the next few days while apart from her brother, or if they were experiencing similar tension to what was between Syll and me.

  As if he’d read my mind, Slade asked, “How are things with your lovely wife?”

  I took a long drink of my eggnog, grateful that we’d brought both the alcoholic and non-alcoholic kinds. I wasn’t a huge drinker, but I needed something to take the edge off while I tried to figure out how honest to be. If he’d asked me that question six months ago, I would’ve simply answered fine and let that be all. Now, however, we were at a place where we were all trying to repair our relationships with each other, and I didn’t want to throw that away on a lie.

  My gaze was drawn back to Syll and Cheyenne, but this time, my attention was on my wife. She was the same height as Cheyenne, but that was where the similarities ended. Syll had beautiful olive-green eyes that practically glowed when we made love. Thick cocoa-colored waves that were the perfect length for me to grab and pull when I took her from behind. Hips and an ass that were curved just right for my hands. Breasts and nipples…

  Fuck.

  A throbbing ache settled low in my stomach, and my cock thickened. It’d been too long since I’d been inside her. It hadn’t felt right, asking her to be with me physically when we’d barely been together for more than a few hours a day since we’d returned from our honeymoon.

  “We’ve been busy,” I said honestly. “Trying to get Pothos off the ground takes a lot of time and energy.”

  “But you’re not regretting marrying her?” Slade’s question was sincere, curious rather than acrimonious.

  “Not for a moment.” I didn’t even need to think about the answer. It might’ve taken me a while to admit that I loved her, but from that moment, I’d known that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.

  I just hoped she wasn’t regretting it.

  Slade nodded and settled back in his seat, sipping his eggnog, a speculative expression on his face. I could’ve asked him what he was thinking, but Cai had just taken the seat on the other side of Slade and started up a conversation that had something to do with how much both the DEA and the CDC hated red tape.

  “Since no one else is going to say it, I will.” Blake’s booming voice carried over everyone else’s conversations.

  He may have been the youngest, but he was the biggest at a muscular six feet four inches, and his voice made him seem larger than life. He and his fiancée, Brea Chaise, still lived in Wyoming, but he no longer looked like a gruff mountain man, something for which Brea was entirely responsible.

  “How in the hell didn’t we know about this place?”

  “Blake, really?” Brea laid her hand on Blake’s shoulder. She shook her head, raven-black curls bobbing. “We talked about this.”

  He flushed, and then reached up to put his hand over hers. A soft smile curved his lips, and despite everything I had going on in my own life, I took a moment to appreciate seeing it there. He’d rarely smiled after the crash and seeing him do it easily eased a tension I hadn’t realized I was carrying.

  “Sorry,” he said. He captured Brea’s hand and used it to pull her down onto his lap. She let out a surprised yelp that immediately turned into laughter. When he joined in, I wasn’t the only person staring at them.

  “There’s a sound I never thought I’d hear,” Slade said softly, his voice choked with emotion. Cai and I simply nodded in agreement.

  “I’ll behave myself,” Blake said, kissing Brea’s temple. He turned his attention to us. “Are you guys sure Grandma Olive never talked about owning a cabin? I was only eight when she…” He cleared his throat. “Maybe I don’t remember it.”

  “I don’t remember either of them talking about a cabin,” Cai said. “Grandfather wasn’t exactly the camping type.”

  “This isn’t camping,” Syll said with a laugh. “At least not any sort of camping I’ve ever done.”

  “When have the Hunters done anything normal?” Brea asked with a mischievous smile. “I mean, I haven’t been a part of the family for long, but I’m pretty sure I have at least that MO right.”

  “She has a point,” Addison said as she perched on the arm of the couch.

  “Hey!” Cai gave Addison a surprised look. She leaned over and whispered something in his ear that made his bright blue eyes go heated. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

  “Whether or not this could be called camping, I like it,” Brea said. “I think maybe your grandma wanted this to be a surprise. One room down here. Four rooms for four boys upstairs. Boys that would have families one day.”

  “I wish she could have met you,” Blake said.

  I heard the sadness in his voice, but not the bitterness that had been present pretty much his whole life. Brea had been beyond good for him.

  “She sounds like a lovely woman,” Cheyenne said.

  “She was,” I replied. “Dad was a lot like her.”

  All eyes turned to me, each full of surprise. I understood why. I rarely talked about our parents, and pretty much never brought them up.

  “If it’s too painful, I understand,” Syll said quietly, “but I know I’d love to hear more about him. About your mom too.”

  Pain went through my heart, but it wasn’t as bright has it had been in the past, and I knew it was due to the people sitting here with me. I saw similar emotions flashing across my brothers’ faces. I saw something else too. Hunger. A hunger to know more about our parents.

  Sometimes, I forgot just how young we’d all been, how little Blake and even Cai probably remembered.

  “What do you want to know?” I asked.

  A soft smile curved Syll’s lips as she asked, “How did your parents meet? Do you know?”

  “I do.” Judging by the way my brothers’ eyes widened, I guessed they didn’t know the story. I’d never thought to ask. A flash of guilt went through me. “One day when I was home sick from school, a year or so before the accident, Dad told me that they met at a party.”

  “A party? That seems so…trite,” Addison said, clearly disappointed.

  “Well,” I took another drink, “there was a little more to it than that…”

  Six

  Ct

  Evening, December 23rd, 1984

  The Hamptons

  If Finn didn’t stop singing that obnoxious song, I was going to spend the new year in jail for punching my friend in the face. Then again, if I made a jury listen to “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas” for an hour straight, they’d probably give me a medal.

  “Admit it,” Finn said, his usual cheer in full force. “You’re happy to be going out tonight instead of sitting back in your apartment, all by yourself.”

  I glared at him. “I was, until you insisted on singing that song.”

  “Then you need to sing with me,” Finn said. “Pick a Christmas carol.”

  Dammit.

/>   I knew Finn wouldn’t give up until I agreed. I picked one of the least annoying ones that I knew, and then another. We’d made our way through pretty much every song I knew by the time we pulled up to one of the Hamptons massive houses. It had started to snow a while back, and the grounds were blanketed in thick, wet white. That hadn’t prevented the driveway from already being packed with some of the most expensive cars I’d ever seen. Or the dozens of college-aged kids wandering around the property, apparently heading toward the massive bonfire on one side of the house.

  I was only twenty, which meant I fit right in with this group age-wise, but as I got out of the car, I felt old. I’d been to a million parties like this back in Boston, bored rich kids pretending that they were better than others because they were at a party up here instead of a frat party in the city. Their beer was more expensive, their drugs premium quality. They bragged about the size of their trust funds and the cars they drove, but none of them had ever done a days’ work in their lives.

  That wasn’t fair. With a crowd this size, at least a couple kids had probably had the occasional job. I did, after all, and my family’s bank account could hold its own against most of the families represented here.

  Not that I’d made that public knowledge. To my friends in New York, I was CT Hunter, wanna-be journalist. Hard worker who had his own place. Most assumed I came from a higher middle-class family, maybe a doctor or lawyer. Enough money that I wasn’t scraping by, but that was it.

  One of the reasons I’d wanted to come to NYU instead of an Ivy League school was also one of the top reasons I hadn’t chosen to stay in my home state. In Boston, pretty much everyone knew me as Chester Thomas Hunter, only child and heir apparent to Hunter Enterprises. While people in New York might’ve heard of my family’s company, I doubted they’d put two and two together, especially when I didn’t use my given name.

  A snowball hit the side of my neck, cold slush trickling underneath my collar. I whipped my head around to glare at Finn.

  “What the hell?”

  He grinned at me. “You’re brooding.”

  I swiped the rest of the snow away. “I don’t brood.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Trust me, dude, you do.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, then snapped it shut. As much as it galled me to admit, he was right. I did brood. I might not be thrilled that he’d dragged me to a party – and an outdoor one at that – but that wasn’t a good reason to be rude.

  “What do you say we go grab something to drink?” Finn slung his arm around my neck, our similar heights keeping me from needing to bend over to keep my balance.

  “If all they have is that imported shit, you’re going to owe me,” I grumbled.

  “Deal.”

  I felt eyes on us as we moved toward the bonfire, and I knew what everyone was thinking. Being Finn’s friend and not freaking out when he did things like grab my arm had led to speculation that we were more than friends. When people asked, I told them the truth – that Finn and I were only friends – but other than that, I never felt the need to explain myself to the Neanderthals who thought that any man who was friends with homosexuals had to secretly be gay too. The attitude toward the gay community was getting better, but there was still a long way to go.

  “My cousin’s supposed to wait for us near the fire,” Finn said. “She should be here already.”

  I nodded, but there was nothing enthusiastic in the gesture. I hoped she was here because I just wanted to get this over with.

  Tables of food and drinks were set up a few feet away from the fire, the air and snow cold enough that ice wasn’t needed. Chairs and benches were scattered around, and multi-colored lights twinkled from around numerous trees. The centerpiece of the whole thing was a massive bonfire. Easily three or four feet in diameter, logs built it up to at least six feet. Flames danced up into the indigo sky another two feet, sparks going even higher than that.

  I was impressed despite myself. This was no slapped together party. Someone had either put a lot of effort into this or had hired someone to do the work. I leaned toward the latter, but it was still better than a bunch of drunken college kids huddled around a few tiny logs.

  “Argus!” A female voice came from behind a group of people.

  Finn dropped his arm, catching a tiny, dark-haired woman as she practically ran into him. He lifted her in a tight hug, then set her down and scowled at her. “What did I tell you about calling me Argus?”

  She grinned, an impish look in her dark eyes. “I think you said I was the only one allowed to do it.”

  Finn rolled his eyes. “I’m pretty sure I did not say that, but you’re not here to see me.” He gestured to me. “Joy, this is CT. CT, my cousin, Joy Finn.”

  I held out a hand, and she shook it. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too,” she said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Finn reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m going to grab something to drink. Want anything?”

  It was Joy’s turn to roll her eyes. “Go away. Mingle. Flirt. Leave me and my date to get to know each other.”

  He put up his hands. “Fine, fine. I’ll get out of your hair.” He started to walk away, but then stopped and turned back to us. “Do you need a ride to Nana’s tomorrow?”

  “Bubby’s coming to get me.”

  Finn flicked his fingers in salute and then headed off in the direction of the food.

  “You and Finn are close?” I asked, sticking my hands in my jean pockets.

  “We are. Our dads are twins, and Finn and I might as well be. We were born sixteen hours apart.” Joy tugged off a glove and held out her hair to catch a few flakes. “I love snow.”

  “I usually do too,” I said, watching the flakes land and melt. “But I like it clean like this, not dirty and slushy like it is in the city.”

  “You don’t sound like you’re from New York.”

  I let my slight accent thicken almost back to normal. “Boston, actually. Born and raised.”

  She grinned. “What brings you to the Big Apple?”

  “School and the New York Times. I wanted to be a journalist at the Times, and I felt that NYU was my best chance at that.”

  She nodded as if it made complete sense to her.

  “What about you?” I asked. “Finn’s still got his nice Georgian drawl, but you sound more like you’re from here.”

  “Close,” Joy said. “We moved to New Jersey when I was twelve. I didn’t like sticking out with my accent, so I learned to talk like my friends.”

  “First time I went back to Boston, everyone told me I talked like a Yankee now.”

  Back and forth it went, question and answer, first me then her. We went through likes and dislikes, areas of commonality and suggestions of new things to try. It was easy to talk to her, and surprisingly, we had a decent amount in common.

  A graduate student at Brown, she was working on her master’s degree in political science with plans of joining the Peace Corps and working in developing countries. Her entire face lit up as she talked about her plans, and I had no doubt that she’d be one of those people who actually followed through with everything. I admired that.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  If I’d been looking for a friend, Joy would’ve been perfect. I wasn’t one of those people who didn’t believe that straight men and straight women could be only friends. My mom had taught me that.

  One of the other pieces of relationship advice she’d given me had been not to force something that wasn’t there. And with Joy, that spark I was looking for wasn’t there.

  Sure, maybe an attraction could grow from friendship to something more. I’d seen it happen with friends of mine, both back home and here in New York. I supposed that could be possible with me, but I didn’t think that was going to happen with Joy. She clearly had ideas for her life, a path set out, and so did I. Those paths, however, weren’t going the same way.

  “What about you?” Joy asked. “What are
your plans for the future?”

  My eyes met hers, and I saw the same truth written there that I felt. We didn’t have a spark. I smiled at her and prepared to point out the elephant in the…yard.

  But then, movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I turned my head.

  Dark brown hair. Average height. Average build. Absolutely nothing that should have captured my attention.

  My heart gave an unsteady thump. It was her.

  Seven

  Abigail

  Evening, December 23rd, 1984

  The Hamptons

  I was going to kill Griselda. I’d put up with some crazy stuff from my roommate – the time she’d tried to smuggle a box of kittens into our room came to mind – but bringing me to a party in the Hamptons and then leaving me here with her cousin while she went off somewhere with an old ex, that was too far. I knew she didn’t think things through, especially when it came to things that would never have bothered her had our positions been reversed, but she and I were going to have a talk about not abandoning friends at a party unless said friends were okay with it.

  This friend was definitely not okay with it.

  “Zelda says you’re a nurse too.” Theo Snowe finally stopped talking about himself long enough to make a comment about me that wasn’t damn girl.

  “I am,” I said politely. “So you call her Zelda? I’d never–”

  “Yeah, that’s what we called her when she was little.” He made a strange sound that I supposed was a laugh. “Younger, since she never really was little. Am I right?”

  I bristled immediately. “That’s not exactly a nice way to talk about your cousin.” I tried to come at it tactfully.

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Yeah, well, if she doesn’t like it, she should lose some weight.”

  I gritted my teeth and glared up at him. “Are you seriously defending making fun of your cousin for her weight and saying it’s her fault?”

  He shrugged again, and I was struck with the strong urge to do something drastic just to get a different reaction. Something like kicking him in the shins. Or the balls. Unfortunately, Griselda had vetoed my sturdy boots, and I was wearing a flimsy pair of dress shoes that were already soaked clear through. If I kicked him in these, I was more likely to break my toe than I was to hurt him.