A Gentleman for Christmas

by Prescott Lane

  “You care about Luke, too,” Malcolm says.

  “Fuck!” I say, pulling at my hair.

  Maci pats my arm. “You have to let Skylar decide what she needs.”

  “She won’t go back with him,” I say, almost like I’m ordering the universe not to let that happen.

  “I hope not,” Maci says.

  My eyes widen in disbelief. I can’t believe she’d say that. She sits down on the sofa, nodding toward another cushion for me to join her. Malcolm stays by the door, not trusting that I won’t charge outside, I guess.

  I can’t sit, but I do step a little closer to the sofa. “The other day you didn’t seem too supportive of me and Skylar.”

  “I was surprised,” she says. “Look, if Skylar wants to be with you, then I’ll support you guys whole-heartedly. If she goes back with Luke . . .” She looks toward her husband. Obviously, they’ve discussed this before. “After what he did, it will be hard for me to swallow, but I’d try for Skylar.”

  Malcolm clears his throat, forcing my eyes to the door. Luke walks in. “Where’s Skylar?” I ask.

  “On the beach,” Luke says then turns to Maci and Malcolm. “Would you mind leaving me and Jax alone for a minute? Skylar could probably use you guys right now.”

  Why would Skylar need them? Is she crying? Is she planning on leaving? Did she tell Luke to go to hell?

  Malcolm looks to me, and I nod, then Maci takes my hand and whispers, “Don’t fight with him.”

  I give her a little nod, not sure how convincing it is, but know I can hold my temper as long as Skylar’s not here for him to upset. He can say whatever the hell he wants to me, but not her.

  “You boys behave,” Maci says, throwing Luke and I each a warning glance, then Malcolm leads her outside.

  Luke and I stand glaring at each other. The thing to remember in this situation is that he was once my friend, one of my best friends. In fact, only a week ago, I would’ve still said he was a friend. He’s hurt. I know that.

  He puts his hand in his pocket, and I wonder if the ring is still in there or if it’s now resting on Skylar’s finger. What the hell kind of proposal was that? Clearly, he didn’t think that one through. Perhaps he should’ve read the Gentleman’s Rules on the subject.

  I move toward the window, looking toward the beach. Maci and Malcolm are just reaching Skylar. Maci wraps her in a hug, and I know she’s crying. It should be my arms comforting her.

  “Why?” Luke asks. “I thought we were friends.”

  “We were,” I say. “But Skylar is more. She means more.”

  “You’re a selfish bastard,” he says, waving his hand. “All your rules. The bro code. It’s nothing but a crock of shit.”

  “Luke, I know you’re pissed. I would be, too, if I were in your shoes, but nothing you can say is going to get to me.”

  He leans back a little. “Skylar coming back to Chicago will get to you.”

  “She wouldn’t,” I say quickly, not wanting him to know how much that would hurt. How much my heart is hurting at the mere mention of it.

  He smiles, and it’s the meanest I’ve ever seen him look. Clearly, I don’t know Luke as well as I thought I did. “Maybe I’ll make a few calls and let your publisher and a few social media outlets know that The Gentleman doesn’t follow his own rules.” He gets in my face again. “You see, I could ruin your career and take Skylar, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

  I didn’t expect him to threaten my livelihood. I also didn’t expect the sucker punch to the gut that followed. It hurts like hell, but I don’t double over, and I won’t go down. I’m going to follow Maci’s advice and not punch back. If I beat the shit out of him, Skylar’s protective instincts will kick in, and she’ll feel the need to take care of him. I don’t want that, so instead I stare him down, my jaw set.

  It’s not unheard of for brothers or male friends to get into physical fights. Goes back to early history when men solved their conflict through fists, not words. That’s part of the male DNA. It’s also not unheard of that after the fight, everything returns to normal and the two men are cool with each other. But I don’t think that’s going to happen here, though.

  “Luke, it doesn’t have to be like this. Skylar doesn’t want our friendship to . . .”

  “You fucked my girlfriend,” he yells. “The woman I love. You think we can still be friends after that? You’re fucking delusional.”

  “I’m not the one who screwed another woman in Skylar’s bed,” I say.

  This time when he lunges at me, I move out of the way, sending him slamming into an end table. The table is solid wood, so it fares better than Luke, who I’m sure is going to have one hell of a bruise on his leg.

  “I tried to be rational about this,” I say. “But come at me again, and I won’t be so generous.”

  He’s smart enough to realize he’s out-matched and starts yelling at me instead. Fucking prick. Asshole. Son of a bitch.

  After one or two curse words, they kind of lose their effect and all start to sound the same.

  “Get the fuck out of my house,” I bark.

  “Stop it!” Skylar screams, with Maci and Malcolm standing behind her.

  Luke and I have been so busy hurling insults at each other, we didn’t notice Skylar open the door. She places her hands over her ears, tears rolling down her face. “Please stop this,” she says to both of us, freezing us to our spots, her head shaking in obvious disgust at our behavior.

  She looks back at Maci. They don’t say a word, but Maci knows what she needs by that one glance. Maci looks to her husband. “Go upstairs and get Skylar’s things.”

  “No,” I say, stepping toward Skylar. “You can’t leave.”

  “Look what I’ve done,” she cries. “I should’ve stayed in Chicago instead of bringing all my crap here, ruining everyone’s Christmas.”

  “I can get us on a plane back to Chicago tonight,” Luke says.

  Fuck, I hate his smug tone, but thankfully Skylar hates it, too.

  “I’m not going to Chicago with you. I’m doing what I should’ve done to begin with. Going to Maci and Malcolm’s house.”

  “Please, Skylar,” I beg.

  She peers up at me with those blue eyes of hers and softly says, “I need to go. I need some time, some space.”

  Time and space? Hasn’t she had enough time? We’ve cared for each other since we were kids. Hasn’t she had enough space? She’s lived in Chicago for the past several years. Our time is now.

  Luke steps beside me. Skylar glances between us. Is she trying to choose?

  Maci places a hand on each of Skylar’s shoulders, urging her to the front door. Luke steps in front of them in one last attempt, pulling the ring out.

  “I bought this for you. I want you to have it,” Luke says, taking hold of her hand.

  The massive diamond shines so bright the damn thing looks like it’s laughing at me. This is my fucking nightmare, watching the cool metal of the platinum hit her finger.

  Skylar jerks back like she’s been struck by lightning. “I only want one ring to ever go on that finger. The ring my husband gives me.” She looks up into his eyes. “And that’s not you.”

  “It won’t be Jax, either,” Luke says.

  “Maybe not,” Skylar says softly, not glancing my way.

  She folds his fingers over the ring then lightly kisses his cheek, and without another glance at either one of us, walks to the front door.

  Malcolm comes down the stairs with her bag. True to his nature, he doesn’t say a word. Luke walks over to him. I can’t hear what he’s saying. I see Malcolm nod, then he gives me a look. What it means, I don’t have a damn clue.

  The door closes behind them, and Luke and I are left alone again, only this time the feeling in the room is very different. We aren’t fighting over the same woman. We’ve both been left by her.

  “You lost her,” he says, comforting himself with the knowledge that even though he lost her, too, it wasn
’t to me.

  “Not yet, I haven’t,” I say, knowing I’ll fight for her, but having no idea how I’m going to do that.

  “I thought the same thing,” he says, staring down at the ring still in his hand.

  I don’t think it was until this moment that he truly realized and accepted that she’s gone, out of his life, that it’s truly over for them. It doesn’t bring me any comfort to see it, either. The fear that I’m in the same boat makes any relief impossible.

  “How do you handle it?” I ask.

  He looks over at me, the hint of a smile on his face. This is the face of my friend. “Drink?”

  Grinning, I shrug, “I could use a drink.”

  He nods in agreement, and I walk to the kitchen and grab a couple beers from the refrigerator. I pop open the caps, handing one to Luke, who takes a seat at the kitchen island.

  I lean against the counter and survey the damage. Wrapping paper litters the floor. Glasses, plates, and food left from what was a great party now sit cold, unappetizing. Even my Sequoia Christmas tree looks a little droopy. Then there’s my friend. His eyes are black and blue, which only make his nose look worse, but it’s his broken heart that’s more obvious. I wonder if I look as crushed as he does. Hell, I probably look worse.

  He picks at the label of his beer bottle, taking a few long slugs. We’ve been drinking together since before we were legally allowed to drink, but we both know this is it—our last drink together.

  I broke the commandment, and we both know there’s no way our friendship can survive. That’s why we made the rule in the first place, to protect our friendship, to guard against this moment. A woman should never come between two friends. That’s what we said. We just didn’t account for Skylar, for love, for the one woman you’d break any rule for.

  I’m not going to fight with him anymore, but the truth is, Luke was never my competition. When it comes to Skylar, I’m the only person that ever got in my own way. “Paris?” I ask.

  His lips in a tight line, he nods and says, “Yeah, thought Skylar would jump at the chance to live in France. I was wrong.”

  He downs the rest of his bottle then gets to his feet, ready to leave, ready to end our lifelong friendship. He pauses for a second then turns back to me. “Are you sorry at all?”

  “I’ll tell you the same thing I told Skylar. I’m not sorry about loving her. I’m not going to apologize for that. I am sorry that I had to hurt you to get to her.”

  He gives me a nod and walks out. Over twenty years of friendship ends over a bottle of beer and one lousy Christmas. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again. I’d think we’d run into each other at some point. Waterscape is small, and his family still lives here. I’m assuming he’ll still stay friends with Maci and Malcolm, so we’re liable to cross paths. No matter what went down tonight, I wish him good things in his life. It’s easier to do that now that I know those good things won’t include Skylar.

  Grabbing a trash sack, I start cleaning up, tossing in plastic plates, wrapping paper. The more I pick up, the harder I throw the things in. Skylar’s been gone less than half an hour, and the place feels completely empty without her. How is that? My place isn’t furnished, but when she was here, I didn’t notice. It felt full—full of her laugh, her smile, her tears, the sound of her breathing when she sleeps, everything that makes her special. It was only a few days, but it was everything.

  It’s Christmas. Skylar in my bed this morning was the best gift I’ve ever received. I’ve never woken up with a woman on Christmas morning before, spent all Christmas Day with a woman. But if I don’t do something fast, this could be the one and only Christmas we ever have together.

  I’ve written books about break-ups. How to move on. How to fight for your woman. But I don’t have a single rule about how much time is appropriate or how much space I have to give her.

  Skylar didn’t come with a manual. She asked for time and space. Guess that’s what’s on her Christmas list.

  Christmas! Her gift! She told me to give it to her tonight after everyone left, and that’s one rule I’m going to follow.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  SKYLAR

  After assuring Maci that I’m fine for the twentieth time, I shut the door to the spare bedroom I’ll be sleeping in. It’s the room I always stay in. It’s painted a buttery yellow with a queen size bed and a soft white comforter. There’s an attached bathroom, and Maci always has it stocked with anything I might need.

  It’s not huge, but probably bigger than some of those tiny houses they build on that show Luke and I used to watch. Seriously, who can live in two hundred and fifty square feet or less? I’ll tell you who—the Unabomber. His shack was the original tiny house. Maybe he started the craze, but look at what happened to him.

  Luke!

  God, he looked crushed tonight. I think he really thought I’d accept his proposal. I hated to hurt him, but I know me turning him down isn’t what ripped his heart into shreds. It was finding out about me and Jax.

  When I walked in on Jax and Luke yelling and fighting, it was too much, too much guilt. I can only blame myself for that. I realized in that moment that I need some time. If I want this to work with Jax or with anyone else, I need to deal with some shit first. I don’t want to carry it all into a new relationship. I need to have that good, cathartic cry I never allowed myself, to curse mankind. It’s why I came here for Christmas in the first place. I have to allow myself time and space to do that.

  I can’t look for a dick to cure what ails me. Maybe that’s what I did this week. No, I know that’s not true. I wasn’t using Jax to avoid dealing with my feelings. Although his dick did make me feel a whole lot better.

  Maci knocks on the door again, peeking her head in. She’s become my own personal mother hen, making hovering an art form. “You’re never going to believe what I have!” Smiling, I wave her inside. She holds out a carton. “It’s wine flavored ice cream!”

  I bust out laughing. “No way!”

  “Oh yes,” she says. “We’ll have that heartbreak cured in two seconds flat.”

  She hands me the whole carton and a spoon. She’s a good friend. She pulls out a sack of cookies for her and her unborn baby. Sitting across from me on the bed, she silently waits. It’s not like Maci to be quiet. She’s loud, fun-loving, always talking, but tonight she just sits.

  I take a bite of ice cream, then another, and another—with each bite, more tears fall. Wiping them in vain, I say, “It’s Christmas. You should be with the twins and Malcolm.”

  “Please,” she says, waving her hand. “Those little suckers woke us up at four o’clock this morning. They’re fast asleep.”

  I laugh, but more tears come. Maci wraps her arms around me in a tight squeeze. “That was really bad tonight,” I say.

  “A shit storm,” she says.

  “You were right,” I say. “What you said that day on the beach. Jax and I being together is selfish.”

  “Oh, Skylar,” she says. “I should have never said that.”

  “It’s true,” I say. “It was selfish of me.”

  She leans back, brushing my hair aside. “Here’s the thing. Sometimes it’s okay to be selfish.”

  “Not if it hurts someone else,” I counter.

  “Even then,” she says.

  “Jax and I could’ve waited a little bit. Taken our time.”

  “Love doesn’t wait,” she says. “You should know that better than anyone. It just happens like a force of nature. Love is impatient.”

  “That’s not what the Bible says,” I tease.

  Tossing another cookie in her mouth, she says, “That Bible part means we should be patient with those we love, but love itself . . . she’s a demanding, high-maintenance bitch.”

  I can’t help but laugh at her colorful description.

  “Think about it. Love keeps you up at all hours. Gives you butterflies. It comes out of nowhere sometimes, and you have no control over it.”

  “So love is a bitch,
” I say. “Sounds about right to me.”

  Maci laughs, handing me a cookie to dip in my spiked ice cream. “Luke will be okay,” she says. “He’ll probably find himself some French model.”

  I wait for it—the sting. The sting that should come at the thought of Luke in a relationship with someone else, but there’s nothing. Maybe the ice cream has frozen my heart? Or maybe I’m okay with him moving on. If I’m okay with him moving on, does that mean I’m ready to move on? Then why am I crying? Is it over losing Luke? Knowing the five of us will never all be friends again? Knowing I’m the cause of the death of Luke and Jax’s friendship?

  “Now, Jax is another story,” Maci says. “Boy loves you something terrible.”

  “I don’t think I can talk about it,” I say, tearing up again. “Talk to me about something else. You never told me what Malcolm got you for Christmas.”

  She smiles and tells me about the completely impractical Burberry diaper bag he bought for her and the new watch she bought for him. Maci is my best friend. I know she and Malcolm have arguments, but they seem so settled, so sure. They always have.

  “Stop looking at me like that,” she says.

  “Like what?”

  “Like my life is perfect,” she says. “Because it’s not.”

  “Please! Your husband adores you. You have the cutest twins ever, and now you’re pregnant with a third.”

  She looks down, tossing her cookie back in the sack. It must be serious. One should never waste a perfectly innocent cookie. “This baby wasn’t planned,” she whispers.

  “So? What does it matter?”

  “It matters because the twins are four. They will be in school next year. Which meant I was going to have more time to devote to our business, to having a career of my own, and now . . .” She breaks down, covering her face with her hands.

  “Maci?” I say, patting her arm.

  “I wasn’t happy,” she whispers with a little cry. “When I found out. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

  “Malcolm?” I ask. “Was he happy?”

  “Oh, he was thrilled,” she says. “He has the big career. You know people refer to me as Malcolm’s wife or the twins’ mother? It’s like I don’t exist except as it relates to them. God, I sound like such a bitch.”