Jingle Bell Hell (Bad Luck Club)

by Denise Grover Swank

  “I want you to ride me, Mary,” he says, looking up at me with those blazing blue eyes. But he doesn’t reach down to align himself, and I realize he’s leaving it all to me tonight. He’s giving me the power. He reaches up to touch my breasts, reverent, and kisses the tip of one of them, flicking his tongue over the nipple. For once I don’t let myself worry about whether I’m doing it right or whether we’ll both find pleasure. I just reach down and adjust him, engulfed by a hot blaze of anticipation and then raw pleasure as I slowly sink down, taking in a little of him at a time until he’s fully seated. Until we’re fitted together with absolutely nothing between us. For a moment I stay like that, enjoying the sensation of him inside me and the wonder of being infatuated with this man. Then he pulls me down for a kiss, and I start moving against him again as our mouths meld together.

  The pleasure of it. Oh, the pleasure of it. We continue like that for a while, and then I rise up again, needing a different angle, and he stares at me with a glint in his eye—pride and pleasure and something more—and caresses my breasts and belly and then the apex of my legs as I keep riding him, the strokes reaching something deep inside of me that sends pleasure unfurling through me. It’s that look in his eyes that sends me tumbling over a peak, free-flying but not fearing what I might collide with down below. No, I’m just enjoying the moment. Because he’s right there with me, and we’re doing this together.

  Maybe it’s silly, but I tell Jace we should get dressed before we talk about Dennis. He doesn’t object, just smiles at me in this indulgent way that sends little butterflies of pleasure through me and pulls on his shorts. Since the sweatshirt clearly didn’t put him off, I put on a different one. (There’s a wine stain on the other, after all, and there’s only so much mess a girl can take without feeling sloppy.)

  “Let’s sit by the tree,” I say, which is maybe a ridiculous suggestion, but he doesn’t say so. He just sweeps me up off my feet as if I’m a princess in a fairy tale and carries me to the couch. Then he lowers me, and he doesn’t even laugh when I insist on stripping the cushion cover and hastening it to the wash—no, he goes and gets the stained sweatshirt.

  Once the washing machine is running, hopefully removing the stains, we get settled on one of the unstained cushions. I pull a blanket from the pile next to the sofa over us, and he says, “Tell me, Mary. I’m sorry I wasn’t ready to listen earlier.”

  Nestled together as we are, in front of the tree that we decorated together, it’s tempting to let the whole thing rest for a while longer, if only so we can stretch this moment out. But Jace needs this information, and I need to give it to him.

  I clear my throat. “Dennis is the private investigator who works for our firm. He’s a good guy, and I trust him, which is why I trusted him with this.”

  He nods, and there’s no doubt or anger in his face, so I continue.

  “He found several suspicious wire transfers to subcontractors your father worked with at Hagan Construction. Although they weren’t made by Lester himself, they can be directly traced to him. Dennis reached out to a few of the guys, and one of them talked. Apparently, the whole thing never sat right with him. He confirmed that he’d been paid not to do business with Hagan Construction. Another guy Dennis tracked down, an ex-employee of Lester’s, backed up his story.” I take a deep breath and squeeze Jace’s hand, because I know this next part is really going to hurt. “Jace, your sister fed Lester information that he used against your dad. I don’t know if she understood what she was doing, or rather what he was doing, but she was his source. And she continued giving him information about the company after your father died.”

  “Fuck,” he says, flinching as if I’ve hit him with a sledgehammer. And I suppose I have.

  I let the information settle for a moment, then say, “Maybe that’s why she didn’t want to believe the truth about Lester? Because if she lets herself believe he was really out to get your dad, then she has to admit she played a role in that.”

  He runs his free hand through his hair, the ends flickering with gold in the light of the tree.

  “What if she did it knowingly?” he asks softly, the vulnerability in his voice cracking something open within me.

  “Then she might not let you see Ben willingly,” I say. “Maybe it’s no longer time to play nice.”

  From the look on his face, I know he doesn’t want it to come to that. This woman’s treated him horribly, but she’s his only remaining family other than Ben. Still, his jaw sets, and he gives a slight nod. “Whatever it takes.”

  I squeeze his hand. “There’s more.”

  His lips tilt up slightly as he squeezes me back. “Give it to me, Mary. Tear it off like a Band-Aid.”

  Holding his hand like a lifeline, I say, “He had a closed-door meeting with the county prosecutor after you were arrested. There’s no evidence that money changed hands, so I don’t think we can get your conviction overturned, but it doesn’t look good for either of them. Especially since they used to play golf together.” I stroke the back of his hand with my thumb. “He also has a confirmed social connection with your defense attorney, so the man should have recused himself and didn’t. We can’t sit on this. We need to hand the information over to the authorities. Lester made damn sure you paid for your crime, many times over, so it’s only right that he pays for his, even if it’s just a dent in his reputation. And if Dennis found all of this out in a matter of days, then you can bet you and your father aren’t the only ones who were burned by him.”

  He’s quiet for a moment, staring at the tree. “This will stir up a lot of old shit, and there’s no guarantee any good will come of it.”

  “No,” I admit.

  Turning to me, he reaches up to cradle my cheek. “Let’s make that bastard pay.”

  “Good.” I lean forward and kiss him, because I’m proud of him and also because I want to. I could go on kissing this man forever, and it still wouldn’t seem like enough. But I’m not done with truth bombs, so I lean back and say, “There’s something else you should know. Glenn wants to see Aidan.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Jace

  Cal gave me a large bonus for helping him finish the house early—three days before Christmas—and Mary finally took Dottie, proprietor of Tea of Fortune and sometimes officiant, up on her many offers to babysit so we could go out to dinner. I’m somewhat shocked that Mary agreed to it, both because it’s Dottie and because it’s the night before Christmas Eve. Then again, Mary keeps surprising both of us.

  I reach across the linen-draped table and curl my fingers over hers. Her mouth lifts into the softest of smiles, and my chest fills with heat.

  This woman makes me feel things I never thought were possible.

  Mary told me that Glenn has been reaching out to her, saying he wants to see Aidan. While she wants Aidan to have a relationship with his father, she’s worried about Glenn’s motivations, especially since the first time he texted was the night his mother questioned Mary about me. I’m not surprised by his sudden interest. He deserted his family, but he doesn’t want any other man to have the honor of being in their lives.

  “Heard anything else from Glenn?” I ask, at the risk of ruining our night.

  She doesn’t look irritated by the question, thankfully. “He hasn’t given me any more pushback. The plan is for us to talk after Christmas and possibly schedule a visit for after the New Year. Speaking of Christmas, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Roger.”

  My brow lifts slightly in surprise.

  “I know Mrs. Rosa has plans with her family, but what’s Roger going to do? You said you’ve spent the last three Christmases with him.”

  “Well,” I say carefully. Mary’s already asked me to Christmas dinner with her family, and Aidan invited me to come over in the morning to open gifts. “I thought maybe Roger and I could spend time together before I come to your house. Maybe make a terrible breakfast casserole.”

  My heart aches for my friend. Christmas was a
lways special for him and his wife, and now the holiday is hard for him. We usually spend the entire day together, and I was already feeling guilty about leaving him to his own resources for dinner. Now I’ll be gone for most of the day. Worse, when I told him, he just patted my hand and said Cleo was fine enough company for him and reminded me that I’d better not fuck things up with Mary, especially if I didn’t want to end up alone in my eighties with an indifferent cat for company. He didn’t even say it to make me feel guilty; he meant every word.

  “That’s a good idea,” she says, her eyes soft. “But what about inviting him to dinner?”

  My breath catches.

  “It’s just…I hate the idea of Roger being alone,” she says. “Do you think he’d be open to coming over?” Her smile widens. “Half of Asheville will already be there. I know there’s space for one more.”

  Her sister Maisie is hosting dinner for all of the O’Shea sisters and their partners, plus her husband Jack’s family. Dottie will be there too, apparently, which means both Mary and I will steer clear of any red food. Mary’s worried it’ll be too much for Aidan, and honestly, I am too, but he’s adamant about going, and Maisie promised that she and Jack have a plan for making sure a good time is had by all.

  One of Roger’s defining characteristics is that he loves to talk. He’s just run out of people to talk to, other than me and Mrs. Rosa.

  I swallow the lump in my throat. “Yeah. I think he’d really like that.”

  Her fingers squeeze mine. “Good. It’s settled.” Then she sobers. “Have you decided how to approach Amanda?”

  Dennis has gathered even more evidence of Lester’s crimes, both against Hagan Construction and others. Mary was right—this really is bigger than me and my family. It’s too big to sit on, and Mary and I have made an appointment to present the information to the state attorney general after Christmas. Given her role, Amanda’s sure to get caught in the crossfire.

  “I’ve been thinking about going to see her. To warn her.”

  Mary’s lips purse. “There might be another way to handle this,” she says carefully.

  “I’m listening.”

  “Sydney is a small town, and Dennis says your parents were highly respected. How worried will she be about her reputation?”

  It takes a moment for her words to sink in. “Uh.” I sit up straighter. “Very. She was embarrassed when I went to prison.” I draw in a breath, seeing everything in a new light. “Or at least that’s what she claimed.”

  My mind is racing now, dread rising as I try to make sense of my sister’s actions all those years ago. “Do you have any proof she was part of my arrest or sentencing?” Our relationship has been adversarial since Dad’s death, but would she really do something like that?

  “No. Just that she fed him information.”

  I think about it some more, relieved that I can’t make it square. “I don’t think she liked that I was sent to prison. I doubt she would have helped make it happen.”

  “At least knowingly,” Mary says. She looks me in the eyes. “Do you think you can repair your relationship with her?”

  “It would be hard, but I’d be willing to try for Ben’s sake,” I say. “I doubt she’d say the same.”

  “That’s what I thought.” She folds her hands on the table. “My plan is for you to tell her what you have on her and Lester. If she still insists on keeping you out of Ben’s life, then it’s time to play hardball. You can insinuate that Lester’s not the only one who’s going to have his secrets made public, but you might feel less chatty if she lets you have visitation with Ben.”

  I stare at her in surprise, then grin. “I think you just suggested blackmail, Mary O’Shea.”

  “Technically, it’s extortion,” she says with a wicked gleam in her eyes, “so that’s why you need to let her be the one to make the offer. And we’ll draw up a contract to hold her to it.”

  My heart is heavy over Amanda’s betrayal, but I’m not all that surprised. She’s always been an opportunist. Which is exactly why I suspect she’ll go for the deal. But I can’t let myself get too excited about Ben just yet. I don’t think I can deal with any more disappointment on that front.

  The waiter passes our table, and I motion for him to bring the check. “You’re turning into a bad girl,” I tease as the waiter hurries off.

  She leans closer, her eyes dancing. “What can I say? You’ve been a very bad influence.”

  Weeks ago, she wouldn’t have been laughing like this. She would have been scandalized. My cock springs to life.

  “How about I take you home and try to corrupt you even more after Aidan goes to bed?”

  She laughs. “Maybe I can extort you into helping me wrap the last of my Christmas gifts first.”

  My gaze drops to the V-neck of her dress—the one she barely wore to Nicole’s wedding—showing the barest hint of cleavage.

  “I think I’d rather unwrap your dress,” I murmur.

  She blushes, but she doesn’t look like she wants to crawl under the table. I consider that a win.

  I pay for our dinner as Mary checks the to-go box the waiter brought with the bill—a piece of chocolate cake for Aidan. Then we walk hand in hand into the cold December night. I press her back against the car, covering her body with mine to block the wind. She lifts her chin, leaning back to look up at me. I kiss her softly, but when she sighs her contentment, I increase the heat, my tongue parting her lips.

  Her body sags, but I’ve already wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her close.

  “I’m not a believer in PDA,” she says when our lips part.

  “I can tell,” I say with a grin.

  “Sometimes I don’t even recognize myself these days. I brought fortune-telling tea to my boss’s secular Christmas party today, and now we’re making out in a parking lot like two teenagers.”

  There’s wonder in her voice, but her words give me pause. “We can slow down, Mary. I’m not going anywhere.”

  She weaves a hand into my hair, drawing me in for another kiss, her lips branding me with their heat. When she pulls back, there’s a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Absolutely not. I happen to like who I’m becoming. Still, I’d rather not get arrested for public indecency. Let’s go home.”

  Home.

  Mary and Aidan’s house is beginning to feel like home, and sometimes, when I let myself, I imagine a life with them. Marriage, a baby—Mary confessed that she’d wanted another child, but given Glenn’s disinterest in parenting, she’d already felt like a single parent to Aidan. The thought of parenting two had overwhelmed her.

  I can see this glorious future full of love and peace, but I don’t let the fantasy go too far. While I’ve never been a superstitious man, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that part of me is terrified this promising new life could still slip through my fingers.

  Worry comes into her eyes—she’s noticed the shift in me—so I offer her a smile. “It’s freezing. Maybe we can make some hot chocolate with Aidan.”

  Given the amount of hot chocolate made in her house—home, I hear her saying—it’s always a sure bet.

  We’re quiet most of the way home, our fingers entwined while we listen to an instrumental Christmas song, but there’s no tension in the car. Not even the sexual tension that drove us from the restaurant. Instead, it feels like we’re surrounded by a cloud of contentment. I feel a sense of belonging I’ve never experienced before, and somehow, I know she feels it too. I might have gone into this holiday season feeling annoyed by every Christmas tree and shining light, but now I’m like a kid on Christmas morning.

  When we’re two blocks from the house, Mary’s phone rings. Her eyes widen at the sight of the number, and she almost drops the phone in her haste to answer. “Dottie? Is everything okay?” There’s a pause. Then her body stiffens. “What?”

  I don’t know what’s happening, but I automatically press on the gas pedal, driving slightly over the speed limit to get us back faster.

  “We�
��re almost home,” Mary continues. “Just keep him outside if you can.” She hangs up, her jaw clenched, and squeezes the phone.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, my hands gripping the steering wheel.

  “It’s Glenn. He’s here. Then, before she can tell me more, I notice the shiny Mercedes-Benz sedan in the driveway as I pull up in front of her house.

  “How did he find out where you live?” I ask. “Have you told him the address?” Even as I ask the question, I remember that his parents pick Aidan up every other week. They could have given it to him, or he could have found it written down somewhere.

  “No,” she says, her fingers fumbling with her seat belt latch. She’s clearly panicking, and I notice that, while she told Dottie to keep Glenn outside, he’s neither in his car nor on her front porch.

  Before I can comment on this, she’s out of the truck, running across the front yard to the door, but the stiletto heels she borrowed from her sister Molly keep sinking into the lawn.

  I’m next to her within seconds, wrapping an arm around her waist and lifting her up, practically hauling her to the front porch. Her hands are shaking, so I reach for the front door, but she puts her hand over mine and looks up at me in alarm.

  Why is she so scared? Sure, she’s still legally married, but Glenn signed away his parental rights, and she’s planning to officially file for divorce the first week of January. Is Glenn capable of violence? I don’t think so. I’m sure she would have mentioned that by now, and besides, he seems too cowardly—not that it’s stopped cowardly men before. That’s when it hits me: this prick has been dismissive of Aidan for his whole life, long before he walked out on him, and now he’s in there alone with him. No, not alone. He’s with Dottie, but she’s in her eighties. How can she protect a six-year-old boy from a bully?