by Gem Frost
I should probably keep out of your business, but I can tell how much he means to you, big brother. Don’t fuck it up this time, okay?
I snort, because she’s never kept out of my business in her whole life. Thing is, I don’t usually mind, because she’s generally right. She probably is now, too—don’t fuck it up seems like sound advice to me. Words to live by.
I shove the phone back in my pocket; I’ll call a little later so I can talk to the kids, and Madison, too. But first, I need to talk to Syd. I must talk to him. Because three years late is better than never, right?
Bracing myself, I step out of the closet, only to find my bedroom empty and silent. There’s nothing to show that Syd was ever there, except a torn pair of briefs flung carelessly into a trash can, and the slight but unmistakable fragrance of sex that lingers in the air.
Damn it. Syd ran away again.
Not that I can really blame him, after all the crap I said.
Christmas Eve is over. It’s time to get back to reality.
Shit.
On the dresser, I see the small velvet box. It’s been sitting abandoned in my bedroom for three years, and I’m damned if it’ll sit there any longer. I scoop it up and shove it in my jeans pocket, then head down the stairs at top speed.
✽✽✽
Syd
When I was a kid, it rarely snowed in southern Virginia in December, but climate change means it’s snowing more often these days, and a thick flurry of snowflakes swirl through the air as I walk down the road. It’s an awfully long hike back to Madison’s house, and the air is bitterly cold, but I don’t care enough to try to find a Lyft or Uber driver who’s working Christmas. I’m beyond caring about anything except Nick.
I clutch my coat around me more tightly, trying to fend off the chill. But I’m frozen inside and out, and a coat isn’t what I need to get warm.
The road through Nick’s neighborhood is empty, because most Virginians don’t drive in snow unless their lives depend on it. Six inches of snow can paralyze this part of Virginia for days. Anyway, most people are presumably inside enjoying their Christmas morning.
I heave a sigh as I slog through the lonely, snow-covered streets, watching my breath puff out in a white cloud. I had my Christmas early, and it was incredible. Magical, even. Too bad the magic couldn’t last.
But the last thing Nick said to me was true. Harsh, but true. It’s time to get back to reality. And yeah, he was right. Sure, last night was fun, but it was only a trip down memory lane, not the real thing.
I shake my head. Who am I kidding? It was as real as anything I’ve experienced in my lifetime.
I remember my stammered confession of love, and Nick’s cynical disbelief. But I was being perfectly honest with him. I’m in love with Nixon Brant. There’s no way around it.
But he doesn’t love me back, and there’s no reason he should. With sick shame, I think of the way I treated him, and I know I deserve to be walking alone through the wintry cold.
The noise of a big engine roars behind me, shockingly loud in the icy stillness. I craned my neck around and see an enormous black truck with the Brant Landscape Design logo on the side, lumbering toward me. I start walking faster, which is of course ridiculous. The truck pulls up beside me, and the driver side window rolls down.
“Hey,” Nick says, leaning out. His hair is still wet. “I thought I offered you a ride.”
Get ready for the ride of your life.
I push back the memory of his sexy, irritating drawl and lift my chin. The last thing I need is pity. “I can walk. I wouldn’t want to make any more trouble for you.”
“It’s cold as balls out here. Get in.”
“I’m just fine, thank you.”
“Syd,” he says, irritation in his deep voice. “Don’t be stupid. Climb on in.”
I grumble under my breath, imagining him trailing me slowly in his stupid giant truck, the whole two miles to Madison’s. He probably will, damn stubborn man that he is, and probably won’t roll the window back up either. And with his wet hair, he’ll get a cold or pneumonia or something. I wouldn’t want that on my conscience, on top of everything else. Irritably, I stalk around the huge vehicle, open the door, scramble up, and fling myself angrily into the leather seat. My glasses immediately fog up, and I yank them off and toss them aside with an impatient gesture.
“Thank you,” he says, his voice gentle. He steps cautiously on the accelerator, turns left at the very first intersection we come to, and executes a perfect U-turn despite the snow on the road and the sheer enormity of the truck.
“Madison’s house is that way,” I say, pointing over my shoulder.
“We’re not going to Madison’s. I’m taking you home, where you belong.”
You need to go home, Syd. Christmas Eve is over. It’s time to get back to reality.
But I can’t help noticing we’re not heading for my condo, either. We’re heading back toward his house. The implications make me tremble with hope and longing, and I swallow to steady my voice before I dare to speak. “I was an awful ass to you, Nick. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
I see the corner of his mouth lift in a wry smile. “Well,” he says, “knowing where you were coming from helps. It never made any sense to me, what happened back then. But now I get it. And maybe I get you, more than I did before.” His fingers drum on the steering wheel, as if he’s trying to figure out the right words. “The way I see it, we’re all weighted down with a bunch of crap that doesn’t show on the outside, you know? I guess you’re carrying around a shitload of insecurity, just like I’m still carrying around all the crap about sin my father loaded me down with when I was a teenager. That kind of thing can be awfully hard to get rid of.”
“That doesn’t excuse what I did to you. To us.”
“Maybe not, but it makes it more understandable. And like I said, I’m not guiltless here either. I never say what I’m really thinking, I make practically everything into a sex joke, and I kid around too much, about almost everything. I should have talked about what I wanted, what I was feeling, so you didn’t get the impression I thought you were just a fucktoy.”
“I should have known you didn’t think that. I should’ve had faith in you.”
“You’re not a mind reader, Syd.” He shrugs a big shoulder. “After you dumped me, I could have tried harder to fix things, too. I could have forced a confrontation with you, but I didn’t. If I had, maybe we could’ve worked this shit out three years ago. But I’ll be honest and admit I’m not the easiest guy to live with, either. I’m obnoxious and stubborn and way too proud, and I tend to want everything my way.” He grins. “But last night I found out that doing things your way can be nice, too.”
I remember him moaning beneath me, and I nod. “Yeah. It was definitely nice.”
He chuckles. “Let’s be honest. Nice is damning it with faint praise. It was amazing. Anyway…” He reaches into his jeans pocket, extracts the velvet box, and hands it to me. “You forgot this.”
I take it from his hand and stare at it in bewildered confusion. “This isn’t mine, Nick.”
“Of course, it is. I bought it for you, didn’t I? And I can’t imagine it fitting anyone else.”
My stupid eyes fill with tears again. I don’t cry even when kids bite my fingers while I’m tightening their braces. I don’t think I’ve cried this much in my whole life before. I do my best to keep my voice steady, but it’s not easy. “How do you know it fits me?”
“Let’s find out.” He pulls over, bringing the truck to a halt on the quiet street and flipping on his hazard lights. He reaches out, plucks the box from my hands, and opens it, then pulls out the ring and slides it onto my left hand. He grins triumphantly. “I knew it. It fits perfectly.”
I look at the glittering diamond, biting my lip to stop it from quivering some more. “I thought we were going to get back to reality, Nick.”
“I decided I like my reality better with you in it, Syd.”
At the solemn note in his voice, I look up to see his dark eyes watching me intently. “My God. You’re serious.”
“I’m not serious very often,” he admits. “Except when it comes to you.”
“You said last night didn’t mean a thing to you.”
“I lied. It meant everything to me, Syd. So do you.” He sighs. “You might find this hard to believe, but I intended to marry you almost from the first moment I saw you. It just took me three years to find an opportunity to ask you.” He reaches out, takes my hand, and looks into my eyes.
“Archibald Sydney, will you marry me?”
I shut my eyes for a long moment. When I open them, the snow’s coming down harder, so dense and thick that I can barely see the trees along the road. It swirls around the truck, giving me the odd feeling that we’re the only two people in the world.
“Yes, Nixon Brant,” I say at last. “I’ll marry you.”
He breaks into a wide, delighted grin and throws his arms around me, yanking me tightly against his chest. “Hot fucking damn,” he says into my hair. “I finally got what I really wanted for Christmas.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his shoulder, loving the solid feel of him, loving his evergreen scent. Loving him.
All at once I know I need to say it again. To make absolutely certain that he knows how I feel, that I won’t give up on him a second time, or back away without explanation, or let my stupid, stupid insecurities get between us, ever again.
Somehow, despite all the mistakes, we’ve found each other a second time. It’s a Christmas miracle if ever there was one. And I’m going to hold onto that miracle with everything I’ve got.
My eyes brimming with joyful tears, I gaze up at his beautiful face and manage to say the words despite the tightness in my throat.
“I love you, Nick.”
“Yeah,” he answers, that brilliant smile still on his face. “I love you too.”
The L word slips out easily, and I’m proud of him for getting past that mental block, for getting past whatever it was his dad did to him that made him so scared to show his true feelings. We’re all weighted down with a bunch of crap that doesn’t show on the outside, he said, and he’s right. We both have our issues. But he’s working through his, and I think I’m finally working through mine, too.
Because there’s no point in letting the pain of the past ruin a beautiful future.
I could stay wrapped in the warmth of his embrace forever, and I think he feels the same way. But the snow is coming down harder than ever, piling up so rapidly that pretty soon even his big truck won’t be able to power through it. He lets go of me, reluctantly. Then he puts the truck into drive, and it rolls ponderously into the snowy, tree-lined driveway that leads to his house.
“Come on, Syd,” he says. “Let’s go home.”
Need more Christmas romance? Look for Our First Christmas and My Christmas Wish on Amazon!
OTHER BOOKS BY GEM FROST
Our First Christmas
My Christmas Wish
Dominance
Prodigal
Vivid
Frozen Heart
Billionaire’s Valentine
Teaching Dallas
