Holiday for Two (a duet of Christmas novellas) (17 page)

And worse than that, he had hurt her. Felicity. The woman he loved.

It was better this way. Right?

He turned on his side, facing the window in his room. Snow blurred against the windowpane, and he couldn’t even make out the moon, much less the night sky. At least she couldn’t leave. Not yet anyway. Soon, she would. And what would happen when they returned to Lake George? Their families still lived next door to one another. He was her family accountant, not to mention he was also Felicity’s accountant. They would see each other, but it would be different.

How could it not be?

He didn’t want different.

He wanted the same, but he couldn’t have the same. Not after what he had said. Not after what had happened. Not after pouring his heart out and then doing a complete 180. He thought he was ready. He did. He thought he wanted to be with her, and he did want to be with her . . . but . . . it was better to not take risks. Right?

He turned on his stomach and thumped the pillow with his head a few times. God. Why couldn’t he just have done it? Why? Why couldn’t he just . . . go after what and whom he wanted? Why couldn’t he risk it?

Because he was a coward.

A big, stinking coward, that’s why.

Harry turned on his other side and glared at his closed door. He was the one who always locked himself away. It was safer not to show all of his true self to others—and this included his family—to keep his underbelly unexposed, to hide away his secrets, his desires, his wants, his needs, his dreams, his fervent hope. It was safer to not say. To not risk rejection. To not expose himself to others and have them scoff and ask,
“Really? That’s what you want? That’s who you love? You think you can get that? You think you can get her? Dream on, buddy.”

Because when he dared to reach out in the past . . . when he dared to hope that he could go after what he wanted most . . . when he dared to trust someone with parts of his true self, he always got burned. He only trusted his family and Felicity to a certain extent. He didn’t show them
everything
. He wasn’t stupid. He didn’t believe anyone could really accept and love him completely. All that he was and all that he had in him.

He had never been good enough for that. Always just good. Always the kid who never caused trouble for his parents in or out of school. Always the kid who did his work in school and achieved As and Bs, but was always overlooked in the classroom. Always the kid who was picked on but didn’t say anything because saying something didn’t change anything but made the bullying worse. Always the student in college who never quite fit in—the one who had a couple of friends, but never connected with anyone to form long-lasting friendships. Always the co-worker who did his job and did it to the best of his ability, but at the same time, was just another cog in the machine.

He was always “just” something. Of course he longed for true connections. Of course he longed to open himself up to someone and bare everything, and have that someone not reject him. Of course he longed to be not “just” anymore.

But he didn’t think that was ever going to happen.

So why even bother trying to reach for something unattainable? Why risk anything? He’d been fine before with his lot in life . . . and he would get back to fine again.

But the thought didn’t comfort him, and he worried that
fine
would never be fine for him again.

Well, he would just make it so. He could find a new normal.

One without Felicity.

His heart howled in his chest, and he pressed a hand there. The ache didn’t go away. It wouldn’t go away. It gnawed at him.

Imagine a life without Felicity.

No, he wasn’t going to.

Imagine it. You do it for everything else.

So he did. He pictured it in his mind returning to Lake George and running into Felicity at her parents’ annual Christmas Eve dinner. He saw her laughing and talking, and her smile fading away when she spotted him. How the conversation would be stilted, and how she avoided him. How much it hurt.

Imagine further ahead
.

He thought a few months from now. When it came time to do her taxes. How he would usually run numbers with her, and they would order in pizza and wings, and she would make him watch
Say Anything
again. But this time, she emailed him and attached all her receipts and other information so he could do it on his own time. And then she would add that she thought it better in the future that she find another accountant.

Go even further ahead.

He saw a wedding. One of his brothers? But no, it wasn’t. Felicity, in a wedding gown, exchanging vows with another man. One who wasn’t him. That man would slide the ring on her finger, promising to love and treasure her always. To risk it all with her. The reception later on with Felicity and her new husband laughing and smiling at each other. They’d dance off into the sunset, and all Harry would have was regrets of what could have been.

Then ten years later. Felicity with her family, and he would run into them by chance at the market. Two girls and a boy. The youngest, a girl, looked like Felicity so much it hurt. Her business was doing extremely well, but he had already known that, as Fat Lady Sweets had opened up more stores in the Northeast region and down in Cape May and another in Florida. Soon, a store would open in Chicago, and Felicity and her family would be making a move to oversee the operation.

He’d not see her again. He’d only hear about her when Fat Lady Sweets was on the news. When her store won some big award for their candy.

He’d lost the one woman who mattered to him in all his life. He’d thrown away something because he wasn’t able to take a risk. He was scared. And he had lost her. His life, as safe as it was, was pitiful and alone, but he had
always
loved her. And he hated himself. He hated himself so much for what he had done. She had never been the one capable of destruction. It had been him.

Harry jolted upright in bed, sweating, his heart hammering.

No, no, no.

No.

He couldn’t . . . he just couldn’t. Not her. Never her.

He had to . . .

But no, she wouldn’t believe him. Why would she?

But she had to.

She had to.

Because he couldn’t lose her.

He couldn’t.

His life was
nothing
without her in it. She was
everything
to him.

And he wasn’t going to lose her.

He couldn’t.

He wouldn’t.

It was way past time he took risks and won Felicity back.

Before he lost her for good.

EIGHT

F
ELICITY DID NOT
have a good night’s sleep. The whole night she tossed and turned, and she had the strangest dream where Harry had ended up marrying some adorable woman who wore glasses, and they ended up having a Brady Bunch family of glasses-wearing kids. And the ache of what could have been hers still hurt—even though it was only a dream. Or more like a nightmare.

The remnants of the dream clung to her, like stale cigarette smoke, and she
needed
to wash it away.

She made her way to the ensuite, still groggy and feeling just out of it, so she set the shower temperature to scalding and brushed her teeth while she waited for the water to heat up.

It was a dream, she reminded herself. But it wouldn’t shake away, that awful feeling that life could go that way if one of them didn’t smarten up and do something about it.

You would destroy me.

She frowned. She didn’t want it to have to be her to make the first step. Oh, she knew she should just be an adult about it and make amends, but why was it
always her
? Why couldn’t it be Harry who made the first move? Why did she always have to put her heart out there and get flayed alive? Why did she have to be the one who always took the risk? Who always cannonballed?

Why did she always have to reach out before anyone else? Why, why, why? Her freaking new mantra of the morning.

In the past, she would have been the first to brush things aside. To smooth the hurt or anger, to find a compromise . . . she could never stay angry for long, nor did she like to hold onto such negative energy, it would eat away at her. And, right now, part of her wanted to reach out to Harry and make everything better. To stuff her hurt away and pretend it didn’t matter to her.

But she couldn’t pretend. Not anymore.

He had hurt her, and she didn’t feel like being the one to forgive first, be the one big enough to smooth things over this time. She had put it all on the line, and he had totally seemed onboard, and then he had whip-lashed her by rejecting her. The scars were still too new, too fresh, and her heart heavy and weary from obsessing over the fight.

Steam rose in the small, enclosed bathroom. She adjusted the temperature of the water so it wouldn’t strip her skin raw, and stepped in. She reached for the shampoo bottle, lathered her hair, and tilted her head back to rinse. She started to squeeze her eyes shut, but right as she was about to do so a movement in the upper right-hand corner caught her attention.

Her gaze flew there.

A big, nasty black spider. Waiting for her. Planning to kill her.

And then it started to move.

She screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed some more.

She scrambled out of the shower, keeping her eye on the Spider of Death, and took the shower curtain with her. Her legs tangled with the fabric, and oh my God, what if there were more spiders on the shower curtain? What if they were climbing on her body right now and laying spider eggs
everywhere
?

She screamed again, trying furiously to twist the curtain from her body, and shampoo was sliding down her face, and it was going to get in her eyes and mouth, and then she was going to die from poisoning and spider bites, and—

“Felicity!” Harry barged into the bathroom, holding a book in his right hand.

“Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!” She grabbed at his sleeve and furiously pointed to where the spider was. Or had been. It was no longer in that spot. “Where did it go? Harry!”

He looked at her, confused. “Where did what go?”

“The fucking spider!”

Harry blinked. “A spider? I thought something horrible happened.”

She glanced around the bathroom, looking for the Spider of Death, and found it making its way down from the ceiling to the painted blue walls. “It’s coming after me.”

“Holy sh—”

“Kill it! Burn it!”

“Felic—”

“Hurry! Before it kills me dead!” she wailed. “Just kill it already. Throw something at it. Get a flame torch. Burn everything! Just do something!”

Harry looked at the book and sighed. “I guess I can use this.”

“Yes! Do it! Now! Swing, Harry!”

Harry strode to the wall, took the book, and hit the spider with a resounding thud. Only when the spider had been flushed to its watery grave did Felicity breathe a sigh of relief and look at the book that had brought about the death to the Spider of Death.

“You Nicholas Sparked it.”

Harry smiled at her, laughter in his eyes. “I guess I did.”

M
UCH LATER, AFTER
she had finally cleaned up and slightly recovered from the Spiderpocalypse, she started to make her way downstairs. Harry had saved her life, and he was her best friend, so there needed to be a way to move past . . .
this
.

She swallowed. She guessed she would have to make the first move, after all. Because . . .

Felicity stopped at the top of the stairs, not believing what she saw.

The downstairs area had been transformed into a winter wonderland. Colored lights were strung along the top of the walls, and garland wrapped around the stair’s railing, white fairy lights twinkling amongst the strands. Christmas music played from the record player, and two stockings hung from the fireplace.

And then there was the tree.

It wasn’t a gigantic thing, not even an average-sized one. It was skinny and spindly, but it was the most gorgeous Christmas tree she’d ever seen. Ornaments, silver tinsel, and even more lights covered the tree. A sparkly gold star sat on top, and there were even a few presents underneath. She turned to find Harry pulling out a fresh batch of cookies from the oven.

“What . . .” Her mind stalled, and she struggled to find words. “What is all this?”

“Christmas decorations.”

“But . . . but I thought you didn’t care for decorations. You never decorate your apartment.”

“But you like it.”

“I do.” She loved doing decorations for all the holidays. It was fun, and it got her into the festive mood.

Christmas was perhaps her favorite holiday. It always seemed somehow magical to her. All those times as a kid when she tried to stay up all night so she could see Santa. All those times when she would wake up early in the morning to race downstairs with her younger sister to open presents and discover the plate of cookies and glass of milk left out gone. All those times where magic seemed real and possible and attainable.

She slowly turned in a circle, taking it all in. He had done this for her. She couldn’t believe it.

“Why?” she asked. “Why?”

“Just . . . come here,” he said, pointing to the tree. He grabbed a medium, square-shaped box and handed it to her. “Open this.”

“Open it? Now? But Christmas is three days away.”

“It’s an early Christmas present.”

She eyed the box in her hand. “Well . . . okay.”

She untied the big red bow and ripped off the wrapping paper to reveal a plain white box. She held it up and shook it.

Harry laughed. “You’re not going to guess what it is, Felicity.”

“I could try,” she said, taking the lid off the box. Inside was a . . . “You gave me a pen? Does it . . . does it do anything?”

Because as far as she could tell, the pen was just a pen.

“‘You gave me your heart, and all you got was a pen,’” he quoted from her favorite movie.

“Harry,” she began.

“Felicity, I fucked up.”

“Harry,” she said again, a strangled sort of laugh mixed with a sob escaping her.