Red-Hot Santa (14 page)

Jackson grimaced and collapsed to sit on top of the bed. Shit.

“Hey, Gram. Sorry…?.”

He rubbed his face with his free hand.

“Don’t worry, I’ll figure out a way to make you pay for it. There’s caller ID on your cell for a reason. Look into it.”

He hadn’t called his grandmother since his return. Hell, he hadn’t called to tell her he was leaving. That was unusual, since he was pretty good at letting her know where he was and what he was doing at any given time. Partly because she had a habit of coming down on him like a ton of bricks if he didn’t.

Mostly because she deserved the consideration.

“How are you?”

He realized he didn’t even know what time it was. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Just after four p.m.

“Elbow deep in cookie dough,” she said.

He squinted.

“Christmas eve is tomorrow?”

Oh, hell…?.

The mere mention was enough to make him sick to his stomach. He wondered if it was possible to bow out of the festivities.

The idea was so sudden, it surprised him.

Never, ever, had he looked to get out of anything connected to Gram. It was just the nature of things.

“Jason and Jordan are flying in tomorrow morning. You’ll be here, right?”

The vodka was beginning to dull his senses even further. “Yeah, sure, I’ll be there.”

Silence.

“Are you all right?” she asked quietly.

Now there was a question.

Was he all right?

“Yeah. I’m fine. I’ve just had a long day, that’s all.” Liar. “You need me to bring anything tomorrow?”

There was another heartbeat of silence that told him his grandmother knew he was lying, but was considering whether or not to call him on it.

“Just yourself.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow then.”

“Good.”

He slowly disconnected and then sat for long minutes staring at his bedroom, noticing how foreign everything looked. He might as well have disconnected himself. Not by means of the telephone, but from everything familiar. He was accustomed to this sensation after coming home from long deployments. But this was different somehow. It went much deeper. Because this time, he wasn’t looking for enemies around every corner. He was looking for Max…

16

FA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA…fuck, fuck, fuck…?.

Max tried to conceal her personal twist on the song lyrics as her mom and aunt sang the true ones. She’d never much been one for holidays. Only now did that strike her as odd. Why didn’t she like holidays? She supposed it wasn’t so much that she didn’t like them. Rather, it was because she failed to see the value in a single day when you should be living that way every day.

Of course, now she was giving serious consideration to hating them…

“Awww,” her mom said, probably having unpacked yet another ornament with a sentimental story attached.

Max refrained from a physical eye roll, but allowed herself a mental one.

“Do you remember this, Maxi?”

She stepped up next to where Max hung the lights on the artificial silver tree they’d had for years. Expecting to see her two-year-old handprint forever preserved in clay or something equally schmaltzy, she was unprepared for the photo Cindy held out.

She slowly reached out and took it, staring down at a picture of her and Jackson when they were fifteen? Sixteen? It was taken during winter and they both sat on hay bales, him wearing a Santa cap very similar to the one he’d had on at The Barracks, while her mother had stuck an antler headband on top of her head. They were both holding up peace signs…

She remembered that day so clearly she could nearly smell the straw.

She’d gone over to the Savage farm with her mom to deliver fruitcake to Jackson’s grandmother, an annual tradition they had with several neighbors. She’d just stepped outside to look for Jackson…and gotten smacked on the side of the head with a snowball. Since she’d always given as good as she got, they’d indulged in an hour-long fight that finally found them in the barn together, right back at the spot where they first met…?.

Max sighed.

She recalled she had a snowball all ready in her hands and he’d grabbed her from behind, lifting her off the ground. She’d managed to struggle around and stuff the snow down the front of his flannel shirt. He’d pulled her so closely to him, she’d felt every inch of him…including his hard erection.

For a heart-pounding moment, she’d thought he’d kiss her. She’d prayed he would…?.

Then her mother had come outside with her camera and they’d jumped away from each other as if caught being very naughty.

Neither of them had breathed a word about the incident, or countless others just like it. And in many ways, Max had found it very easy to convince herself she’d imagined them. That her fantasies about Jackson wanting her were nothing but silly daydreams.

It would be so much easier if she held that same power now. But the past few days with Jackson had been so perfectly real…?.

She blinked back a sudden rush of tears.

She didn’t know when her mother had placed the shot into a wreath frame to be hung on the tree, but she couldn’t recall seeing it before.

She thrust it back at her. “I don’t remember,” she said.

The last thing she wanted was a replay of that morning. She’d soaked the shoulder of her mother’s sweater for a good half hour before finally getting a hold of herself.

To her credit, Cindy hadn’t pressed for the reason behind the waterworks. Likely, she’d thought it something connected to the job she’d been on. That was fine with Max. The more space she was allowed, the better.

“Of course, you remember,” her mother said now about the ornament. “It was the day of that godawful snowstorm. It took us an hour to plow our way out of the driveway just so we could get up the road.” Now
that
she could honestly say she didn’t remember. Likely because there were many times they’d done the same.

Her aunt sighed from behind them. “Cindy, remember when we all plotted to get Maxi and Jackson together?”

She nearly choked on her own spit, caught haplessly between grief and shock. “What? You guys did no such thing.”

Her mother smiled. “Oh, yes, we did.”

The living room of the old farmhouse was filled with boxes of holiday stuff. The aroma of cinnamon and pine from a wreath, and the soft sound of carols playing on the old radio in the corner added an otherworldly feel to the day.

Her aunt looked up from where she plucked garland and stockings from a box. “But, of course, no good matchmaking scheme would be worth a damn if we told the couple in question about it.”

Max was having a hard time following the conversation. She knew her mom and aunt were telling the truth; while the two were known to exaggerate, they never outright lied.

“When?” she asked. “When did you guys do that?”

Her mom opened a box of huge, bright red bulbs. “Just before you two numbskulls signed up for the Corps.”

Max blinked at her, then lifted a brow. “Numbskulls?”

“Yeah. Both of you were dumb as doorknobs then. Not a lick of sense between you.”

Her aunt stepped up between them, reaching over Max’s shoulder to adjust the lights she hung. “Never mind her. She never could tell a story to save her life…?.”

“Me? You always want to jump straight to the punchline.”

“You’re talking about a joke, sweetie.”

“Same difference.” Her mother looked back at her. “What I mean is that neither one of you had a brain in your head when it came to the other. There Jackson went skipping off to the Marines because his big brother did, and there you went, following right along after him. Just like you always did.”

Max tried to wrap her head around what her mother was saying. “I didn’t sign up because of Jax.”

They both stared at her.

Is that what they truly thought? That she’d become a Marine because of some sort of unrequited love for a guy who never even looked at her that way? “I didn’t. I signed up because of Grandpa.”

“Uh-huh,” her mother said in that way that always grated against her nerves.

“People don’t become Marines because of someone else,” Max said flatly. “A Marine is born a Marine…?.”

“Anyway, that’s neither here nor there,” her aunt said, quickly, always the peacemaker. “What we’re talking about is that time we set you both to work up at the General Store together.”

Max squinted at her. “You did not.”

Her aunt smiled. “Did so.”

She half expected her mother to stick her tongue out at her.

“You certainly don’t think it was a coincidence that Jackson was hired the day after you were, do you?” her aunt asked.

Max thought back to the time. It had been a few months before graduation and both of them had been looking for extra cash. She was glad when a Help Wanted sign was posted at the General Store. She’d gone in to inquire and had instantly gotten a cashier’s position.

Then Jackson had walked through the door the following day, apparently hired on as a stock handler, and her heart had twirled in her chest. Oh, she saw him at school all the time, and at various school and community related events, but outside brief snatches of time like the day of the snowball fight, they hadn’t spoken much. But at the General Store…

She caught herself smiling in bittersweet remembrance.

Sometimes he’d bring her a muffin from a batch his grandmother had made. Sometimes she’d give him half her sandwich at lunch and the two of them would sit on the back loading dock, feet hanging over the side, talking about everything and nothing, sometimes leaning into each other and smiling…

She glanced to find her mother and aunt sharing a secret smile that wasn’t so secret.

This time she didn’t try to hide her eye roll.

“You two are pathetic,” she said. “You both should look into having the rose-tint permanently removed from your corneas. Really, it’s quite sickening.”

Her mother sighed. “Yes, well, that attempt didn’t work out as planned, did it? You never even went to the prom.”

Max winced. Like she needed the reminder of that old bit of scar tissue on top of what she felt now.

“That’s because he asked Jennifer Wills,” she whispered.

Her aunt made a growling sound. “I swear, Cindy, you’re as dense as a cow patty sometimes.”

“What?”

Max finished putting up the lights and dropped her arms to her sides. “I’m getting more coffee. Either of you want any?”

She walked away without waiting for an answer.

“Why would you want coffee when there’s perfectly good eggnog in the fridge?” her aunt asked.

Max entered the kitchen and closed the swinging door. She leaned against the counter and rubbed her closed eyelids, thankful for the brief moment of silence.

Her head ached and her heart felt as if it might explode. She hadn’t been able to eat more than a few tasteless bites or drink more than a few sips of anything since her return. A voice told her she should try, it would help her feel better. But the thought was enough to make her feel sick to her stomach.

This was so incredibly stupid.

Stupid or not, she found she was crying…again.

Of course, it didn’t help that she was rooming with two of the biggest romantics in human history. No matter what happened, what they went through, what ugliness her aunt and mother encountered, their staunch belief in love was…

Nauseating.

How in the hell was she going to survive the next two days closed up in the house with them during the holidays?

How in the hell was she going to survive living with herself?

She stared outside at the cloudy day, one of what she knew would be an endless winter stream of them. She hated this time of year. Short days, little sunshine. She should go somewhere warm.

She watched fat snowflakes swirl in the frigid breeze and her breath caught, another memory coming to her.

She’d been four, maybe five. Her father had left her and her mother blessedly alone for a few days, disappearing as he had a habit of doing every now and again. Her mother had always been happier during those times. Baking and playing games with her.

On this particular winter day, she had been standing at the window of their dingy little one-bedroom house on the outskirts of town and Max had joined her, trying to loop her arms around her hips. Her mother had caught her wrists and held them there.

“Look, Maxi, faeries have come down to visit you. If you close your eyes and wish for something really, really hard, they’ll make sure it comes true.”

Now, so many years later, she found herself closing her eyes and making a wish she didn’t even dare acknowledge to herself.

She felt a moment of sheer longing, then opened her eyes to find nothing had changed. She was still standing in the kitchen of her aunt’s farmhouse. She still hurt. And the two women in the other room still were laughing.