He sits up, propping his head against the headboard, giving me a confused expression.
“About not being tempted by seeing me drink. Does it really not bother you?”
He shakes his head. “Why should it?”
“Because you can’t.”
“I can.”
My eyebrows dip as now I’m the one left with a confused look. “What?”
He sits up farther. “I can drink. The issue is that I know that my taking a drink would lead me to a different place than it leads you. You didn’t even finish your glass of champagne. Not because you weren’t trying to, but because once you finished with it, you were done. That could never be me.
Even when I took my first drink at the age of twelve, I never left a drop in the glass or bottle.”
I chew on my bottom lip, staring down at his lap. “I wish Dierdre could’ve gotten to that conclusion.”
Neil begins tracing circles around my shoulder with his fingertips, and even though we’re both naked in his bed, it’s more comforting than erotic.
“I think she did,” he says after a while. “She just couldn’t figure out how to stop.”
“She had stopped, though.” I sit up, covering myself with his dark grey sheets.
“She was sober and clean for three months before she overdosed. I don’t understand it. Things were looking up. She even got her old job back at the restaurant that she loved so much. Why couldn’t she just keep doing that? Why did she have to go out to drink and do drugs again?” I ask, my eyes welling up with grief, and an abiding need to understand.
Neil pulls me into him, kissing my forehead. “I wish I could make you understand. Hell, I don’t even fully understand it sometimes.”
“Maybe I should’ve done more. I went out that night.”
“There was nothing you could’ve done. You did all that you could’ve. You weren’t her babysitter, and there’s no way you can be with someone twenty-four hours a day. It’s not possible.”
Sighing, I lay my head against his chest, knowing he’s right. Deirdre was an adult.
“My parents don’t talk about her. My mother took all the pictures of her down a few weeks after the funeral. It’s as if she’s trying to wipe the memory of my sister away. As if forgetting her altogether will stop the pain caused by her death.”
I let out a sigh and turn to look up at Neil. “Aside from Jackie, you’re the only person I’ve ever really confided in about my sister.”
“They never even mention her?”
I shake my head.
He frowns. “The pain of losing a child is probably bad enough. Add to that the suffering of how she died. I’ve seen parents blame themselves for their child’s addiction.”
“You say that as if it’s not the parents’ fault.”
His forehead creases. “It’s not.”
“How can it not be? If my parents hadn’t turned their back on her, she might still be here.”
He shakes his head. “Do you know how many parents I’ve had to counsel and encourage to let their son or daughter go? It’s never an easy thing to do. I don’t care who the parent is or how good a parent they were while raising them. They always feel responsible. But it’s not that simple. I’ve seen people with the worst parents you could think of recover, while others with the parents who gave them everything from love and affection to the best opportunities in life, end up in their grave from their addiction.”
“I don’t understand,” I say, running my hand through my hair. There was a part of me that always questioned how my mother and father handled things with Dierdre. The reason she was staying with me in her last weeks of life was because they refused to let her move back home even though she had no other place to go.
“Trust me. It’s taken years for me to get this far in understanding. Relationships are complicated as hell, especially between a parent and child.”
I start to say something else but Neil’s phone rings. Frowning, I glance at the time on the clock on his nightstand, noting that it’s almost three in the morning. Even more surprising, Neil answers.
“Shane? What is it?”
There’s a worried note in his tone of voice, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up.
“Where are you?” He pauses, waiting for a response. “Shit. Give me the address,” he demands.
I watch wordlessly as Neil climbs out of bed and heads directly to his dresser, pulling it open. While still on the phone, he begins dressing in a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeve shirt.
“No, don’t hang up. Stay on the phone with me,” he orders in a tone that brokers no argument.
Finally, Neil removes the phone from his ear as he turns to me. He gives me a regretful look.
“Where’re you going?”
“This is my … sponsee. He needs help.”
I nod and envision all types of things that could be going on with this Shane person. I know about anonymity and all of that, so it’s unlikely that Neil will give me more details.
“I have to go help him,” he says. In his gaze, there’s a look, as if he’s begging me to understand. To not be offended that he has to leave the bed we’re sharing at an ungodly time of night to help someone.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can. I promise.” He kisses my forehead.
“Be safe,” I say, feeling a little afraid to watch him go out the door in the middle of the night. Still, there’s something that tells me he needs to do this. I don’t even think of telling him to stay, to remain with me throughout the night, even though that’s what I want.
Minutes go by, and I hear the front door of Neil’s condo close. A coldness envelops me as I feel the loss of his presence. As time ticks by, my mind begins to swirl with thoughts. The assuredness I felt earlier loosens its hold on me. I start to wonder if he’s lying.
Deirdre used to lie and tell me she was attending meetings or working with her sponsor, only for me to find out later it was all a lie. I fight to dismiss the thought. Neil isn’t my sister and has never given me any reason to doubt him.
Chapter 10
“There’s that nervous look again,” I tease as I climb into the car behind the wheel with Desiree in the passenger seat.
“I gotta have a better poker face.” She sighs.
I lean over, taking her chin into my hand and pressing a kiss to her glossy lips. “You don’t ever need to have a poker face with me. What’s up?” My hand still cups her chin.
“This is a big deal. You’re not nervous?”
I shake my head. “Parents love me. Plus, I have the advantage of already having met your parents.”
She frowns. “Under not so great circumstances.”
“True, but these are better conditions. You were nervous about meeting my parents, and they loved you from the beginning. Last night my mother practically drooled over the peach cobbler and homemade vanilla bean ice cream you brought for dessert.”
She blinks and smiles. “You sure she wasn’t just being nice?”
I shake my head. “My mother doesn’t play when it comes to her sweet tooth. She called me this morning before their flight to ask me if you were thinking about selling that cobbler once you open your bakery.”
She gasps. “You told her about my bakery?”
“I sure as hell did. She started to pull out her checkbook last night to invest in it, but I convinced her to save that for later. I didn’t want her scaring you off before we even cut the turkey.”
It’s Thanksgiving, and Desiree and I are spending it with her parents. Last night, she and I ate Thanksgiving dinner at my parents’ house before they flew out to Chicago to spend the holiday weekend with my sister and her family. After dinner, Desiree and I are driving up to my family’s cabin in the mountains to spend the long weekend there. Meeting her parents and having dinner with them isn’t a concern of mine in the least.
“She liked them, huh?”
“Why do you sound so surprised? You know you’re an excellent baker.”
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Her smile widens. “I know, but whenever someone new tastes something I made, I always hold my breath a little. Each cake or cookie or loaf is like a piece of me going out into the world to spread a little bit of happiness.”
I chuckle.
“I sound attached to it, don’t I?” She rolls her eyes.
“No, you sound like it’s your passion. Which is exactly why it needs to become your full-time job.”
“I knew I was setting myself up for a lecture about this.”
“No lecture,” I respond, shaking my head. “Take it as a simple reminder that your destiny is waiting for you.”
She pushes out a breath. “Well, let’s hope my destiny can wait until after Thanksgiving dinner.”
Chuckling, I make the turn for the on-ramp that leads to the town where Desiree’s parents live. As we drive, she tells me stories of her childhood. Her parents still live in the home where she and her sister grew up.
“And you tease me about being one of the other half,” I say as we pull into her parents' long driveway. The house isn’t a mansion or anything, but it’s a comfortably sized house for four people.
“No, you grew up very differently. My parents are relatively middle class, thanks to my father’s job as a professor, but they’re not wealthy.”
“Okay,” I say, chuckling.
Desiree parts her lips to respond, but then the sparkle in her eyes grows as she glances out the window over my shoulder.
I turn to see an older man stepping out of the door and coming down the front, red brick steps.
“Daddy,” she says, pulling the door open.
I recognize her father immediately, having met him a handful of times.
“Desi,” Mr. Jackson calls as she rounds the front of my car, moving to the stone pathway that leads to the front door of the family home.
I watch as she hugs her father tightly. Before I can step onto the walkway, I remember all of the food in the backseat of my car. Desiree spent all of yesterday cooking the desserts that we brought to my parents’ home and preparing pies, a cake, and sweet potatoes that we brought to her parents. She said that everyone in her family claimed she made the best sweet potatoes, and they refused to let anyone else even attempt to make them for the holiday.
That endorsement alone had me anxious to try them. Thankfully, my girl hadn’t made me wait when she prepared a separate dish for us two days ago. I have to say, I agree with her family. I doubt I can even order sweet potatoes at a restaurant anymore after tasting hers. In the same way, I’m sure there’s no other woman for me after being with her.
“Mr. McKenna,” Desiree’s father calls, bringing me out of my spiraling thoughts about his daughter.
“Sir, please call me Neil. I’m not at work,” I tell him.
“Habit,” he explains.
I nod.
“I hope you didn’t forget those sweet potatoes, baby girl,” Mr. Jackson says, turning to Desiree.
“And end up with you and mom forcing me to sit at the kids’ table? Not a chance. They’re in the car,” she says.
“I can bring them,” I volunteer.
“Let me help you. Go on in and see your mother, Desiree. She’s been waiting for you.”
Desiree turns to me, and I give her a nod, signaling I’m okay with being left with her father.
I watch for a moment as she heads in the direction of the front door before turning back to my car.
“I bet she had your entire car smelling like food.”
I chuckle at Mr. Jackson’s comment. “It had my stomach growling the entire drive here.”
He laughs. “I know that’s right. My baby can cook. She gets it from her mother, you know? That woman can burn in the kitchen. She doesn’t like to do it as much anymore, though.”
I nod, listening to him talk about his wife. Mr. Jackson was always affable whenever we got a chance to speak one-on-one. Of course, when he was worried about Dierdre, or they had a negative family counseling session, he wasn’t so good-natured, but that’s to be expected.
“Look at all of this food. I knew she was going to overdo it.” He shakes his head.
“She wants to make sure everyone is taken care of and gets enough to eat,” I say without even thinking.
“That’s my baby,” he retorts while stacking two aluminum trays on top of one another to carry inside. “She made string beans and biscuits, too?”
“The string beans are my favorite. I casually mentioned that to her the other day, and the next thing I knew, she was adding them to her grocery list.”
He chuckles. “Yup, that’s Desi, all right.”
We make a little more small talk as we stack the dishes on one another in our arms, mindful to do so carefully as not to drop anything. I doubt I could show my face if I were to drop any of the food Desiree prepared outside on the front lawn.
Turning, I manage to press the button on my keychain to lock my door before I follow Mr. Jackson inside. Right before we enter, he pauses, turning to me, his expression more severe than when we were talking about Desiree’s cooking.
“I guess I should apologize in advance for my wife’s actions.”
I frown but don’t get the chance to question him on what he means before Desiree stands before us.
“Thanks, Daddy. Thanks, babe,” she says breathlessly, pressing a kiss to her father’s cheek and then moving to do the same to me, but I turn, capturing her lips. She startles, pulling back with a sheepish expression on her face.
I wiggle my eyebrows, causing her to slap me on the shoulder.
“Follow me. The kitchen’s this way.”
I nod and enthusiastically follow her, watching the side to side movement of her hips in the jeans she’s wearing. I’m so enthralled with watching Desiree, I nearly miss the layout of her parents’ home and almost walk straight into the door that separates the kitchen from the dining area. Luckily, I catch myself before a tragedy happens.
“Mom, you remember Neil,” Desiree introduces as soon as we enter the kitchen.
Her mother’s eyes rove over me, and though the plastered smile on her face remains, I get the sense that she disapproves of my presence. Instantly, my fuck you meter goes on high alert, and I have to remind myself to chill the hell out.
“Mrs. Jackson, Happy Thanksgiving,” I say as I place the trays of food onto the expansive kitchen island.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” she responds right before her gaze flitters away, connecting with Desiree. “Desi, did I tell you that Sheryl and her son are coming to dinner this evening?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Must’ve slipped my mind. Well, they’ll be here any minute now along with the rest of the family.”
I watch as Desiree’s mother eyes her up and down. Something twists in my gut when I notice her frown.
“Desiree, I thought I told you to wear that black and white sweater.”
Desiree peers down at the red, off-the-shoulder she’s wearing with a wrinkled forehead. “Yeah, but I changed my mind.” Her gaze darts over to me, and I smirk, tossing her a wink. Red is my favorite color on her, and she wore the sweater to please me.
Her mother doesn’t miss that exchange, and as my gaze cuts over to her, I can see her frown deepening. Again, my sense to ask her what the hell her problem is wells up, but I keep a lid on it. The last thing I want is to put Desiree in an awkward position at her family’s Thanksgiving dinner.
However, it seems her mother doesn’t have the same reservations I hold because about ten minutes later, while Desiree and I are helping her father set up the table, Mrs. Jackson walks in with a guy a few years younger than me, a beaming smile on her face.
“Desi, you remember Jaxson, right?” she introduces, making it extremely clear to everyone in the room that this introduction is no accident or coincidence.
“I cannot believe my mother,” I fume to Neil as I pace back and forth while he sits on the bed in what was once my childhood bedroom.
“We
aring a hole in the carpet isn’t going to change what she did,” he replies, pulling me to stand between his legs by my hips.
Planting my hands on his shoulders, I say, “I’m so sorry. I had no idea she was going to invite him.”
“Or that she was going to use it as an opportunity to set you two up?”
“That either.” I roll my eyes, feeling the heat of my anger all over again. “That woman is impossible sometimes,” I groan. “If this is too strange for you, we can leave.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Really? Are you willing to leave your family’s Thanksgiving dinner? The same one you spent hours cooking over.”
I wave my hand in the air dismissively. “I spend hours in the kitchen all the time. I’m used to it.” I peer down at him, squeezing his shoulders, and swallow as I stare him in the eye. “This is our first Thanksgiving together, and I don’t want the memory of it tainted by my mother’s meddling.” I let out a deep sigh.
Neil rises, capturing my lips, surprising me. Soon, however, I melt into the kiss, nearly forgetting what our discussion was about in the first place.
Not until he pulls back do I recall the feeling of my anger in the pit of my stomach. What was I mad about again?
“Desi, are you still in there? Our guests are waiting. It’s time to serve dinner,” my mother yells through the door.
And just like that, I remember what had me so pissed off in the first place.
Neil’s gaze moves from the door back to me. “We’re not leaving early. You’d regret leaving your family’s Thanksgiving early. I can handle your mother. You just make sure that Jacob doesn’t touch you.”
“Jaxson,” I correct.
“Whatever. I can’t promise what my actions will be if I find any part of his hands on you. That handshake in the kitchen lasted a little too long for my liking.”
I laugh and rise on my tiptoes, giving him a quick peck on the lips before pulling back. But I don’t get too far when Neil’s hands around my waist tighten. The look he’s giving me is steely.
“I’m serious, Desi. Your mother’s something I can deal with, but that Jarrod isn’t related to you. I may not have any compunction about laying him flat on his ass if he so much as breathes the same air as you for too long.”
A Holiday Seduction: A Holiday Novella Page 8