by J. Saman
She’s also cleaned my entire apartment, including Cane’s room. I have no idea how he’ll react when he comes home to a very clean room, but I couldn’t stop her. I even let her in my room. Our place has never smelled this good. She’s been doing laundry and listening to music and working on her computer—making music, I think. She’s everywhere and yet, so goddamn easy and agreeable. She hasn’t demanded anything of me. Never asks for my time or my help with anything.
Which only makes me want to give it to her more.
She just does things.
It’s the control freak in her, I know. It’s busywork so she doesn’t have to think about spending Christmas away from the family she’s so close with, I know.
But I like having her here.
I like it so much that I invited her to tag along on my run yesterday morning; I hate running with people. I like it so much that I suggested lunch and a movie. We’d already spent twenty-four hours together, pretty much non-stop.
Today is Christmas Eve, and as I stare out my bedroom window at the falling snow against the dark gray sky, I have a lot on my mind. My father and the woman he perpetually choses over me. The Christmases and other holidays I’ve been done out of since my mother died. The woman sleeping in my roommate’s bed just down the hall, who seems to be unraveling me seam by seam.
My phone rings, vibrating and sounding generally pissed against the wood surface of my nightstand. I pick it up and answer without checking to see who’s calling. I know it’s not my father. He’s somewhere at sea, I think. But still. It would be nice if it were. “Hello?”
“Hey, man. How’s it going?”
“What the hell are you doing awake at eight in the morning, Cane?”
He laughs, loud and excited in my ear. Maybe even a little psychotic. “Dude, I haven’t fucking slept.” That makes two of us. “Are you forgetting what today is?”
I wrack my muddled overworked brain for a moment and then, “Oh shit. Happy birthday, big guy.”
“Thanks man. But I wasn’t calling for that. Do you remember what we talked about a couple months back? About starting our own financial company and taking on larger corporate interests?”
“Yeah,” I laugh the words. “And if I recall, the three of us pretty much acknowledged that we’d be doomed from the start.”
“Things have changed as of today, my friend.”
I wait. I stand here, staring out at the falling snow, because the way he says that? It makes me believe him. Something has changed. It’s subtle, but there is an assured confidence, a giddy knowledge that wasn’t there before. “Are you going to make me beg for it?”
“I don’t talk about this shit with you guys. I know you come from some money, but Trav does not. He’s on a full boat athletic scholarship and still needs to work. So, I don’t talk about my family situation.”
“Do you really think we don’t know you’re loaded? You wear fucking designer beanies.”
He blows a breath into the phone, the sound crackling against my ear and then he says, “I inherited sixty million dollars today as part of my trust fund from my grandparents. I get another sixty when I turn twenty-five.”
I manage to make it to the edge of my bed before I collapse, my knees giving out on me, my forehead hitting the palm of my hand.
“You still with me?”
“Barely. Jesus,” I breathe.
“Yeah. Jesus just about sums it up. But you know what this means?”
I choke out a laugh. “Yeah. You need a really good financial planner.”
“I have one, man. It’s you. You may be young, but you know your shit. I know you play around in the stock market and I know you’ve been earning some serious dollars with it.”
I don’t respond to that. When my mother died, she left me some money. Not a lot, but when I turned eighteen and started interning regularly for my father’s hedge fund, I learned a thing or two.
“I’m serious about this company shit. I think we can do it. We have the capital to start. Trav wants to go to law school. Cool. He already said he’d be into corporate and tax law. Between you and me, I think we can really get this going.”
“You’re serious?”
“One hundred percent, bro. One hundred percent. And if we fail, well, I get another sixty in a few years. I’m not worried about me. My parents are sitting pretty on Forbes already and I’m their only child. I know you have something potentially going with your dad’s company. But I also know you don’t want to work for him.”
I feel like I can’t breathe. Like the cream walls are closing in on me. It’s something I’d love to do. Something I’ve always sort of dreamed about. But the risk? Shit. The risk of failing is so goddamn high. And we’re young. So freaking young. Who the hell is going to invest with us?
“I don’t have your kind of money. Nowhere close. And Trav isn’t in the same universe.”
“I’ll be fifty and you each can be twenty-five. We need a lawyer, even a future one, and you’re much better at this stuff than I am. I’m the guy who can sell manure to a cow farmer. I can close any deal, but I can’t do any of this without you two. I don’t want to do it without the two of you.”
“Okay,” I say, even though I don’t know if I’m really agreeing to this. If it’s something that’s even possible.
“Awesome,” he says and I can hear the elation in his voice. The belief. “I’m going to call Trav. Have a good Christmas if I don’t catch up with you again before that.”
“You too, Cane, and happy birthday.”
“Right. Later.”
He disconnects the call and my phone slips out of my hand, landing on my bed with a gentle thud. A slow, reluctant smile begins to curl up the corners of my mouth. Our own company. Christ, I can hardly imagine it. But the moment I think that, I know it’s a lie. I love my father. I love him endlessly, but Cane is right, I don’t want to work for him. I don’t want to spend the next thirty years slaving away for him until he decides to retire, then hope he hands over the reins to me. There are other guys there already. Guys who are older and better positioned for that than I am. Guys my father knows and trusts.
Probably a hell of a lot more than the son he abandoned on Christmas.
Cane lives in New York City. He’s already there and I’ve been to his family’s place. It’s huge. Massive for not just New York, but for pretty much anywhere. It’s a good place to start. I stand up and walk back over to the window, staring out at nothing. Thinking. Strategizing. Coming up with names and logos and business models and—
“Hey,” Lyric’s timid voice calls out from the edge of my bedroom. I know that’s exactly where she is even though I haven’t turned around. She’s too considerate to enter my room before I give her permission. “It’s really coming down out there. A white Christmas.”
I nod and smile at that. A white Christmas with her. I spin around and face her. Her gorgeous blonde hair is wet like she just got out of the shower, clinging slightly to the fabric of her lime green blouse. She’s wearing bright red leggings and red-and-white candy cane striped socks. I laugh. I can’t help it. “You look like an elf.”
She glances down, a smile playing on her lips and brightening her hazel eyes. They look greener today. Maybe it’s the blouse. “That’s the point. It’s Christmas Eve. Wait till you see me tomorrow.” I walk across the room and wrap my arms around her, pulling her soundly into my chest. I have no idea where the impulse came from. How my body actually made the ten-foot journey over to her. How she ended up here.
But God, I need this. I need this comfort. I can’t remember the last time anyone who mattered hugged me. Probably not since my mother. My father was never the most affectionate. It’s not really his fault and I don’t blame him. Well, not fully anyway. His wife died, and he had been left with a depressed adolescent son he didn’t know how to relate to. He had been hurting too and coping has never been his strong suit.
So, there was never an abundance of hugs in my house.
L
yric freezes for a moment, clearly as caught off guard by the physical gesture as I am. But then she does the most amazing thing. She snakes her arms under mine and wraps them around my back, her hands sliding up to reach my shoulder blades, pulling me closer into her small, warm body. I sigh. I can’t help it. I don’t think anything has ever felt so good in my life. So fucking right.
She smells like strawberries and mint from her shampoo. Like a cool cocktail on a warm summer night. She doesn’t question me. She just sinks into me, letting me melt into her. My forehead drops to her shoulder, my face burying into the crook of her neck, the tips of her fingers playing with the too long ends of my hair. I kiss her sweet skin. It’s impossible not to. Just a small taste and her breath hitches, but more in bewilderment than anything else, I’m sure.
“Jamie,” she breathes and it’s the first time she’s ever called me anything other than Jameson. I can’t tell which I like better from her. I can’t let her go. I don’t know if my name on her lips is her way of saying ‘let go’ or ‘I’m okay’ or ‘what the fuck are you doing.’ I don’t have answers for any of that. Because I thought I was okay. I really did. I thought I was more than just getting by. I felt like I was kicking ass.
But then the only family I have left me at Christmas. And then she came to stay here. And then Cane called with his new crazy plan for our lives. And now I don’t know. I just don’t know.
“Are you okay?”
I nod against her.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I shake my head.
“Okay.” She squeezes me and holds me.
I think I’m absolutely crazy for this girl. Like insanely over the top in trouble. Because I’m going to New York. That’s where my life is headed and hers is going three thousand miles away. But I don’t know how to keep this up. How to pretend like I don’t want her.
You’ll hurt her.
I will. I know it. I feel it. That’s where our story is headed.
I want to break my promise.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, my face still plastered to the sweet skin of her neck.
She giggles and I smile at the sound. “That’s what I was coming to ask you. I wanted to go out because I feel like we’re about to be stuck in your house for the next few days, but I’m not sure if we’re too late for that.”
I suck in one last deep breath and then I pull away, ignoring the way I suddenly feel like a pussy for losing my shit on her like that. “It’s not supposed to get bad out until this afternoon. They changed the forecast. Eight inches of snow and another couple of ice.”
“Yikes. That’s a real storm. Then let’s go. You have a big Jeep. We can make it.”
“We can make it,” I say and I know that I mean that for so much more than breakfast.
Chapter 8
Lyric
* * *
“Do you open presents on Christmas Eve or Christmas day?” I ask as we finish picking at the last of our dinner. I cooked meat for the first time in my life, but Jameson ate it and said it was good. He could have been lying. I really wouldn’t know and I never will, since I’m not about to try it. But my mother always made ham on Christmas eve, so I felt like I needed to.
I miss them. I miss my family. It’s the first Christmas we’re not all together as a family. I’m not mad at them for not being around this year. I get it. They deserve this time. My father put his life on hold for us for years, so I don’t begrudge him this time. It just sucks.
I lift my glass of bourbon, the same brand my father always drinks, and take a small sip. We had wine with dinner, but now that it’s done, we’re both enjoying a glass of the good stuff. Jameson has been quiet today. At breakfast he was practically mute. I don’t know what that hug was all about and I haven’t brought it up since. He needed it. That’s all I know. I did, too, if I’m being honest about it.
Jameson’s eyes come up from his plate to meet mine. “Lee, I haven’t opened presents since I was a kid.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling a little foolish. I forget that his family situation is a lot different than mine. “Does that mean you don’t have a preference either way?”
He shakes his head and then shrugs. his eyes going back down to his plate as he moves the leftover ham and mashed potatoes around on his plate with his fork.
“Do you want me to shut up?” I ask, not even being a bitch. I get it. He’s had me here and even though I’ve tried to stay out of his way, it’s a lot of time together. He might just want a break. He glances back up, his eyebrows knitting together. “Seriously. I get it. Do you just need some space tonight?”
He blows out a breath and drops his fork onto his plate with a loud clank. He runs a hand through his inky hair and leans back in his chair. “I’m sorry. I’m being a total ass. You made this amazing dinner for me and I’m glad you’re here. I am. I don’t want you to shut up and I don’t need space. I just have a lot on my mind.”
“Do you want to smoke a joint and watch a movie?”
He bellows out a stuttered, incredulous laugh. “What?”
“What?” I say back. “I don’t smoke all that often, but we’re not going anywhere. It’s snowing its balls off outside and it could be fun.”
“You have a joint?”
I tilt my head and wink at him. “I just so happen to. Daria gave me some as a Christmas present before she left. I got her new Dr. Martens and she gave me two joints.”
Jameson grins so big, that tiny hint of a dimple that only comes out when he smiles like this is there. It’s the happiest I’ve seen him look in days and it has me returning his smile with the same enthusiasm. “Go get it, baby. I’ll clean up the kitchen and then we’ll smoke a joint together. But I don’t want to watch a movie. I want to play a game instead. We can watch a movie tomorrow.”
I hop off the chair and head for the stairs. “That’s if we don’t lose power,” I call out just as the fucking lights flicker. Like seriously. The exact same second the words left my mouth. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Do I have a super-secret power I didn’t know about?”
Jameson laughs, but gets up quickly. “Move your ass,” he says. “I’ll get the candles and flashlights ready. If it’s already flickering, it won’t last much longer.”
“Fuck,” I hiss. I hate losing power. Actually, I’ve never really experienced it before. We have a generator at our home in Connecticut. But it scares me. Probably because of that. “What about the heat?”
“Right. Well. We have a fireplace that runs on gas, and we have a lot of blankets.”
I run up the stairs. By the time I hit the top step, they flicker again. I grab one of the joints Daria gave me and a blanket, because I have a feeling we’re going to need it, and then I head back downstairs. Jameson is in the kitchen doing the dishes, so I deposit the blanket on the couch and toss the joint onto the coffee table. Then I light some candles. I bought a ton, so I doubt we’ll run out.
Besides, it’s already dark out and if the power does go out, I don’t want to be fumbling around trying to find them. “Do you want me to top you off?”
Jameson rolls his head over his shoulder and finds me. “How fucked up are we getting tonight?”
I shrug. “I’m not drunk and I’ll probably just have a little more. I doubt I’ll have more than a hit or two of the joint.”
“If you’re having more, I’m having more.”
Can’t argue with that. I pour us each another two fingers and just as I’m pushing the cork back into the bottle, the lights flicker again, go out for a beat and then come back on. “Get ready for it, Lee. It’s coming.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.”
I’m not fine. I’m nowhere close to fine.
“You’re nervous.”
Damn perceptive bastard. “Yep. I’m nervous. But really, we have food and flashlights and candles and the fireplace and blankets. We’ll be fine.”
“You convincing me or yourself there?”
“Dick,” I mutter under my br
eath and he laughs, turning off the water and wiping his hands with a dishtowel. Jameson is a clean boy. Thank God. Cane on the other hand? Not so much. I told him I cleaned his room this afternoon when I called him to wish him a happy birthday. He told me he was pledging his undying love and devotion to me and offered to give me multiple orgasms as payment, so I don’t think he was all that pissed that I did that without asking.
I like Jameson’s friends. They’re good guys. Even if they do flirt like tomorrow is the apocalypse and this is their last chance to get a woman in their bed.
Taking two candles and a flashlight over to the coffee table, I sit down, tucking myself under the comforter I brought down. Jameson turns on the gas fireplace and then comes and sits down right beside me.
“Merry Christmas, beautiful Lee. I cannot think of a better person to spend it with.”
I smile, lifting my glass the way he is and we clink before taking a sip of the smooth buttery bourbon. “I’m glad I’m not at the hotel. This is so much better.”
“May I?” he asks, picking up the joint and I wave my hand in the air, indicating that he can go ahead. He puts the tip of it into the flame of the candles, puffing a few times to get it lit. The lights flicker again and this time, they don’t come back on. “You okay?” he asks, taking a drag and then handing it to me.
“I’m good. But I’m thinking we’ll sleep down here in front of the fire.”
“Probably a good idea. I’ll grab more blankets later. Truth or dare?”
“What?” I laugh, coughing and choking some on the smoke in my lungs.
“You heard me.” He grins, taking the joint from me and sucking in another hit before passing it back to me for me to do the same.
I breathe in another hit and then wave him off, letting him know I’m done. I like a buzz, but I don’t love getting really high. He stubs it out on a plate he brought to the coffee table and then turns on me, facing me fully, his glass still in his hands. “Come on. What the hell else do we have to do?”