My mom glances up from her coffee cup and then she beams. “Faith! My favorite child.”
Lila, who is sitting beside her, snorts into her own cup.
I give Mom a one-armed hug and glare at Lila over her shoulder.
I’m so sorry, she mouths.
I shake my head and turn my glare up a couple notches.
“How was your drive?”
“It was good. Just saw Grandpa and Grandma reading stories.”
Mom’s eyes turn misty. She’s always been a sucker for holidays. They make her ridiculously sentimental. “I remember when you two were little. You used to love those stories.” She sends me a pointed glance. “That’s before you ran off, of course.”
Rolling my eyes, I send an identical look to my dad. “You’d think after four years she’d be used to the fact that I had to go to college.”
He bumps my shoulder with his. “Not likely, sugar butt. But look at it this way, your sister graduates this year, then it’ll be her turn.”
I beam at Lila. “That’s right. I hope you’re ready for it, Liles.”
“Hey,” Lila sputters. “When did this become about me? Let’s get back to bashing Faith.”
“No bashing anyone,” Dad objects. “It’s Christmas.”
We both share a look while Mom and Dad move on to other topics. She raises an eyebrow, and I squint in return. Even though I’m glad I came, if only to see them, there’s no way in hell I’ll ever admit it to her.
One by one, members of the family and our close friends and neighbors file in from all sides. My aunts and uncles, including—much to my displeasure—Aunt Marie, who avoids my gaze, and Uncle Melvin, who’s sans a date.
Maybe there are Christmas miracles after all.
I’m swept up in a whirlwind of greetings and catching up with people, and before I know it, my mom and her sisters bring plates full of everything imaginable to the table. Huge platters of turkey and ham, tureens of potatoes in every possible variation, vegetables in all sizes, shapes, and colors, and I only have to peer over the crowd to see rows of desserts waiting on the counter.
I glance up from the table and find Scott standing at the far end talking to one of my aunts on my dad’s side.
So much for that miracle.
How had I forgotten he was in the same house as me? My breath seizes in my chest, and I’m not sure if my heart has decided to just give up the good fight and throw in the towel. Then I’m comforted that there are no places in my immediate vicinity, and I calm down. Too late, I realize I only looked to either side. I didn’t even consider the open space across from me.
My eyes flit to the exit and then back at him. The corner of his mouth lifts, as if he can read my mind and finds my thoughts amusing. My eyes narrow as I pick up my mug. He raises a brow in challenge, and my fingers tighten around the handle, forcing my middle one to behave.
As I’m contemplating my options, plates begin to circulate, and I distract myself from plotting. When all else fails, focus on food. At least it gives me a reason not to look up at him. Well, it would if I had enough self-control not to sneak stolen glances when I think he’s not paying attention.
Conversation flows around me, and I try to keep up, but it’s next to impossible. God, he looks good. Better even, if I’m being honest with myself. Last year, he was a touch on the thin side, and his eyes were dull and lifeless compared to what he looks like now.
He looks happier, more alive.
There’s color in his cheeks underneath the scruff of his beard and crinkles around his eyes from the constant laughter. For a second, my thoughts go down that road, and I wonder who's been making him laugh.
I peer up at him again, and he’s looking straight at me. Heat floods my cheeks, and I drop my eyes to my plate.
My next few bites go down like rocks.
Scott
I can’t take my eyes off her.
I’m damn grateful for the seating arrangements. I’m stuck between her touchy-feely uncle and her three sheets to the wind grandpa, but as luck would have it, I’m also directly across from her. Every time she forgets I’m here, she looks up and blushes or glares and hammers home the fact that, even though my reception has been chilly, at least I still have an effect on her, which gives me hope.
“So, Scott,” Melvin says, shifting toward me, “what have you been up to this last year?”
Dragging my attention away from Faith, I clear my throat and pick up my iced tea. “Well, I’ve spent most of my time volunteering.”
“Volunteering? What, you mean like with puppy dogs and cancer kids?”
“Melvin,” Faith’s mom Tara says through clenched teeth.
Melvin lifts his shoulders, but Tara’s face reddens—the look so like her daughter’s I do a double take.
“What? I can ask the boy a question.”
Tara offers an apologetic smile. To Melvin, I say, “It’s all right. I’ve been mostly volunteering with other veterans. Guys who’ve been injured in combat like I was or who just need someone to talk to. I try to help them through the transition from military life to being a civilian again while dealing with their injuries.”
Melvin frowns into his lifted cup, and Tara peers at me from across the table. I hide my own grin behind a forkful of sweet potato casserole. Last year, I couldn’t hold a conversation to save my life. I’d find any opportunity to ditch the main gatherings with all the noise and people for a quiet corner to myself. I guess a lot has changed since then.
Faith laughs, and I take a second to look at her without her shying away from my attention—not that I blame her. She wasn’t the only one who experienced the beginnings of a connection. It was my own damn fault for pushing her away.
She’s listening to her sister tell a story. Not just bullshitting her and barely sparing her a glance. When she listens, she does it with her entire body. She pivots in her sister’s direction and her eyes don’t wander to her phone or look to the room for their response to the story. She’s genuine, this girl, and it only adds to the reasons I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her.
Before she can catch me with my eyes on her again, I turn my attention to the rest of the table. I’ll have plenty of time to talk after, and I don’t want to come on too strong, better ease her into it.
“Scott?” Tara calls once dinner winds up. “Would you and Faith mind getting out the decorations for the tree? Ya’ll can go ahead and get started with the lights and garland. I’ll send the kids in to help with the ornaments as soon as they’re all cleaned up from dessert.”
I glance at Faith, who is gaping at her mother. If I weren’t sitting right across from her, she probably would have been sending her mom smoke signals or the stink eye. I smother a laugh as she turns an adorable shade of red.
“Are you sure?” Faith glares at me when my voice breaks, but I turn the laugh into a cough.
Either unknowing—or uncaring—of her daughter’s obvious discomfort, Tara says, “Of course, honey. You’re practically family.” She pats my shoulder as she passes by me with two of the little ones in tow, their hands and faces coated with chocolate from the homemade fudge. “You go on now. Faith can show you where we stow the decorations. I’d ask Peter to do it, but his back isn’t what it used to be.”
Grandpa and Melvin grin at Peter, who grumbles into a second helping of pie. “My back is just fine.”
“Yes, dear,” Tara reassures him and then kisses his cheek before leading another youngster to the sink. “But let’s let Scott and Faith tackle the decorations this year. Why don’t you finish off your pie, and I’ll get you a beer?”
Placated, Peter’s face clears and he considers a forkful of pie before shoveling it in. “A beer does sound good.”
With a knowing smile borne from years of marriage, Tara herds another pack of kids to the sink to wash their hands. I stand and pause behind my chair when I realize just how much they remind me of my parents. In need of an immediate distraction, I turn to Faith, who displa
ys no such affection toward me. Bingo.
“After you,” I say and give her room to squeeze by me, though, not too much.
Silence follows us through the back door and past the porch where we sat last year. My gaze lingers on it, and I nearly walk right into her.
She gives me a scathing look. “I can do this by myself if you have other things you need to take care of.”
I rock back on my heels. “I have all the time in the world, Faith.” I point at the door she’s blocking. “This it?”
Without waiting for her acknowledgement, I shoulder by and flick on the light. Dusty storage bins are stacked five high and two deep on the far wall across from the washing machine and dryer. The lone, naked bulb dangling from the center of the cobwebbed ceiling, casts a dull flickering light that doesn’t quite reach the farthest corners.
“Which ones?” I ask.
She nods at the storage bins. “Those.”
I turn back with a raised brow. “All of them?”
Shrugging, she crosses to the bins and heaves one up to her hip with a feminine grunt if there were such a thing. This time when she catches me looking at her, she says, “Well? Am I going to do this all by myself or what?”
I bite my lip, and she heaves her tote by me. Amusement tugs a bark of laughter from my chest, and I lift two of the totes and follow her out. I find her waiting for me by the back door, and she shoves through as soon as she spots me.
The screen door smacks closed just before I can reach it, but I toe it open with my boot, nearly dropping my bins in the process. Chaos greets me when I elbow through, the kitchen filled with women lugging half-eaten dishes and children begging for last-minute desserts before they’re wrapped up and put away.
I find Faith in the living room, backlit by soft light from nearby candles. The scent of pine and cinnamon fills the air, and for a second, I’m struck dumb. Then she straightens with the bin lid in her hand and a string of lights in the other. She starts at the bottom and winds the lights around the tree. A few minutes later, I realize I haven’t been able to take my eyes off her. I break myself out of my reverie to retrieve the rest of the bins from storage. Hopefully it’ll give my body time to cool off. I’m hauling the last of the bins when I find her finishing up the lights. She extends her arm up to the top of the tree, her sweater riding up and baring the thinnest expanse of her back as she ropes the lights on the topmost branches.
I turn away before I put my hands on her and I open the first bin with an intense concentration, groping blindly for the first thing that my hand encounters. I pull it out and nearly stumble on my way to the tree.
“What the hell?” I bark out a short laugh.
Faith turns with a contemptuous glance, but then her animosity fades and her eyes twinkle. “You okay?”
“What the hell?” I demand again, holding up the ornament, which is the bust of a naked woman, painted in explicit detail. She’s sporting a sparkly red hat with the phrase “VEGAS BABY” stamped over it in black. I hand the ornament to Faith, but my arm seems to be frozen and I can’t tear my eyes away. Did I mention it is painted in explicit detail? Right down to the pert upturn of her breasts.
“Scott?” I hear Faith say, almost distantly. Then again, “Scott!”
“Hmm? Yeah, right.”
“You okay there?”
I tear my eyes away and peer down at her. “Nothing. You just, uh, celebrate Christmas a bit differently than I’m used to, that’s all.”
Confusion flits across her features before she zeros in on the ornament. She laughs but then catches herself and snatches the ornament from my grasp. “My parents spent the holidays in Vegas a couple years ago.”
“That explains it.”
This time, I don’t reach in the bin without a thorough examination of what I’m digging through. Thankfully, I don’t come across any other naked body parts. We get most of the tree done without saying too much.
“Looks like there’s just the part there at the top,” she says, blowing a thick lock of hair out of her face.
“I’ll get it.”
She holds up a hand. “No, it’s fine. You’ve done enough.”
Knowing she can’t reach it, I cross my arms and lean a hip on the corner of the couch as she drags a chair over and climbs up. The chair wobbles, but she keeps her balance as she stretches up again to reach the top of the tree. I curse underneath my breath. Why the hell they needed a tree this goddamn tall, I’ll never know. Her sweater slips up again, and I look away.
A strangled cry of surprise has me jerking back toward her, and I surge to my feet as the wobbling chair comes out from under her. My prosthetic has never been such a pain in my ass and nearly causes me to stumble. I make it to the tree in one piece—so to speak—and catch Faith just before she smashes into the wooden floor headfirst.
She blinks up at me with wide eyes, and it takes every ounce of strength in me to keep from kissing the confused look right off her face.
“Are you okay?”
The confusion passes and she straightens, pulling from my arms. “I’m fine.”
“Faith, I—”
She turns away. “I said I’m fine.”
This time, I sigh. I didn’t expect a warm welcome, hell, I would have taken her biting and clawing, but the cold shoulder—it’s a bitch. She shifts and light catches in her hair. I squint, trying to make it out, and then I laugh.
“What?”
I lift a hand and she shrinks away from me. “Give me a break. You just have something in your hair.”
With a wary look, she submits and moves an inch closer.
I level her with a look of my own. “Really, Faith?”
She scowls and allows me to pull her back to my side. “Just get it over with.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her scowl deepens, and I grin because I’m enjoying having her in my arms way too damn much. My fingers comb through her hair until I find the source of the shine—some strands of tinsel. I’ll admit, they linger, remembering what she felt like when we were wrapped up together last year and wanting to pull her heat just a little bit closer.
Her body stiffens against mine as she realizes how close we are. My fingers are still in her hair when she turns and looks at me.
Faith
He’s like a diet cheat day. All the best things I know I don’t need but want even more because they’re not good for me. Like chocolate and pineapple rum and sex. He’s bad for my waistline, but God do I want to devour him.
The sharp edge of desire grinds the gears inside my head to a dead stop, and I can’t think of anything else besides being in his arms again. I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve been good or bad this year. Is he my reward . . . or my punishment?
My eyes dip closed as everything inside me turns as mushy as the inside of the peach cobbler my granny is famous for. His hand twines deeper into my hair, the tinsel apparently forgotten, and his head starts to lower toward me. My own hands twine in the material of his flannel button-up for a few long seconds that feel like they stretch into an eternity.
“Faith,” he whispers.
Lips part, a sigh escapes, and his grip tightens around my waist, bringing me in contact with his body in a way I’ve craved for so long.
Ironically, it’s the hard wall of muscle brushing against my stomach that pulls me back to reality.
Shaking my head to clear it of the sexual fog, I take a preliminary step back. “Scott, I—”
“Scott!” a blur interrupts as it streaks by before knocking into Scott’s legs. Leanne’s curly blonde hair bobs as she wraps her arms around his legs.
“Hey, little bit.” He rustles her hair with an absent hand, his eyes bright with affection as he grins down at her. “Got into the sweets, did you?”
“Cake!”
“I’ll bet. Did you save me a piece?” She grins and then shakes her head, causing him to laugh. “Well, I’ll forgive you this one time.”
Leanne giggles as she squeezes her a
rms tighter around his legs. With a curious glance up at Scott, she squats down on her little knees, padded butt stuck up in the air. At first, I think she’s studying his boots, but then her nimble little fingers lift the leg of his jeans and bare the place where his leg should have been.
Unsure of how I should react, I press my lips together and watch, even though it feels like I shouldn’t. I should have known he would handle it with grace, which is exactly what he does. He crouches down and sits on the floor with his prosthesis stretched out in front of him. He helps her roll up his pant leg all the way to the knee where a band of material hugs his thigh and anchors the prosthesis in place.
Leanne’s mouth drops open and she stares up at him with childlike wonder. “Are you a robot?”
He runs a finger down her nose. “No, sweetheart, but wouldn’t that be cool?”
When she reaches out a hand and touches the metal bar that serves as his ankle, my breath locks in my chest. I can’t seem to wrap my head around the fact that he’s letting her touch him. I got the impression when we were together last year that his leg was a no-go zone. I almost feel like he’s letting me see a part of him that he has showed no one else, possibly ever, even if it’s secondhand.
My hand goes to my chest to keep my heart from leaping out and falling at his feet. For some reason, tears spring to my eyes, and I force myself to breathe to keep from letting them slip over my lashes. The two of them continue their earnest conversation, paying no mind to my emotional breakdown.
“Why do you have a robot leg?” Leanne asks.
If I weren’t paying so much attention to his responses, I never would have noticed the faint tick of his eyelid or the way the corners of his lips whiten faintly. It’s subtle, but it tells me he still feels his loss very deeply. What happened between us feels so incredibly small, the slate wiped clean with his show of vulnerability. I ache with the need to wrap him in my arms and show him comfort.
First to Fight Box Set: Books 1-5 Page 80