Healed Under the Mistletoe

by Amalie Berlin

  Lyons was so quiet that her nerve faltered, and she turned in her chair to look back at him, just to see how bad this was about to become.

  He said nothing for long enough that they all got he was containing himself, she just didn’t know why.

  It was weird that Wolfe was continually reaching out to Lyons and Lyons didn’t reach back. Turning down offers to dinner. Not talking about the thing with his friend’s murder when he clearly needed to talk about it.

  When the glowering man spun and wordlessly marched back out, it stopped being odd to her and turned into something cruel. She was hurt on Wolfe’s behalf. And her behalf. How could he turn his nose up at family who clearly loved him when other people would do anything for more time with their families? His friend had died, he worked in an emergency room, he knew how short life could be.

  “Pardon me, ladies,” Wolfe muttered, standing to follow Lyons out of the room.

  When she looked at Angel then, she could see her own thoughts mirrored there, or at least the emotion behind them. Angel looked like someone who didn’t know whether to shout or cry.

  * * *

  Lyons reached the corridor outside the break room, a number of thoughts bouncing off the inside of his head, but the most prominent one being that this was a set-up. Whatever feelings Belle had about him, his brother had a hand in.

  It would certainly make his life easier, if he knew whatever Belle was up to was just kindness she and Angel had cooked up. Maybe they were old friends. Maybe this wasn’t just a roll of the dice, her ending up at Sutcliffe.

  His face felt hot. He should take a beat and get himself under control before he punched his brother, even if it bothered him how easily his thoughts had begun turning to violence lately.

  Yesterday he’d damned near pummeled the hockey player. Today he wanted to punch his brother’s perpetually smirking face.

  He was losing it.

  The door opened, and Lyons turned back, and found Wolfe—cup of coffee in hand—gently closing the door to the break room. However little Wolfe liked to claim he knew him, he knew an added sound barrier would be good.

  “By the color of your face, I can tell you need this,” Wolfe said, holding out the cup of coffee. “Drink. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but whatever you think is going on, isn’t.”

  Lyons took the coffee, still quite warm in his hand, and got a drink of a better brew than he’d been about to pour himself. “She’s the one giving the gifts, isn’t she? She and Angel have worked this little scheme out between them. What’s the outcome? Land a wealthy boyfriend?”

  “Stop.” Wolfe was so calm, Lyons wanted to hit him again.

  Instead, he took a bigger, mouth-burning drink of the coffee. “That’s not a denial.”

  “Do you want to do this here?”

  Lyons looked at the door, and then at his little brother. Yes, he wanted to do this here. The women were the only ones in the break room, and this corridor was long enough that if they controlled the volume, it wouldn’t be known the hospital over.

  “Just answer the damn question.”

  “They’re not scheming,” Wolfe grunted. “They are friends. And yes, Belle’s the one leaving you gifts. I just found out when she asked if she should stop.”

  “Of course, she should stop. Why the hell is she doing it?”

  “Because you’re such an ass she thinks you need someone to be kind to you without any expectations of having it returned.” Wolfe gestured behind him to the door but kept his voice low, and said more gently, as if he were fragile, “She’s not our mother. She’s not a user.”

  “She might just be waiting to come out with whatever when she thinks I’ve been softened up.”

  How stupid could Wolfe be? Gullible. Granted, Wolfe had never known the depths of how far their mother would go to get what she wanted—Lyons had made sure of that beginning when he was old enough to understand himself, but he’d always known enough to suspect. He still knew. Everyone hid some kind of selfish darkness. Their mother had just become more honest about it the more desperate she became to stay with their equally dismal human being of a father during their many public, shameful affairs and near divorces.

  Wolfe leaned against the wall. “You’re wrong. I know you’ve got your reasons to think as ya do, but you’re wrong about Angel, and you’re wrong about Belle.”

  “She made tablet,” Lyons muttered, jerking his head in the general direction of the locker room, which wasn’t anywhere near where they stood. “She made tablet, she left a gift card, she dropped off a humorous book about Christmas sucking.”

  “She made tablet!”

  That would be the part that got Wolfe’s attention. They’d neither one been home in years but would’ve eaten their weight in the sugary treat as children if they’d been allowed.

  “Aye.”

  “Is it good?”

  “Haven’t eaten it.”

  “What?” Wolfe flung his head back dramatically. “Tell me you didn’t throw it out.”

  “It’s in my locker.” Lyons should’ve thrown it out. Or given it back to her with orders to stop. Instead, here he stood, arguing with his brother.

  Wolfe’s hand shot out. “Key.”

  “What?” It was his turn to look as if his brother were a madman.

  “If you’re not eating it, I will. She went to the trouble.”

  They seemed to be on friendly terms, and Belle and Angel were definitely on friendly terms, but not understanding why she’d do this made it even harder to accept.

  Still, giving it to Wolfe would get it out of his locker.

  He started off down the hallway, and heard Wolfe fall into step with him.

  They didn’t speak again until Lyons opened the door to his locker and Wolfe pulled the lid off the decorative box that had been waiting for him this morning.

  The groan of pleasure he gave before he even took a bite made Lyons want to punch him again.

  Wolfe took two pieces, one to throw wholesale into his mouth, and another to follow it after he’d moaned his way through eating the first. “Eat it. It’s good. God bless her.”

  Lyons didn’t. “How did she know? I’ve never met an American who makes the stuff, and she just randomly makes it?”

  “She probably went online and looked for sweets from Scotland.”

  “Or maybe your girlfriend is more involved than you think.”

  Wolfe eyed him, but didn’t stop eating. “If Angel were involved, and she’s not, she’d be helping because she wants you to be a little happier. If you want to know Belle’s reasons, ask her.”

  He snagged two more small squares then closed the lid and the locker door, leaving Lyons with the lot of it. And his mouth watering.

  “If you start feeling wrong, come down to Emergency.”

  “She hasn’t poisoned it, you daft, paranoid fool.” Wolfe shook his head, then just turned to leave with the handful of sugary squares. Before he rounded the bank of lockers, Wolfe looked back and grinned. “Dinner invitation stands. If you want to come wonder if someone else is going to poison ya. I did have that coffee in my hand for about five minutes before you showed up. I could’ve put anything in there. Rufied you so Belle could have her wicked way.”

  “Shut it.”

  “You need it.”

  Lyons rolled his eyes but didn’t follow his brother back out or take the bait. He had coffee to drink, and already felt foolish enough after having heard one of his many entirely irrational suspicions put into words.

  Maybe he just should put all his irrational suspicions into words, if hearing them out loud would quell them. It certainly helped see the absolute ridiculousness of this situation.

  Opening the locker again, he snagged a piece of the candy and took a bite before he had time to think about it.

  It was so good he immediately
wished he’d not eaten it.

  She had to at least be softening him up to something. Maybe he should just let her keep softening him up. Take the pleasure and sweetness she offered with an eye on the horizon, and whatever underhanded thing he knew was coming.

  His little brother might be annoying, but he wasn’t wrong about one thing: he needed at least one night with her. And damn the consequences.

  CHAPTER NINE

  LYONS HAD AVOIDED Belle since the hockey player post-game yesterday, needing the time to think over what he wanted to do about her. Even though he suspected he would, and did, have another gift waiting for him this morning. She was still giving him gifts even though they weren’t really speaking at present. Incomprehensible.

  Lyons didn’t like to bring scandal into the department. Or the hospital, frankly, but work was his point of contact for Belle.

  Wolfe thought he was being foolish, but Wolfe was blinded by love right now and all roads led to a happy place. Lyons just didn’t know what to think anymore, didn’t trust his gut right now. He could recognize that the closer he came to Christmas, the more his thinking tilted toward the negative, but that didn’t mean he was wrong.

  What he did know was wrong was to allow this to continue after the gift that had been waiting for him this morning. Something she’d obviously put a great deal of work into.

  He wasn’t much bothered by clothing; he was a very standard kind of bloke. He went for traditional styles in everything. Hired someone to make sure he had what he needed. He took no interest, past being able to discern quality when he saw it.

  This morning’s gift had been handmade from quality materials. It was tucked into a little Christmas gift bag, giving no indication that she’d purchased it somewhere, and considering she’d made yesterday’s tablet, he knew she’d made it as well.

  The only civilized thing to do was to give her a chance to explain and tell her politely to stop. Or if she denied it, tell her he’d report her to HR if she didn’t stop.

  He made it to the cafeteria and it took no time to find her once again at that small table, her back to the room. The woman was never going to learn, and if she was so lax about security at home...

  No. Focus.

  He cut his way across the cafeteria, pulled out a chair and sat, catching her mid-bite.

  She made some noise of alarm, and then chewed fast, dark eyes wide and focused on him as if expecting an attack.

  He let her finish before saying anything.

  “Lyons.” She coughed lightly, then reached for her water.

  “You don’t have to swallow so fast you choke yourself,” he said, and then gestured to the room. “And if you’d sat with your back to the wall there, you’d have seen me coming.”

  Last time he’d bring that up.

  “I like the secluded feeling of facing the wall over facing the whole cafeteria.”

  “It’s some kind of social distancing?”

  She shrugged. “I brought my headphones to block out the noise too but thought it would get in the way of eating.”

  “Don’t do that,” he muttered, and then shook his head and scooted his chair sideways so he could better see the rest of the large room. He waited for her to finish another drink of her water, but she didn’t go back to her lunch. He’d successfully claimed her attention, and the civilized thing to do would be to get this done quickly so she could finish eating before she went back to work.

  Probably because he’d been avoiding her, she prompted, “Something on your mind?”

  “Are you leaving me gifts at my locker every morning?”

  To her credit, her cheeks pinked a bit and she looked away for a second but looked him in the eye again before nodding. “Are you angry?”

  “No.” The word came reflexively, and momentarily surprised him. “Why are you doing it?”

  “You won’t like the answer.” Her voice had taken on a slightly sing-song quality, but the song it sang was chagrin.

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “My grandmother, Dad’s mom, was like our second parent. My mom walked out when we were really little. Then after Dad...we went to live with Nanna full-time. And she did it when we were little, but I remember her saying it even more after Dad was shot.”

  Her warning had sounded as if he wouldn’t like the reason because it was about him, but even before it became about him, he didn’t like it. Her father was dead, her mother had left them, and her grandmother...was she alive? No, he didn’t think so. She’d referred to her grandmother in the past tense: she was like our second parent.

  It was just her and her sister?

  Her eyes were sad, and she looked away from him—not with purpose, it was more as if she fell into memories held in the middle distance between what was right in front of her, and the cafeteria table she looked through.

  Whatever she was about to say felt heavier because he knew it was related to family she’d lost, but he still wasn’t prepared for when she touched his arm and turned those deep, soulful eyes to his.

  “People who hurt others, who lash out, are suffering and need the most kindness.”

  There was no accusation in her voice, and, although he should probably have been offended, somehow it felt like an intervention. Like someone who cared so much for him she’d just opened herself up to attack and ridicule.

  What could he say in response to the sincerity that rang in her voice and her touch?

  “It’s dangerous to feel that way, Belle. Why would you think that?”

  “Because it’s true. I’ve seen it happen.”

  “No...”

  “I’ve also seen it fail,” she said quickly, clearly anticipating the argument. “My nanna said it to us after Mom left, and all the time when we went to live with her after Dad died. She didn’t want us to become bitter or lose faith in people.”

  “How is putting you in danger helping you?”

  “Because it was too late for my mom,” she said, then squeezed his arm. “But it’s not too late for you.”

  The soft words—even expressing a sentiment he’d heard between the lines—knocked the air out of him, her eyes so full of compassion, and something else, something that made his throat ache with something he couldn’t swallow past.

  She saw and removed her hand to pass him her water in offering. He took it wordlessly and drank until he could speak again.

  “What makes you think that?” He didn’t think that; the only reason she would was because she didn’t know him.

  “How is the patient who was injured in the subway derailment?”

  She knew he’d kept up. And the tiny, rueful smile she wore said she knew he still kept up.

  “That doesn’t mean anything.” Except that he was good at his job and took his responsibility seriously.

  “It means you care. Even when he ceased to be your patient or responsibility,” she countered. “And I saw tears in your eyes when you couldn’t get Mrs. Martinez’s heart going. That wasn’t just about your friend.”

  When he’d imagined this conversation, it had been much more defensive and angry, not something that left him feeling the ground unsteady beneath his feet.

  All that he’d said, he still hadn’t thanked her.

  She might still have some darkness she was hiding, but maybe he could get through Christmas with her, and help her get through it without having family here with her.

  “Do you want to have dinner?” he asked suddenly, the words just coming out of his mouth as they formed in his head.

  Her eyes sprang wide open then and it took her a couple of seconds to blink her way through the surprise she completely failed to conceal. “Outside of work?”

  “That’s when I usually eat dinner.” He turned his arm and slid it back, so her hand glided down to his palm where he could wrap his fingers around her small, delicate hand.r />
  She didn’t immediately answer but shifted her gaze to their joined hands and thought for several seconds.

  “I’ll have dinner with you on two conditions.”

  Conditions for dinner. Here it came. He tried to keep his posture easy, though he felt that stiffness creeping into his shoulders again. He’d almost fallen for it...of course she wanted something in return for gracing him with her company.

  “That you come to my apartment and I cook dinner,” she said. “I haven’t been able to bring myself to make some of my favorite foods because the way I know how to make things ends up with far too much food and I don’t want to be wasteful. If you come over and eat it, it’s not wasted.”

  “You want to cook for me again?”

  That wasn’t what he’d expected. At all. Were all his instincts wrong?

  “I want to cook, period.”

  He nodded, containing his relief until she’d given her other condition. “Second?”

  “Be nicer to your brother.” She said the words incredibly softly, as if she was almost afraid it would bring out some kind of explosion.

  “I’m not mean to Wolfe.”

  “You’re not kind to him either.”

  Still, not a condition that was for her. God, he wanted to believe she was just that selfless.

  And shone a light on how selfish it was for him to keep Wolfe at bay. “I’ll try. It’s been hard this year.”

  “I understand the desire to wall yourself off from others when you’ve been through something really painful, but I think he needs you.”

  “It’s not that,” he admitted. “I just haven’t felt anything but angry for a long time.”

  She turned her hand and shifted her chair closer so that she could lace her fingers between his. “But you feel that.”

  The touch. Yes, he felt that.

  “I’ll try harder with Wolfe.”

  It wasn’t a promise, but it was as much as he could offer.

  “How do you feel about manicotti Friday night?”

  * * *