Bad Boys for Hire_Nick_Christmas Holiday

by Rachelle Ayala

  “Oh, that’s an exaggeration,” Nick muttered after his mother exclaimed with fright. “What really happened was a woman ran me off the road, and when she got out of her car to check on me, she told me she was in labor and the baby was coming any second.”

  “So, he took off his hoodie and T-shirt for the lady to lie on, and some passer-by reported that a man was raping a woman at the side of the road.” Sam took over the story. “We got there, and we saw this barebacked guy hunched over a woman with her pants pulled down, and my partner pulled out his gun.”

  “Sam? Are you telling this story, or am I?” Nick grumbled with a rough voice. “I got her comfortable and talked her through the labor, and when the baby was born, the woman named the baby Nicole Eve, because she was born on Christmas Eve and delivered by me.”

  “You also saved the baby’s life,” Sam added. “You’re lucky you did. The woman’s a personal injury attorney and she was singing your praises to everyone she met. The baby’s umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck. She’s now calling him Saint Nick.”

  “Saint Nick? Now that’s a new one,” Bryce guffawed. “What happened to Nick the Dick?”

  “Oh, you boys.” Mother waved her hand. “I like Saint Nick. It fits. You were a real blessing to her.”

  “Hey, are you going to deliver Heather’s baby?” Bryce asked.

  “Nick helped me when I went into labor,” Heather piped up from her wheelchair. “He had a friend who uses a wheelchair, so when I was in a lot of pain, he borrowed one from her. The doctor said if I had had to walk to the car, or even if he carried me, it might have caused my labor to go further.”

  Nick’s heart clenched at the mention of Carol. He hadn’t mentioned her all day, even though Sam and Heather were curious about the party. As for his mother and the rest of his relatives, the less they knew the better. They all thought of him as a player, a guy with all the women. Bryce, especially, looked up to him and his former womanizing ways.

  “Whatever happened to Carol, by the way?” Heather asked. “Did you ever clear the air with her?”

  “Who’s Carol?” Mother picked up the nuance immediately.

  “She’s a neighbor I used to help out. A paraplegic.” Nick shrugged. “I met her at a Wheelympics Toy Drive for disabled children.”

  “He’s also been playing Santa Claus for the kids all of December,” Heather said. “Got a fake beard and belly. A real jolly good fellow.”

  “So, Nick the Dick’s gone soft.” Trust his brother Bryce to rib him about it.

  “Still harder than you’ll ever be.” Nick made a muscle and set his elbow on the table.

  In his family, every argument could be settled by arm wrestling. His brother might be a career soldier, but Nick worked out daily.

  “Bring it on,” Bryce exclaimed and the fight was on with relatives cheering for one side or the other.

  After an impasse that lasted too long, with every muscle straining, Nick finally, slowly but surely pressed Bryce’s arm to the table.

  He bounced up and whooped a victory cheer, knowing that this year, he had the best story around the firepit. His family marked time with the stories, and this would forever be known as the year Nick delivered a baby.

  Or the year Nick went from Nick the Dick to Saint Nick.

  The Wolff apartment was wall to wall people. Nick vacated his room for his Mom and Dad to stay in. He, his brother, and Heather’s brother piled up in sleeping bags on the kitchen floor, while Heather’s parents got the sleeper sofa in the living room.

  Soon, the entire apartment was a cacophony of snores and rumbling breaths, but Nick was wide awake. He played and replayed Carol’s words to him, cutting himself anew. She’d said she never went for bad boys. That she would never date male sluts, but also that he was too good for her, perfect and she wasn’t sure if she wanted him because of how good he was to her, or that she loved all his faults and the ways he made her mad.

  In other words, he had to be bad to win her, but not bad in the sense of going out with other women. Bad in not being her doormat or pleasing her all the time. Bad in wanting things done his way, or maybe just standing up for himself and not pandering to her, because who knew? Maybe he did cater to her because she was in a wheelchair.

  What would he do if she weren’t in a chair? Would he have insisted on watching some of the movies he liked? Would he have expected her to cook him breakfast? Would he have given her flowers just because she was upset he couldn’t immediately agree to go on a date with her?

  Most of all, he should have gotten angry she agreed with her mother and stepmother that he was a lowlife slut, and immediately shut herself off from him.

  So she was in a wheelchair. That didn’t mean she got to ride all over his feelings. The more he thought about it, the more he burned. He’d been way too accommodating to her, beyond her injury and special needs, but by allowing her to get away with behavior a normal man would never have taken.

  Nick threw his covers back and sat up. He hadn’t finished his run this morning, and he had too much pent up energy. Quietly, he dressed in his running clothes and pulled on a clean hoodie. The only one left was a bright red one.

  He exited the front door, and a few short steps later, ran into a man coming up the path. It was Ken, Carol’s brother.

  “What’s wrong? You coming over t0 punch me again?” Nick all but growled.

  “My wife told me to deliver this letter.” He held an envelope. “I owe you an apology. Got carried away with family honor and all that. Carol’s hurting and that hurts me.”

  “What do I care about how you feel? As for Carol, she made it perfectly clear she doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

  “That’s not what she said.” Ken’s eyes narrowed. “My wife explained to me that Carol meant she doesn’t usually go for your type of man.”

  “And she wondered if she compromised because of her chair.”

  “We all have a set of issues and variables.” Ken sighed deeply. “Everything affects everything else. If I hadn’t had a concussion, I would have been surfing, and I would not have taken a job with Bad Boys for Hire. I would not have met Jolie if her fiancé hadn’t left her at the altar. If Carol hadn’t fallen off that mountain, she’d be in South America right now climbing some peak down in Argentina. If you hadn’t been put on probation for sleeping with clients, you wouldn’t have met her at the Wheelympics Toy Drive.”

  “Who told you that?” Nick shot a glare at Ken.

  “Doesn’t matter. The fact is, there’s a lot of woulda, coulda, shoulda, and you don’t want to look back and regret what you shoulda done.”

  “Sorry.” Nick moved past Ken, ignoring the letter. “The next move belongs to Carol. I’m done kissing up to her. She should be hurting because she hurt me.”

  “It’s Christmas Eve.” Ken pushed the letter into his hand. “Actually, in a few minutes, it’ll be Christmas. In my family, we always write our letters to Santa on Christmas Eve, and we set out milk and cookies. We never write them earlier, because it would be too easy for people other than Santa to give us what we really, truly wished for.”

  Nick snorted. “Then, I’m guessing you got a lot of socks and ties for Christmas.”

  “It’s strange, but whatever we got was what we wanted. This letter is addressed to Santa, and she doesn’t know I’m giving it to you. Do with it what you will.” Ken stepped away from Nick and looked at his watch.

  Nick stared at Carol’s writing on the envelope, addressing it to Santa Claus, North Pole. He couldn’t truly believe that she, a grown woman, would still write letters to Santa Claus. This could be a setup, or a con job to get him to go to her.

  He looked up to call Ken back, but he was already gone.

  The sky had cleared up and the moon shone bright. The night air was chillier than before, and Nick’s breath puffed from his lips. He sliced open the envelope and a key dropped out. After picking up the key, he unfolded the note and wandered to a streetlight and read.
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br />   Dear Santa,

  All I want for Christmas is to have myself back. My spirit of courage, determination, hope for the future, and joy in living. This year has been rough, to say the least. I don’t have it as bad as others, it’s true. There are many worse off than me, but should I feel guilty when I mourn for what I lost?

  All my life, I strove to be the best I could in whatever I did. I never subscribed to the “others did worse” mentality, whether on a test, or in a competition. The fact that others were worse off than me was never a comfort, because I don’t compare myself to others. I only compare myself to myself, and that’s what made this year so hard.

  Last year, I could not only walk, but I could climb, and I could jump, and ski, and rappel down a cliff. I could dance with a man, cheek to cheek, salsa and tango, waltz and dip. I could make love standing up, wrap my legs around a man’s waist, and feel every gift of sensation in every part of my body. I had a future that was stolen from me in a moment.

  I’ve beaten myself up for being careless. For taking risks. For not checking conditions, but the frank truth is what I did was not out of bounds for an experienced climber like I was. I did not make a rookie mistake. I did not take unnecessary risks. It was simply a freak accident, and my life was forever changed.

  Now, as I look forward to another year without my legs, I cannot lift my head to see clearly. Am I better off this coming year than the year before? Will I regain more functionality or lose even the ones I have?

  Am I going forward, or slipping backward? Because, Santa, when I fell off the cliff, I slid back so far that I don’t think I can ever go back to where I was: in terms of health, happiness, and accomplishments.

  Yet, when I look back at myself the moment before I took that lethal step, I can’t help but see how empty I was. I was superficial with my relationships. I had no real friends. I cared only about ticking off the summits I’d conquered. My climbing partner and I were competitive and envious of each other. I had a guy who’d keep me company only when it was convenient for him. I was not speaking to my stepsister. I drove every one of my employees crazy by acting as if they had to work twenty-four seven. I did not care for many people outside of myself and how they would benefit me and my obsession for work and sport.

  I did not know love.

  And I did not know the pain of losing that love.

  So, dear Santa. Am I better off now than I was a year ago? Or will I be worse off a year from now?

  I guess the only gift I can ask of you is the wisdom to know the difference, or maybe more so, the wisdom to stop comparing myself to myself.

  Please enjoy the milk and cookies, and give me a kiss if I’m snug in my bed, while visions of me and the only man I’ll ever love dance in my head.

  Your Christmas Carol

  Forty-Three

  Nick read and re-read Carol’s words, blinking back the tears that almost had his heart melting and caving in. She never mentioned his name, but he felt that she was speaking to him. Every word, thought, and feeling touched and grabbed his heart, pulling him to her side.

  But hadn’t she basically treated him like a man whore? All along. First, she tipped him when he gave her the singing telegram. Then, she tried to buy a date with him, and finally, she said she didn’t date guys who slept around.

  She had no respect for him, and now, she wrote this tearjerker letter to Santa about losing love. It didn’t have to be this way. Nick paced back and forth under the streetlight. She could have taken his side and told her parents to let her think for herself. But then, what would he have done if he’d suffered a loss like hers? Going from independent to semi-dependent, or even worse, being like Jason who had to have every need taken care of.

  He pictured Carol lying in her bed, drifting off to sleep. In her dreams she’d ride horses, climb mountains, surf the waves and jump her skis. In her dreams, she held his hand as they raced down the sand and splashed in the surf. In her dreams, she’d dance with him and jump in his arms, wrapping her legs around him. In her dreams, she’d stand at his side, tall and straight, say her vows, and then he’d lift her bridal veil and kiss her, sealing their love. In her dreams, they’d chase after their babies, teach them how to ride bicycles, fly kites, snorkel and drive cars, and then, in her dreams, they’d sit side by side on rocking chairs, holding hands while their family gathered around and told stories. In her dreams, they’d write letters to Saint Nick and fold them into paper airplanes and throw them into the north wind. In her dreams, they’d live a life of love, joy, and happiness.

  He found himself at her apartment door. It was dark inside, except for the blinking lights of the Christmas tree. She was in there waiting for him.

  The key slid into the lock and unlatched the door. Nick crept into the silent apartment and headed for the Christmas tree. Empty sleeping bags covered the living room floor, and the tree was festooned with homemade ornaments, popcorn garlands, and bright glittery stars.

  A plate of sugar cookies with red and green sprinkles sat on the end table with a warm glass of milk. Nick picked up the five cookies, shaped with the letters: N, I, C, and K, and one which was heart shaped.

  He pulled out the letter again, wondering if Carol had set this up. As he read her words again, he couldn’t figure out why he should be angry if she had orchestrated this entire scene. If she had, it meant she wanted him back, and she would be waiting in her room for him.

  Feeling only a little like a stalker, because after all, she’d sent Ken to invite her for this game, he tiptoed the short distance to her closed bedroom door. Marisa’s door was wide open and her room was empty, so Carol had ensured privacy and would be expecting him.

  He turned the doorknob as stealthily as he could and was satisfied that it hardly made a sound. Moonlight streamed through her gauzy curtains and spotlighted her face. She was asleep with a faint smile gracing her lips.

  Nick set the letter down on her nightstand and sat in her wheelchair, close to the head of the bed. She certainly didn’t wake up, nor was she pretending to sleep. Her eyes moved under the eyelids and whatever she was dreaming about made her happy.

  He carefully threaded his fingers between hers and held onto her hand. She’d asked him for a kiss as she lay snug in her bed. And somehow, he knew that if he kissed her now, he would not only be kissing her as Nick Wolff, but as Saint Nick who would grant Carol the gift of wisdom—to never compare herself again, but to live with joy and peace and be content with the gifts she had received.

  Carol blew water out of her snorkel tube, and took a deep breath before diving below the surface of the gem-colored water. All around her, the reef teemed with life. Pale orange and pink coral, colorful fishes flitting every which way, and a little green sea turtle flapped its way past her. Her powerful kicks propelled her after the little guy, and she held her underwater camera still as the turtle turned toward her.

  Nick swam after her, trailing bubbles from his tube as he tapped her shoulder and pointed at a manta ray. The graceful creature glided overhead like a hawk before disappearing behind a giant sponge.

  Carol took a picture of Nick as he gave her a double thumbs up, before swimming toward the surface to take a breath. She surfaced at his side and they both slipped off their masks and tubes.

  “I’m going to have to get certified to scuba dive next time,” Carol said. “Then I won’t have to keep coming up for air.”

  “Oh, yes, but I love it when we come up for air.” Nick tilted his face and leaned in, latching his lips to hers.

  She drank him in, sipping at the delights of this exuberant day, out at a pristine reef, enjoying nature and Nick. His kisses grew hungrier, and he moaned inside his throat as his tongue danced with hers. Feeling herself sink slightly, Carol wrapped her arms around his strong shoulders and tread water, her legs and feet with their flippers easily keeping herself upright.

  The jeweled water sparkled, and the sky was clear and blue. Smiling, she broke the kiss and said, “Race you down around the shipw
reck.”

  “You’re on.” Nick grinned, even though he had to know he’d lose. His wide shoulders and heavier muscle mass had him at a disadvantage to Carol, whose long and powerful legs and streamlined figure made her as fast as a torpedo underwater.

  She took a deep breath and dove, unleashing her powerful kick. In a cloud of bubbles, she took the lead, focused toward the goal of the crusted shipwreck teeming with fish.

  Before she reached her goal, an inky black squid pumped and pulsed around her, darkening the waters. What was going on? Where was the shipwreck? She couldn’t tell up or down, back and forth.

  Nick! Nick, she thought. Where was he? She gasped and swallowed water, then tried to spit it out. Her lungs ached and her arms windmilled. A spot of light appeared above, and she swam toward it. With her strong kick, she could surface in no time flat.

  But the light receded, and she was stuck in the murky water, sinking fast, and worst of all, both of her legs dangled uselessly.

  Carol opened her mouth to scream and water socked into her lungs, flooding it.

  “Nick! Nick, I’m drowning. Don’t forget me, Nick. I love you so much. Don’t forget me.”

  Her arms found something solid and she hung on, feeling the strength of Nick’s shoulders as he propelled her to safety.

  “I can’t move. I can’t move my legs. I can’t feel my toes.” She wept into his neck as he brought her up above the waves. The sky had darkened and a storm blew across the landscape.

  “Carol, it’s okay. I’m here, wake up.” Nick’s voice seemed too far away from the man who she clung to.

  Carol’s eyes snapped open, and the familiar darkness shoved her down into the bed. That snorkeling trip had been a dream. She had no strong kick, no legs that worked. She was paralyzed. She was lying in her bed.

  “Nick? Are you a dream within a dream?” She stroked his handsome face, letting her fingers ride over his scratchy jaw. “I was snorkeling with you, and it was beautiful. So beautiful. Fish, coral, sponges, a bright blue starfish, a little green turtle, and then I got trapped by a squid, and I could no longer swim.”