I need this. I need to unleash five years’ worth of pent-up frustration and anger, and then I can finally let go, move on.
“No Santa fantasy, Steph. Sorry.” It’s not a lie. I’ve never pictured my ex as Santa. That doesn’t mean I hadn’t enjoyed the bejesus out of the view today. And worse, I probably will have a stupid Santa fantasy now, staring none other than the man I loathe and am trying to forget.
“Too bad. I bet that would be hot,” she grumbles, straightening another string of lights.
Grabbing the last string of lights, I say, “I think you’re right. I need to get a few things off my chest so that I can move on. I’ll talk to him next Saturday, after we’re done at the community center.”
She looks at me from her perch on the couch, her pink painted lips turned in a sad smile. Steph may not have gone to the same college as me, but she knew how crazy I was about Brandon Frost.
She also knew the reason he left.
“So, are you gonna add all this garland to that tree, or what?” she asks, effectively redirecting conversation away from the minefield that is he who shall not be named. “I’m a little worried that it will become a fire hazard with all the lights.”
I give my best friend a warm smile. The silver garland shimmers under the overhead light, brightening up the room, and maybe even my mood. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that there is life after Brandon. I’ll say my piece and move on. Should be as easy as it sounds.
“We are. All of it.”
Four Letter Words
The second Saturday proves to be just as busy as the previous one.
The never-ending line of sugared-up kids seems to stretch as far as the eye can see. At least, as far as I can see from inside this auditorium. For every kid that sits on my lap, I swear two more appear at the end of the line.
Mrs. Claus has been right beside me the entire day, tantalizing me with her soft smile and teasing me with her scent. Of course, that smile isn’t directed towards me. Oh no, her smiles are strictly for the kids. I know this because as soon as she sees me watching her, the smile is replaced with a scowl strong enough to make a weaker person shake in their big black Santa boots.
Good thing I’m not a weak man.
And I like a challenge.
At lunch, Noel chooses to sit at a table with kids way on the other side of the cafeteria. Fine. I got this. I know it’ll take some work and a little smooth talkin’ to get her to relax and open up just a bit for me, but I know I can handle it. If anyone’s a smooth talker, it’s me. Why do you think I’m such a force to be reckoned with in the courtroom? I’m a wicked combination of finesse and piranha. I can charm the panties off anyone, usually within a few moments of meeting them. No, not something I’m necessarily proud of, but it’s a skillset I’ve learned to embrace.
But that particular skillset never worked with Noel.
Hell, that’s what attracted me the most to her in school. She had a sharp tongue, a quick-witted mind, and she didn’t fall for any of my lines. She pretty much told me to get lost the very first night I met her. But I discovered something the moment my eyes met her blue ones: Noel Winters owned me.
My heart called to her right there in the middle of the campus library. Sure, I know how much of a douche that makes me sound like, but it’s true. I couldn’t walk away from her in that moment even if I wanted to. Which made it that much more painful in the end, when I did, in fact, walk away.
It was the fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of the what-ifs. Fear of myself.
Now, the very thing I ran from is sitting on the other side of the cafeteria, pretending I don’t even exist. I should be happy, right? I did walk away from her, so I should relish in the fact that she doesn’t want to be all chummy and buddy-buddy with me. Yet, a part of me wishes she’d throw me just one more of those amazing smiles, look at me just once more like I was king of the fucking world.
“Excuse me, Santa,” a little boy of about four or five says, pulling me from my thoughts. His eyes are as dark as his midnight hair, and he has a smear of jelly across his chin.
“Yeah?” I ask, completely forgetting my Santa voice.
“I have to use the bathroom,” he whispers, swaying from side-to-side and wringing his hands together.
“Oh, uh, you should definitely go then.”
“I need you to go with me.”
“Can’t little dude. That’s not really my…thing,” I say, glancing around for Sheila or another volunteer for help.
“But she said you would help me,” the boy whispers, his eyes filling with tears. “And I gotta go willy, willy bad.” His swaying because some sort of weird peedance that reminds me of my Uncle Ed at my cousin’s wedding.
“Who said I would help you?” I ask, looking for this kid’s mom.
“Mrs. Claus.”
My eyes connect with those hypnotic blue ones across the heads of dozens of kids. She’s fighting laughter and knows she has me by the balls, while this poor little guy is trying not to piss his pants. Awesome.
Not wanting to let her see me squirm, I say, “Let’s go, little dude.”
I’m out of the chair and heading towards the doorway before I can even think about what I’m about to do. I’m so focused on getting from point A to point B that it startles me when I feel the little hand slip inside my much bigger one. The movement makes my footing falter just a bit, but not enough to really slow me down. Yet, this little guy keeps up with me like a pro.
Inside the empty bathroom, I step over to the corner to give him a little privacy. Instead of heading towards the urinal, the boy goes to the first stall. I hear him working at his pants, and just pray he doesn’t need my help.
After a few moments, it’s finally quiet.
“Santa?”
“Yeah?” I ask, clearing my throat.
“I gotta poop,” he whispers.
“Poop?” Shit.
“And I can’t go when it’s quiet. Can you sing to me?”
“Sing to you? While you poop?”
“Pwease!?” he begs, drawing out the word. “My mom sings to me when I poop.”
“Fine, little man, but you must promise to never speak of this again. I mean it, all right?”
“‘Kay!”
And so that’s why I’m singing “Bohemian Rhapsody” in the john to a five-year-old. No, not exactly a Christmas song, or whatever they’re called, but it was the first thing I could think of. And there’s something about this situation that calls for a little Queen, okay?
“You don’t sound like Santa,” he finally says as he comes out of the stall and walks over to the sink to wash his hands.
“No?” I ask, suddenly uncomfortable.
“Nope. You sound like Tyler’s dad. He’s a fireman. Are you a fireman?”
“Nope,” I answer while I hand him a paper towel and head towards the door.
“Can I drive the sleigh?” he asks, drying off his hands.
“No way.”
“Do you and Mrs. Claus have kids?”
The question stops me in my tracks. I feel the cool handle against my palm, but I hear nothing but the swooshing of my own blood in my ears. I’m pretty sure I’m not breathing right either, as I glance over and look down at the boy. His eyes are full of curiosity and laughter. The kind that you only see in the eyes of a child.
“No, little dude. We don’t have kids.” My throat constricts around the words, and the crazy pounding in my chest is replaced by sharp pain. It feels like a dozen knives are stabbing me, and it’s a familiar hurt. It feels exactly the same as it did five years ago.
“Huh,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.
“We have the, uh…” I say, stumbling around for the right word.
“Elves?”
“Yep, we have elves. Lots of little big eared, big shoed, short and plump little elves,” I confirm, nodding my head.
“I wanted a hamster for Christmas last year, but got a baby brother. I didn’t want a brother. He t
akes my toys and slobbers on them.”
“Man, that sucks.”
Instead of calling me on my language, the little dude just nods his head. “My name’s Drew.”
“Mine’s…Santa.”
“I know,” he says with a big smile before pulling the door open and disappearing down the hallway.
I stand in the bathroom for a few more moments, replaying the past ten minutes. Suddenly, I find myself laughing. BS Brandon (that’s Before Santa) wouldn’t have been caught dead in a public bathroom with a child, let alone singing to him while he did his deed in the stall on the other side of the room. It’s like I’m trapped in some alternative universe where kids rule the world, and we adults are just trying to get through the day.
So this is what parenthood is like, huh?
Instead of letting myself think too hard on the craziness that just transpired, I head out of the john to get ready for my next Santa duty. I’m still smiling, and for some wild reason, chuckling, as I step into the hallway and come face-to-face with the Mrs.
I mean Claus.
Not my Mrs.
You know what I mean.
Anyway, she’s there, probably ready to rub my nose in the fact that I failed at the whole bathroom situation. When she sees my smile, hears my laughter, her own grin falters on her gorgeous face. She was probably waiting there, camera ready, for me to come running from the bathroom screaming. And you know what? Not that long ago, that’s exactly what would have happened. But since I’m living in some crazy new reality world where the thought of being surrounded by kids all day doesn’t quite seem like a death sentence, well, I find myself embracing the situation just a little bit.
“What’s so funny?” she asks, her lush lips painted a subtle shade of pink.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” she asks, her eyebrows shooting skyward.
“Nope. Not a thing,” I say, stopping directly in front of her and crossing my arms over my chest. Her eyes slowly lower down my face and stop on my chest. Without even looking, I know the red suit is pulled taut across my arms and chest. Her eyes flare with something dark (and preferably dirty) as she stares her fill. My Noel was always an arms girl. Not that I had big guns in school, but I had enough definition to drive her wild. She used to love caressing and kissing my arms with soft lips and the bite of her fingernails.
I’m hard at the thought.
I continue to stare at her face while she openly appreciates the fine definition God gave me. I make sure to keep my eyes locked on her so that when she finally realizes what she’s doing, she’ll know I totally busted her perusal. It’s quite entertaining to watch, mostly because it’s a pleasant reminder that even though she hates my guts and wants to light them on fire (while they’re still inside my body), she’s still undeniably attracted to me.
Her eyes finally glance up at my face.
That sexy little mouth of hers drops open.
Those ocean blue eyes widen in shock.
And cue her blush in three…two…one…
“See something you like, Miss Winters?” I ask, giving her a cocky grin.
“Absolutely not,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. Oh, that gloriously beautiful chest.
“Oh, come on, No. You don’t have to be shy around me,” I tease.
“Shy around you? When have I ever been shy around you?” she scoffs.
“I do recall you blushing a gorgeous shade of pink the night I finally got you naked and in my bed.” Yep. I went there.
“I can’t believe you said that!” she seethes between gritted teeth.
“Oh, believe it, baby.”
“You know what? Uhhhhh!” she practically screams.
Stepping closer, I invade her personal space and catch the slightest whiff of her perfume. “You can admit it. You want me.”
“Not today, Satan,” she growls.
“It’s Santa.”
“Same letters. You’re definitely more Satan than Santa.”
The corners of my lips curl upward, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. If I thought sexy Mrs. Claus was hot, then pissed off sexy Mrs. Claus is downright smoldering.
Before I can do something stupid like ask her out, or better yet, throw her over my shoulder and take her into the office and have my way with her, she turns on her sparkly high heels and storms down the hall and towards the auditorium.
My boot-covered feet follow, though they’ve never felt lighter than they do right now. Even dressed as this ridiculous fictional character, I can’t help but smile a little more and move a little easier.
Because one thing I recall is that Noel was always the most passionate about the things she cared the most for.
No, I’m not saying she’s still in love with me, but I think she’s hiding behind her tough exterior and her snarky words. And getting past that side of Noel is going to be a challenge…and probably the most fun I’ve had in at least five years.
I barely get the thick red jacket off when my cell phone starts ringing from the pocket of the leather bomber I wore this morning. What I’m not expecting is to see the office number on the screen of said phone. My secretary knows where I am, so to see the number is telling.
“Hello?”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Frost. I’m sorry to bother you while you’re serving the public,” Lisa says. And by serving the public, she means serving my joke of a sentence.
“Not a problem, Lisa. I was just wrapping up. What’s up?”
“It’s Mr. Henderson. He called from lock-up again. Left multiple messages with the answering service that he needs you.”
Instantly, I rub my temples and sigh deeply. Mr. Henderson is a frequent flyer, as we like to joke around the office, when it comes to my defense services. Not because I’m the best (even though I am), but because I’m the only one who will put up with him. He’s worked with several attorneys in his seventy-two years on this earth.
“What did he do now?”
“It’s a doozy. I believe the charges include indecent exposure, one count of reckless discharge of a firearm, and DWI.”
“I don’t even want to know what all of those things have in common,” I mumble.
“He was riding a bike.”
“Naked?”
“Allegedly.”
“Remind me, again, why I went into defense law?” I grumble, making my secretary of four years chuckle. “It’s Saturday. What are you doing in the office?”
“When the answering service was unable to get a hold of you, they called me.”
“I’m sorry to have messed up your day off,” I tell her. Lord knows when the last time I actually had a day off was. “Text me the details. I’ll head over to meet him.”
“Sending now. I’ve included information about his bond hearing.”
“Thank you,” I say, reaching for my clothes before hanging up the phone.
I had plans to try to persuade Noel into accompanying me to dinner tonight, but now I can see those plans have been put on hold. As much as I’d rather spend time with her, while not being surrounded by screaming kids, it’s not in the cards. When a client calls, it’s my duty to answer. Or in this case, go get my frisky client out of the slammer for the third time this year.
Unfortunately, Noel and her sexy little body will have to wait.
He Remembers
I dressed in my street clothes as quickly as I could and headed out into the hallway to wait for Brandon. There were many things I had to say, and the more I delayed, the more worked up I was getting. I needed to tell him how much he hurt me. I’ve held onto five years’ worth of anger and frustration and pain, and I’m starting to think that Steph is right. The only way to move forward was to face my past so I could move on.
It was time.
I was in the hall for almost fifteen minutes when Sheila stepped into view. “Are you waiting for me?” she asks, that friendly smile ever-present on her face.
“Umm, actually, I was waiting fo
r Brandon.”
“Well, I’m afraid you missed him. He slipped out rather quickly today.”
“Oh,” I whispered, feeling defeated.
“I’ll see you next Saturday, right?” she asks, hopefulness blazing in her eyes.
“I’ll be here.”
“Good,” she says before stepping inside the office where Brandon has been getting ready. When she returns a few moments later, she has the Santa uniform in her hands. It’s crazy, but even across the hall, his scent reaches me, teasing me with its familiarity and warmth.
Without saying anything else, I head towards the exit and out into the late December night. There’s a chill in the air that almost steals my breath, as I make my way to my car. My mind keeps replaying pieces of the day, especially the part where Brandon took little Drew to the bathroom. I knew I was pushing it when I told Drew that Santa would go with him, but I needed that internal laugh. I needed the reminder that big bad Brandon Frost was, in fact, very human.
A human who hated kids.
What I wasn’t prepared for was them to both be smiling when they came out of the bathroom. Brandon didn’t seem put out in the least. In fact, he was laughing. That makes me wonder if my assessment of him is wrong. Maybe five years was enough to change a man like Brandon Frost.
And maybe elves are real.
I laugh humorlessly as I slip into my cold car and crank up the heat. No, there’s no way a man like him could change. At least, not in the way I always wanted him to. After our breakup, I spent about a year wishing for that mysterious knock on my door, telling me he was so sorry and wrong, that he couldn’t live without me. And telling me that what I wanted for my future was exactly what he wanted too.
But that knock never came.
So that hope and longing turned into resentment. Realization that two people who loved each other with their entire heart still couldn’t meet on common ground was a bitter pill to swallow. He didn’t want what I wanted, and in the end, I wasn’t willing to give it all up for him.
Even though I almost did.
No, things happen the way they’re supposed to, right?
It was better that I learned who the real Brandon Frost was back then. Heaven knows it would have killed me to discover it when it was too late and there was no going back. Maybe him walking away was a blessing. He obviously couldn’t give me what I wanted, even though he had always sworn he could.
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