Jenna should probably talk to Laura about her rather immediate inclination toward violence.
I stared at the texts from all of my friends, their voices of concern and love, and a smile crept brokenly across my face.
Logan joined me on the couch, sliding an arm around my shoulders. “Everything okay?”
I flashed him the screen—not nearly long enough for him to read it, because I had to look at the words again immediately. “My friends were worried about me.”
“Sure they were; they’re your friends.”
“Yeah. Well.” I swallowed, thinking about the last time I’d been with them. “I wasn’t sure they’d still want me around. I said they were my friends, not my family. I hurt Jackson’s feelings. I thought everyone low-key hated me for it. They . . . Fuck.” I inhaled noisily. “Friday they made plans that they knew I couldn’t make. I felt like they were cutting me off.”
“Do you still think that?”
I shrugged, the pain from that night swelling up from where it had fallen forgotten under the crippling hurt of fighting with Logan. “Maybe. But I also think I need to talk to Jackson. Because I need to explain why I said that to him. To them. Maybe if they were cutting me out, it was because they didn’t want me and Jackson to fight again.”
“Or it was coincidence.”
“Or that. Or maybe it was coincidence and Jackson was hurt and used it to lash out. Not, like, consciously. Heh.” My laugh was flat and dead. “Maybe he was also avoiding a tough conversation.”
Logan kissed my cheek. “If you need me to do anything, let me know.”
I took a deep breath, then nodded. “If they’re free tonight, will you go over with me to talk to Jackson?”
“Sure.”
Because I wanted to delay the discussion with Jackson as much as possible, I hoped fate would intervene. Which meant when I texted Jackson, he said they were free and we could come over—which seemed to contradict what they’d said about Sunday being a bad day for brunch, but I tried not to jump to conclusions. Then the food arrived in the fastest show of delivery ever, and even eating seemed to take less time than usual.
Thankfully I had a change of clothes at Logan’s place, which meant I was showered and in clean jeans and a hoodie when we went to Jackson and Emmett’s place. It was unseasonably warm, so we bundled up and Logan drove me over on his bike. Maybe he wanted to take advantage of one last ride before conditions made it unpleasant. Maybe he knew that if this talk went badly, then a long trip on his bike, pressed close to him, the wind and noise cocooning me from the world, would be what I’d need. Or maybe he just wanted me snug against him after our own fight.
Riding on the back of his bike cleared my mind, shedding the tension and anxieties from earlier in the weekend, so when we pulled up to their house, I was almost ready to face Jackson as a reasonable adult. That didn’t mean I wasn’t scared shitless. Imagining life without all my friends—our weekends bullshitting and watching movies, the plethora of stupid links and images shared in chats, everything—hurt. Where would I even find new friends? I was too old to start over. And I liked the ones I had.
“Hey.” Logan slipped his hand into mine and tugged me closer. “You okay?”
I startled and stared at him. He was smiling softly, as if maybe he’d said something and I’d missed it. “Sorry, thinking.”
“They’re your friends. You can talk this out.”
“Yeah? But what if we keep fighting? Your friends seem to constantly be at each other’s necks.”
He shrugged, then dropped my hand to wrap his arm around my shoulders. “Well, first off, they aren’t at the moment. But that’s my point: they fight, and sometimes things are awkward, but eventually it works out. Secondly, I love my friends, but they do love their drama. Yours are much more low-key. I don’t think you need to worry about this becoming a repeat performance.”
I thought of my actions on Friday and how Jackson had left the room when we’d started arguing. No, my friends and I tended to avoid the drama—for better or worse. “I hope you’re right.”
Either way, I was learning that not having these conversations wasn’t going to help anyone. My hand wasn’t even shaking when I knocked on the door. But maybe that was more due to Logan’s strong arm holding me close to him. Like my calm was from absorbing his strength rather than my own resolve.
Jackson answered the door in crisp jeans and a nice sweater—a bit overdressed for a Sunday afternoon. He smiled warmly, although a touch uncertainly, at both of us. “Hey, come on in.”
We followed him into the living room, declining offers of drinks. Logan and I sat on the couch. I tried to relax. This was my old friend—nothing to be concerned about, right? No need to sit with my back ramrod straight, my hands clenched in my lap. And yet that was exactly how I sat. Jackson was my mirror image.
“Where are Rosa and Emmett?” I asked.
“Upstairs. Emmett wanted to give us some time to talk. Though he’s possibly eavesdropping with a baby monitor; I wouldn’t put it past him.” Jackson tried for a smile.
I returned it just as weakly, my stomach lurching. Silence descended, but only for a moment.
“I’m sorry for what I said,” I blurted.
Jackson blinked, face blank.
Heat rushed into my cheeks, and Logan reached over to break apart my hands and take one in his. I inhaled, shaking. “Sorry. I mean, I’m sorry for what I said the other day. When I said you weren’t family. I—I don’t think I explained myself very clearly. Or maybe I did and I was wrong. I don’t know. But I don’t want you to think that I think less of you guys because you’re not my family.” Logan squeezed my hand, and I added, “Not my biological family, I mean. That was your point, wasn’t it? That I need to see family as more than blood.”
I stumbled to a stop as Jackson started to nod. “Yeah.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “It felt like we didn’t mean as much to you as your family—who, no offense, treated you like shit. Um, aside from Sue.”
“It’s not like that.” I hesitated, but another squeeze from Logan helped me continue. “See, there’s nothing holding friends together. No twenty or thirty years of shared history. No childhoods. No spending every waking moment together and holidays and all that. So friends, when they fight, it’s easy for them to break apart. To stop hanging out. To vanish from each other’s lives. But family is obligated to love you—” I winced and closed my eyes as a sharp pain shot through my chest.
A second later the cushion on the other side of me sagged, and Jackson’s arms wrapped around me. I opened my eyes, a little stunned. The hug didn’t last long, but he kept one arm across my shoulders.
“To me,” Jackson said softly, “family isn’t those people who love you because they’re obligated; it’s the people who love you because they love you. The people who love you because they’re obligated are relatives—linked by blood, but not much else. People who love you because they love you—that’s family. Sue is a relative and family. But I think of you as my family, Isaac.”
“Yeah.” My voice cracked, and I had to swallow twice. “That’s a good point.”
“I guess we both didn’t explain ourselves very well the other day.”
“So, we’re okay now? I can’t promise this whole ‘my friends are my family’ thing is going to be automatic, but you guys mean the world to me. Is that enough?”
Jackson nodded. “We’re okay. And I’ll be patient. Emmett and Roe had a talk with me about expecting everyone to immediately fall in line with my worldview.”
I chuckled at the image of the two of them ganging up on Jackson. Knowing how stubborn Jackson could be, it would probably take two of them to do it. “So, I’m forgiven?”
“Yes!” He pulled me into a tight hug again, and it might have been to hide his tears, because his voice was a little choked when he added, “That’s what family does.”
I planned to blame my own tears on my utter exhaustion. Thankfully there was no one here who needed to be
given the excuse.
Eventually the hug ended, and we wiped our faces and took deep breaths.
My chest was still tight. “There’s one more thing.”
“Go on.” His eyes were wide, maybe with a bit of terror.
“Friday night, when you planned the brunch. I couldn’t do Saturday and you said it was the better day, but you . . . I mean, you’re not . . .” I grimaced. “Did you do that so I wouldn’t be there?”
If possible, his eyes got wider. “No! Hell, Isaac, no.” He exhaled sharply. “I won’t deny I was still pretty pissed at you. But we were supposed to have a gathering at noon today with Emmett’s extended family—relatives, so a brunch would have been rushed. Then they all fucking bailed at the last minute.” His jaw clenched, as if holding back curses he wanted to lay on said relatives. When it relaxed, he said, “I’m sorry. My feelings probably meant I wasn’t being fair to you. I’m sorry for the brush-off.” A smile peeked through. “If it helps, we spent the whole time talking about you.”
I bumped his shoulder with mine. “Liar. I bet half the time was talking about Rosa and that new show.”
He laughed. “You got me.” A pause. “Hey, um, I know it’s last minute, but I could invite everyone over for an early dinner. Since you didn’t get to hang out with us this weekend.”
I glanced to Logan, who was watching us with the dopiest smile. He didn’t even need to nod for me to know he was up for it. I turned back to Jackson. “Sounds good.”
The perk of Emmett eavesdropping through the baby monitor—aside from the fact that Jackson and I got to tease him about it—was that we didn’t need to explain or talk about everything that had happened.
The same could not be said for the rest of our friends.
Roe was the first to arrive, which was a pleasant surprise because, despite living the closest, they hated last-minute plans. I opened the door, and they nearly tackled me to the floor with a hug. A string of “Oh my god I’m sorry I wish I’d gotten the message sooner and I’m glad you’re okay and I was worried and I love you, you know that don’t you?” all escaped in one impressive breath.
“I love you too.” The heat of my blush flared up my neck. I shouldn’t be embarrassed about saying those words to my friends, but it wasn’t something I was used to doing. I promised to change that. “C’mon in. Jackson and I talked. Logan and I talked. All is okay.”
Roe clung to my arm a bit as we headed to the living room. Their voice was low and quiet, as if for my ears only. “I was worried about you. I thought . . . But I didn’t know what to do if you had.”
I scrunched my brow. “You thought what?”
Roe glanced up and then away. “Nothing. You didn’t, so it’s okay.”
We hadn’t gotten to the room with everyone else, so I stopped us and turned Roe to face me. My heart was fluttering like I’d had too much coffee. I was having so many conversations this weekend that I would have rather not. “It is okay. But if you need to talk to me about it, I’m here. You know?”
They met my gaze, a smile tugging at the corners of their mouth. “And I’m here if you need me. Even if I don’t reply immediately—God, I wish I’d read your text before the movie.” They huffed, seemingly in frustration with themself, then stared, steely-eyed at me. “Don’t cut us off like that. Please?”
I nodded, hoping the urge would never again come up quite so intensely as it had this weekend. “I promise. I just didn’t want to hear that you didn’t want to talk to me.” Admitting it had the blush flooding warmth up to my cheeks.
They only burned hotter when Roe hugged me for a second time. “Never!”
Logan’s chuckle broke us apart. “Roe, you’re going to kill my boyfriend with embarrassment.”
Roe, who didn’t look embarrassed or called out in the least, beamed at Logan. “I wanted him to know I care.”
Without their gaze on me, I was able to say, “I know that now.”
I went through similar conversations with my other friends as they showed up, although none were quite so intense as that first one with Roe. When everyone had arrived, we sat around the kitchen table, sharing the roast chicken dinner and the various other food items people had brought, laughing, talking, and generally being exactly as we always were.
Just like a family.
“Hot stuff coming through!” I announced, carrying the steaming sweet-potato casserole out to the improvised dining room table we’d set up.
“And he brought the potatoes too,” Logan said behind me, the turkey platter in hand.
“Aren’t you funny.” I resisted rolling my eyes as I set the casserole on the pot holder, but my cheeks were burning with a smile and embarrassment.
“I told you they were making out in the kitchen,” Jenna said.
Laura rolled her eyes. “Ugh, newlyweds.”
I stepped back and raised an eyebrow at her. “We’re not married.”
“You’re living together—that’s practically the same thing.”
“So you and Jenna are celebrating your, what, fifth wedding anniversary this year?”
She picked up a roll as if to throw it at me, and I scuttled back to the kitchen to fetch the cranberry sauce. By the time I returned and took my seat next to Logan, everything was out and people were seated, sipping their wine and waiting to dig in. Thankfully conversation had moved on from what Logan and I had—or had not—been up to in the kitchen.
“Before we begin, I’d like to say a few words,” Logan said, standing, eliciting playful groans from our friends. He cleared his throat and passed a glare around. “As I was saying. I want to thank everyone for joining Isaac and me for our first Christmas together.”
A collective “Awww” rang out, and despite the fact I knew they’d done it on purpose, my cheeks heated again. I wanted to duck my head, but I kept my eyes locked on Logan.
“It means a lot to us that we can gather here together with the people we love, who support us—”
“And heckle us,” I chimed in.
Logan grinned and rested his hand on my shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “And put up with us and our dramatics throughout the year.”
“And thank you for putting up with our dramatics too, Isaac!” Erika said.
Logan sighed. “Am I going to be able to get through this speech? Do you want to eat?”
A chorus responded:
“Oh, like you want all these leftovers.”
“Friends don’t threaten friends!”
“I’m starving!”
“Speech! Speech! Speech!”
“As I was saying,” Logan continued, silencing the racket. “With the wonderful, and sometimes difficult, year Isaac and I have had, we appreciate you standing by us and being our family.”
I tensed and swallowed the lump in my throat. Logan squeezed my shoulder again. I wasn’t actually missing Mom and Dad, who I’d heard nothing from in the past month. Not that I was expecting to. Good riddance, as Sue said. Her, I was missing. She’d decided to spend this Christmas with her boyfriend and his family—yes, that was moving fast—but she’d been over the night before to celebrate Christmas Eve with us. Logan and her boyfriend got along in that way that made significant others roll their eyes.
“We’re both grateful for everything you guys have done for us, whether it’s listening, loving, or smacking sense into us. Thank you,” Logan finished, his voice a little choked.
“Cheers!” Jenna said, raising her glass.
“Cheers!” everyone echoed, including Logan and me. The room filled with the clink of wineglasses.
“And with that,” Logan said, sitting back down, “let’s eat!”
When he was within reach, I gripped his hand tightly, leaned over, and kissed his cheek, my eyes burning and my throat tight. “Merry Christmas.”
He turned his head, his own eyes suspiciously shiny. “Merry Christmas.”
Then he kissed me, the smile on his lips matching the one on mine.
Dear Reader,
&nbs
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A big shout-out to my betas and sensitivity reader for all your insight and advice; to Caz for cleaning up all my many, many crutch words; and to L.C. for making my vague cover idea come to life. Also, I couldn’t have done this without the support of my own chosen family and my own biological one: I got lucky twice.
Magic Runs Deep
Second Skin
Sharing a Pond
A Christmas for Oscar
As the Snow Falls
If there are two types of people in the world, Alex Whitehall probably isn’t one of them, despite being a person. Their favorite pastimes include reading, horseback riding, sleeping, watching geek-tastic television, knitting, eating, and running. And wasting time on the internet. And spending glorious evenings laughing with friends.
Hard Truths Page 20