Twisted Christmas

by Sara Cate

  As soon as I’m halfway down the stairs, I’m hit with a whiff of warm sweets. It smells like Christmas cookies, and sure enough, when I round the corner to the kitchen, I find Jesse mulling about, scooping cookies from a baking sheet and placing them onto a platter that’s already full.

  I can’t fight the way my brows lift. The entire island is covered in treats. Apparently, he’s been at it for a while.

  When he hears me, he glances over his shoulder, a subtle smile twisting his lips. “Merry Christmas!”

  My jaw tightens, though I’m pretending I don’t know why as I lean against the doorframe and grumble, “Merry Christmas. You opening up a bakery I don’t know about?”

  I nod toward all the cookies and cupcakes and brownies covering the island, and the counters, enough to feed several sports teams. Some appear to be finished, already decorated with frosting and sprinkles, elaborate enough that they very well could be sold in a shop for dollars apiece, while others are fresh out of the oven and awaiting his immaculate attention.

  He gapes at me with wide eyes for a moment, before peeking at all of his tasty creations. His cheeks blush pink. “Um… yea,” he chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. “I guess I went a little overboard.”

  Guilt swims in my bloodstream as I step gingerly into the room, being sure to keep my distance all the same. “It smells great.”

  He blinks at me, tugging his lower lip between his teeth. I can’t help how it shifts me in place.

  Nope. We’re not doing this.

  “Hey, why don’t you take a break?” I murmur at him. “You’ve got presents to open.”

  Something flashes over his face, an emotion I can’t read, though I can tell it’s somewhere in the realm of despondency, before he covers it up with a smile and nods.

  “Okay.”

  Turning, I stalk into the living room, where the TV is already on. Or still on, playing Elf at a low volume. My fingers twitch, and I close my eyes to take a breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly, reminding myself that everything is fine.

  Nothing happened. We’re totally good.

  We’re ignoring this.

  Except that I can feel Jesse enter the room behind me, like someone just opened the door and a gust of cool wind burst in, sheeting my skin in goosebumps.

  Fuck my life.

  Wandering over to the couch, I take a seat. But then it reminds me of things I’m not supposed to be thinking about and I jump up, moving to the loveseat by the fireplace instead. Turning my head, I squint at it.

  “Did you get the fire started?” I ask, curiously.

  He nods, waltzing over to the Christmas tree and dropping onto his knees on the floor. “Yea. I’m not incompetent.”

  A chuckle rumbles up my throat, though it gets lodged in there and I clear it. “Good job, kid. That one, right there.” I nod at a large box wrapped in paper with snowflakes on it. “Do that one first.”

  He looks excited as he reaches for it, reminding me so much of when he was a kid, it brings fuzziness to my chest that trumps all awkward discomfort.

  This is what feels right. Opening gifts on Christmas morning, although checking the clock, I find that it’s already almost noon.

  This is good. Regular stuff. Normal.

  None of that… whatever the hell from last night that’s oddly settling in my balls, in a way that has me squirming in my seat.

  Jesse tears open the wrapping paper to reveal the box for a Cuisinart mixer, one of the best ones on the market. He’s been not-so-subtly hinting that he wants one for six months, so it was an easy buy as his big gift.

  And judging by the look on his face, I made the right call.

  “Oh my God!” He cackles, examining the box closely, fingers brushing over the writing. “This is the exact model I wanted!” He tilts his head in my direction. “How did you know?”

  I can’t help but laugh. “I’m good like that.”

  “Mhm…” he mumbles, grin so wide it could be seen from space as he opens the box, checking out the device.

  “There’s some other stuff to go with it,” I tell him.

  And he launches at the rest of the gifts, unwrapping things, tossing paper and bows everywhere. I also got him some baking tools, things I researched online to help him with his process. And lastly, an apron with the drawn image of a defined torso.

  I thought it was cute when I bought it, but now it’s sort of coming back to bite me.

  He holds it up over himself. “This isn’t far off from how I already look.” He smirks at it, but when his eyes come back up to mine, I flinch.

  My mouth fills with saliva and I have to keep swallowing over and over.

  Our gazes lock, and the room grows stuffy with uncomfortable silence. Jesse doesn’t seem like he’s processing anything from last night. The awkwardness is coming directly from me, which leads me to believe that maybe he wasn’t fully awake for The Incident.

  And if so, that makes me the creepiest fucking pervert in the history of scumbags.

  “You wish, kid.” I force the witty comeback to grate from my throat, dry and scratchy like sandpaper.

  He scoffs, though the amusement doesn’t reach his eyes. Suddenly the entire room is burning the fuck up.

  It’s a million degrees in here, and I’m sweating beneath my clothes.

  I have to get out of here.

  “I’m gonna go shovel the driveway.” I stand, stomping toward the front door, though I don’t even have my boots on yet.

  “But I have a gift for y—”

  “I don’t need anything,” I cut him off. “You’ve… you’ve given me enough.”

  Turning, I dash back in the direction of the hall, not missing the look of disappointment on his face.

  But I can’t right now. I can’t, with any of it.

  I need to get out of this house before I combust.

  Stalking to my boots, I step into them fast, grabbing my coat and slipping my arms into it. And when I spin back around, I find him wandering into the kitchen to watch me with wide, sparkly eyes etched in concern.

  “At least have some cocoa first…” he mumbles, sucking his lower lip.

  I shake my head fast. “Nah. I gotta get this done.”

  I gotta get the fuck out.

  This is literally the worst thing that’s ever happened. I love the kid. I love him like he’s my own, and I always have. There’s no conceivable reason why I should be watching his mouth and remembering the soft plush of it swallowing up my dick.

  Rubbing my eyes, I dart past him, whipping open the front door.

  What line did we somehow manage to cross last night? What sort of sick, twisted door did we open?

  And how the hell do I close it?

  Chapter 8

  Jesse

  * * *

  James has been outside for hours.

  I think he’s probably shoveled the driveway six times by now. And it’s still snowing, so he just keeps redoing it.

  Avoiding me.

  It’s obvious, and I fucking hate it.

  I tried really hard this morning to forget about my unfortunate… sleep-blowing. As much as I don’t want to forget about it, I have to. The only way we’ll be able to survive this is by pretending it never happened.

  Sure, it’ll kill me inside to do that, slowly and painfully, like a withering disease. But I’m already sick as it is… Wicked and damned, lusting after the man who raised me, like some kind of heathen.

  What’s the alternative, anyway? I can’t lose my father figure…

  He’s all I have. If he ends up hating me because of this, I’ll cease to exist.

  I woke up on the couch at six in the morning, alone. No hope of playing that whole thing off as a dream… Not with the ache in my jaw, and the taste of him still lingering on my tongue.

  I took a quick shower and immediately launched into my default distraction; baking.

  I definitely went overboard, but I couldn’t help it. In order to clear my mind, I went on autopilot,
baking and decorating every single sweet known to man. Cookies, brownies, and cupcakes galore. It worked for a while, but as soon as James came downstairs, it became clear our tryst wouldn’t be swept under the rug.

  Opening presents with him felt normal, but the whole time he was looking at me differently. With this simmering shell-shocked hopelessness in his eyes, and an aura of dubious vexation surrounding him so thickly in the air I could almost taste it.

  The guilt that settled in my gut like a brick has been there since. I fucked everything up. My secret obsession somehow turned into action last night, and now I’m stuck waiting for him to either lash out and disown me, or worse.

  What if we remain in this tense and mortifying purgatory forever?

  I’ve been trying to busy myself with more cooking, starting on dinner, though it’s only four in the afternoon. Still, I have to do something with my hands. I have to keep moving, and working in the kitchen is really the only option I have.

  Instead of turkey, I’m making a roast chicken, stuffed with my homemade cranberry cornbread stuffing, and some sides. Mashed sweet potato casserole, beet salad, asparagus. It’s a whole thing.

  I’m flitting about, diligently, though my mind remains outside. Out in the freezing cold where my guardian is risking hypothermia just to avoid me. I really want to bring him something hot to drink… It’s eighteen degrees outside, and he’s been out there for hours.

  Awkward or not, I’m worried about him.

  But I just keep myself focused on my tasks. Once everything is in the oven, I feed the wood stove and toss a couple more logs on the fire in the living room.

  By the time James comes back inside, it’s dark out. I’m on the couch, reading, my eyes sticking to the words on the page, the ones I’ve read five times without having absorbed a single morsel of the story.

  Using my peripheral, I see him stomp the hall, listening to the sounds of him shedding his boots and wet outerwear. My stomach is in my throat, heart rate steadily increasing as I hear him rummaging in the kitchen.

  And then I feel him approaching, entering the living room with a few clunky footsteps. My gaze lifts as he sidles up to me, arm extended, holding out a mug. I take it, without words, peering down at the hot cocoa with a few little white marshmallows floating at the top. He has one for himself, and I try not to actively watch him as he takes a sip, wandering over to the fireplace.

  With his back to me, I can see how bunched up he is, shoulders tense, rigid in his stance. Closing my eyes for a moment, I take a deep breath and hold it.

  I have to fix this. I have to do something, anything to placate him. To let him know that last night was a fluke, and it meant nothing.

  Even if it’s the furthest thing from the truth.

  Taking a sip of my cocoa, I place the mug on the side table by the couch. “I would’ve gotten that for you…”

  He doesn’t respond. I can’t see his face, but from the way he’s just standing there, warming himself in front of the fire, I can barely even tell if he heard me.

  So I decide to keep going; keep trying to bring back the normal. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

  “Not hungry,” he grunts, the second the last word leaves my lips.

  “That makes no sense,” I argue. “You haven’t eaten all day and you were just outside working for five hours. You need to eat.”

  He spins slowly, his eyes dark with a weighted glare. “Who’s the parent here? Me, or you?”

  I can’t help how that question makes me fumble. “I… I don’t…”

  “You don’t what?” He lifts an accusatory brow, clasping the mug between his hands.

  Letting out a strong sigh, I stand up. Time to take on a different approach here.

  Maybe I just need to give him some assurance that last night didn’t happen because I’m harboring misguided feelings for him, even if it is a bold-faced lie.

  “Well, I’m gonna eat. And then I’m going out.” I fold my arms over my chest, ignoring how hard my heart is banging beneath them.

  He looks momentarily stunned but covers it up quickly with a scowl. “Going out? Where?”

  “This guy I’ve been dating invited me over his place to hang out,” I force myself to project, hopefully disguising the shake that wants to take over my voice. “That’s why I made so much dessert. I’m bringing some over for his family.”

  It’s only ninety percent lie. Tanner definitely texted me earlier for a booty call, which obviously has nothing to do with his family. And I wasn’t considering it whatsoever until things became insufferable in this house.

  The emotions on James’s face are locked up tight. Resentment in his eyes is swallowing up the confusion, and all I’m getting is an angry glare made up of more flames than the fire behind him.

  “You haven’t mentioned any guy,” he grumbles, jaw ticking visibly through his words. “I asked you last night if you were dating anyone and you said no.”

  “I didn’t say no.” I stand my ground, riding this stupid excuse straight to hell. “I said not much. We aren’t exclusive or anything… It’s just fun.”

  Okay… That look is a little scary.

  His eyes are black, lined with a fury that seems to be puzzling him even more than it is me, as he grips the mug in his hands so hard it looks like it could crack down the middle.

  “Fun…” he breathes the word like a threat, then cocks his head to the side. “Absolutely not.”

  I can’t help how my brows zip together. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” he states, as casually as telling someone the time. “It’s Christmas. You’re staying right the fuck here, where you belong. With your family.”

  That family has an awful lot of bite to it for something theoretically positive.

  Gawking at him like he’s lost his mind, my mouth hangs open in perplexity as he lifts the mug to his lips. He takes a sip, all the while eyeing me over the rim, almost as if he’s daring me to protest.

  I have no idea what’s going on here. I thought lying about my relationship and suggesting I leave him alone would help the situation. Give him the out he so clearly wants. But now he’s telling me no…

  He wants me to stay?? In this bubble of suffocating awkward tension??

  Now I’m really lost.

  “I just figured I’d give you some space,” I grumble. “After…”

  My voice dissolves when his eyes widen, pleading with me not to mention it, while simultaneously imploring me to clear the air.

  But I’m too much of a coward to go there first. I’m fucking terrified, shaking down to my bones. “You clearly don’t want me here. Christmas or not…”

  “What would make you think that?” He blinks, sipping once more.

  Don’t make me fucking say it… “Look, I just… I don’t know what to say. So I’m gonna go—”

  “Hang out with your boyfriend?” He hisses, eyes narrowing into slits.

  I gulp. “He’s not my boyfriend…”

  “Right. It’s just fun.” He places the mug down on the table with a thunk. “But I said no. You’re fucking staying, Jesse. End of discussion.”

  “End of discussion?” I scoff. “What am I? Four?”

  “No. You’re eighteen, yet you’re acting like an ungrateful little brat,” he seethes at me, shooting icy rage in my direction.

  It’s crippling, but now my adrenaline is jacked up sky-high. I have no idea where this stern fatherly attitude is coming from, but it’s pissing me off. He’s never treated me this way, even when I was a kid.

  “Why are you being such an asshole?” My fists ball at my sides. “I just wanted to go out for a few—”

  “It’s Christmas,” he says again, like that suddenly means something, even though we’ve barely looked at each other today.

  “So?” I huff. “What’s the big fucking deal? I’m an adult, I can come and go as I please.”

  He takes a step forward, squinting at me as he holds firm. “As long as you’re living u
nder my roof, you’ll obey my rules.”

  What in the name of baby Jesus in a manger??

  Apparently, me sucking him off turned him into the stiflingly strict Dad I never had. Or wanted.

  “Are you fucking kidding?” An outraged chuckle slips out with my words. The audacity right now, I swear.

  “No.” He steps forward once more. “I’m not fucking kidding. I’m deathly serious.”

  Fury bounds through my limbs, unexpectedly. I haven’t been this heated since I was thirteen and he wouldn’t let me play PlayStation until I finished my chores. This is beyond ridiculous.

  “You’re not my real father…” I mutter under my breath, sounding exactly like that thirteen-year-old brat.

  Some sort of realization dawns on his face, and in this moment, he seems to hate it and love it at the same time. He lurches forward, stalking closer to me slowly, like a predator. My pulse is pumping so hard in my ears I can’t tell if I’m struggling for air or breathing too much.

  “And a real father would let you go out on Christmas to get laid?” His voice is eerily quiet, eyes alit in their darkness.

  Chills sheet my skin as I back up. “I’m not going to… I just wanted to hang out with—”

  “Say his name to me,” he taunts, surging closer with threatening strides. “See what fucking happens.”

  I’m trembling from head to toe, my eyes wide in a frightful shock. Where is this coming from? This over-protective dominance that’s turned him into some feral beast, coiled and ready to strike.

  A small voice, in the back of my mind, throws out a suggestion…

  Is he… jealous?

  No. No way. That wouldn’t make a lick of sense.

  But when my shivering lips utter the response to his challenge, “Tanner…”

  He erupts.

  Launching forward, he grabs me by the shirt and pushes me backward. I stumble past the Christmas tree, knocking a glass ornament that shatters on the floor by our feet as my back connects with the wall behind me, and I grunt, no time to react before he’s pressing himself into me.

  Our bodies are flush, his face mere inches from mine as he practically foams at the mouth, the gray in his irises turning obsidian, iridescent with wrath. Both of our chests are heaving, and I can taste his breath on my lips, peppermint and chocolate, winding me up and sending a jolt directly into my balls.