All I Want for Christmas Is You (Short Story)

by O'Keefe, Molly

  “Hey, man,” he said, slipping inside when the security guy finally cracked open the door. “Thanks, it was getting cold out there.”

  “No one’s here yet.”

  “Yeah, I’m early. I’m getting married today.” He was babbling, sweating through his shirt.

  “You got an appointment? Everyone thinks you can just walk in without an appointment—”

  “No. I got an appointment.”

  The security guard looked behind Billy. “You got a bride?”

  Good question. Silent, he followed the man down the dark hallways, their feet hitting the granite like gunshots.

  “You can sit here while you wait.” The security guard pointed at a wooden bench. “You got your license?”

  He patted his chest where the license was burning a hole through his shirt. He and Maddy had picked it up the last time he was home. “Judge will be here soon,” the man said, and then turned and walked away.

  Alone. Again.

  He didn’t sit, but leaned against the wall, refusing to think about what he’d do if she didn’t show up. How it would feel.

  Footsteps echoed again and it was so strange in the hallway with all the granite, but he couldn’t tell where exactly they were coming from. He could only tell that they were coming fast. And then suddenly he knew who it was, running toward him. And he knew which way she was coming from.

  He stepped away from the wall just as Maddy turned the corner. She tried to stop and slid, nearly slipping into the wall she was moving so fast. He lunged forward, even though she was twenty feet away, but she caught herself.

  They stared at each other across the granite, across two long nights.

  “I ran,” she panted.

  “I can tell.”

  “I wanted to get here before you.”

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t want … I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t coming.”

  He sagged, his knees buckling. All the doubt he didn’t want to face rolled off his back and he couldn’t feel his body.

  “Billy?” She was in front of him, her lips red, and her cheeks pink. There was something tucked in her hair—the mistletoe. It could only be from her mom, a sign maybe that she’d come around.

  “I didn’t doubt you,” he said. “I won’t. Ever. That’s my promise.”

  “I’ll be your family, Billy. That’s my promise.”

  The door behind them opened, and a woman stood there with a cup of coffee and a smile. The sun crept out from behind the clouds, giving the room a halo.

  “You two ready?” the woman asked.

  Maddy tucked her hand in his elbow, where it just seemed to fit. “Whatever happens,” he whispered, his lips pressed to her forehead.

  “I’m ready.” It could have been either one of them who answered, both of them. Their promise. It was now. And it was forever.

  Want to know what happens next for Billy and Maddy? Be sure not to miss their present-day story in Crazy Thing Called Love, on sale soon from Bantam Books.

  Read on for an excerpt!

  prologue

  Maddy was going to beg. She’d start with an apology. Heartfelt, of course. Desperate mostly.

  But after the fight last night she was scared that they were past apologies. She and Billy were already way past reason. Compromise was long gone.

  Which left her with begging.

  I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want a divorce. We can do this. I know we can. I …

  She put her head against the door, feeling through the wood the bass line of the music being played in his hotel room.

  I’ll go back on the road with you.

  Resentment sizzled through her, burning holes in her purpose. Other professional hockey players didn’t need their wives to babysit them. To keep them out of hot tubs with strippers. Away from bar fights and the mercenary puck bunnies.

  But that seemed to be exactly what Billy needed. Two years ago he was a second-round draft pick, the bright young home-grown star of the Pittsburgh Pit Bulls. Eight months ago he was finally called up from the minors and he’d promptly lost his mind with the excitement.

  But her husband was a twenty-two-year-old enforcer with a temper, a slap shot that could dent metal, a whole bunch of cash, and no clue how to handle the world he’d been thrust into.

  He was easy pickings for puck bunnies.

  I’m not his mother, she thought bitterly. But she was his wife and maybe … sometimes being a wife meant being a mother, too.

  Dad had died three months ago, and Mom was selling the house to move down to Florida with Aunt Lisa, so there was nothing keeping her in Pittsburgh full time anymore. She could travel with Billy.

  Some wives did that. It wouldn’t be weird. Or exhausting. Or boring.

  What about college? She asked herself because she was the only one who still remembered that she used to have her own plans and dreams before Billy’s career and then Dad’s sickness had taken over everything. She was twenty years old, had been married for two years, and sometimes it felt like her life was over.

  What about journalism school?

  Stop, she told herself. She lifted her head from the door.

  You married him, honey, her mom had told her. Now you gotta try living with him.

  She loved Billy Wilkins. Down to her bones, she loved him, which was the only reason she was outside his hotel room in Detroit. Ready to beg, if that’s what it took.

  Enough, she told herself, and knocked on the hotel room door.

  “Just leave it outside,” Billy’s voice called out. The Pit Bulls had lost tonight, she’d heard it on the radio in the cab she took from the airport.

  He was going to be prickly.

  She closed her eyes and prayed for strength. “Billy,” she called back. “It’s me.”

  Almost immediately, the door was yanked open and Billy stood in front of her. His thick brown hair was damp from the shower and curling at the ends. He was shirtless, the muscles of his chest and shoulders bathed in low lamplight from the room behind him.

  And it was all there, everything he felt was on his face. His surprise. His love. His joy—in her—it illuminated him, the hallway, her entire world. He’d been looking at her like this since they were kids, and she felt an answering spark inside her.

  They could do this. They could make it work. It was worth fighting for. They were worth fighting for.

  The relief was profound and her heart threw itself wide open.

  But he closed right down, no doubt remembering every awful thing she had said to him the night before. A chill rolled off of him, and he lifted the beer bottle he was holding to his lips.

  Where the scar pulled his mouth into a terrible sneer.

  The sight of him—his scar, his body, his virile strength barely restrained—rippled through her, as it always had. As it always would.

  Maybe she would have been able to walk away if she didn’t want him so badly.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Can I come in?”

  He pulled the door a little closer to his body.

  That would be a no.

  “You’re going to make me do this in the hallway?” She tried to make it a joke, but he just stared at her. Immutable.

  Right. On with the begging.

  “I’m sorry for those things I said. I was mad. Hurt.”

  “Yeah? Well, it’s my turn now. And screw your apology, Maddy.” He stepped backwards as if to shut the door, but she reached out her hand, nearly touching him. They both froze.

  “Don’t, Billy. Please. Let’s talk. I’ll come back on the road—”

  He blinked. His eyes flared and the sneer spread briefly into a smile. “You will?”

  A bittersweet happiness flooded her. It wasn’t perfect, but what was?

  “Yeah,” she said. “I miss you.”

  “Oh my God, baby. I miss you so much, I—” He reached for her.

  “Billy?
” a voice called from the hotel room behind them.

  A female voice.

  A woman in a hot pink dress slunk toward the doorway, glowing malevolently in the shadows.

  “What are you doing out here?” the woman asked, her voice strangled by the breasts pushed up to her throat.

  Bittersweet happiness curdled to a bitter rage. And right at that moment Maddy hated Billy more than she’d ever loved him. It was a terrible rending, from which there was no going back.

  Hating him like that changed her on a molecular level.

  And the pain … the pain was shocking. She couldn’t see or breathe. She couldn’t think. Her whole landscape was pain.

  “Maddy,” Billy said, blocking her view of the bitch in the pink dress. “It’s a party.”

  “Yeah? For two?” The words spilled from numb lips.

  “No,” the stupid stupid woman said. “My friend is here, too. Are you delivering the champagne?”

  “Gary and Ben are coming over,” he said quickly, acting like she was a fool for imagining the worst. A fool for doubting him.

  Well, she wasn’t going to be his fool anymore.

  Speechless, she shoved him as hard as she could. Punched him. And then again. Both hands. Wanting to pull his heart out through his chest. Wanting to take out his eyes.

  He grabbed her hands, his brown eyes slicing through her skin to the muscle and sinew of her.

  Look at what you’ve become, she thought, horrified by her violence.

  “You said you were leaving.” There was an apology in his voice but there was pride there, too. He was the star athlete who didn’t have to explain his shit to anyone. Not even his wife.

  “And I am, asshole,” she snapped. “Enjoy your whore.”

  “Hey!” the woman cried, but Maddy ignored her, stomping down the hallway. She was sweating under her winter coat and shock and nerves made her sick to her stomach. Her hands shook as she pressed them to her lips.

  What was she going to do? Where would she go? She had nothing outside of what Billy had bought for her. She had no money of her own. No car. No home.

  How did I get here?

  A soundless sob broke out of her throat and she held her fingers to her mouth to push the despair back.

  Think, Maddy. Think.

  Billy grabbed her elbow by the elevator and she jerked herself sideways out of his grasp. Barefoot and shirtless, in his black athletic shorts, he was the tide just before a storm—barely contained.

  “Don’t touch me!” she cried. “You never get to touch me again.”

  “Come on, Maddy. You know these things are nothing.”

  “Do you really believe that?” she asked, searching his face for the boy she’d known because this Billy was a stranger to her right now. “Or are you just hoping I’ll believe that?”

  “You’re overreacting!”

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”

  “Come on, forget about that.” He threw his arms out, as if he were a magician pulling a screen between them, making the woman in the pink dress and his final betrayal disappear. “You came here to make this work. So let’s do it. We’ll make it work. You … you wanted to go see a counselor. We can do that.”

  He was months too late. And suddenly her anger deflated, leaving her wounded and bleeding. And tired. So damn tired she couldn’t fight anymore. “There’s no fixing this, Billy.”

  “Don’t say that. We—”

  “No. No, we’re broken. All the way.”

  “We made promises—”

  “Promises?” She jabbed her finger down the hallway. “She wasn’t in any promise I made.”

  “You know nothing happened.”

  “I don’t know that, Billy. And I feel like a fool taking your word for it!”

  “You’re not a fool.” He tried to touch her and she smacked away his hand. “You’re my family, Maddy.”

  “And what are you to me?”

  He flinched at her words, but she couldn’t stop them. Couldn’t help hurting him. This is what they’d come to. Every conversation was a fight, a chance to hurt the other. “I can’t keep giving you everything you need and get nothing in return. Nothing.”

  It was unfair, she knew, it’s not like anyone had shown him how to be a family. Without her, he’d probably slide back into the dark hole his sisters lived in.

  Not your problem anymore.

  But it was still hard. They would eat him alive, his sisters.

  “Once the season’s over—”

  “How many times have I heard that? No, Billy. You … you just absorb me. You need me and you suck me in until there’s nothing left for me. You always have. I don’t believe you anymore. I have no more faith in us. I have nothing.”

  “Yeah?” He was getting angry, his default position, all his doors closing. They’d start yelling just like his parents had. It was so ugly, so not the way she’d thought their life would be.

  I will never be in this place again, she promised herself as Billy yelled, “That new house in Ben Avon Heights? The clothes? The car? That’s nothing?”

  “I don’t want things. I don’t want money. Why can’t you see that? I want you and I’ve lost you. I’ve lost me. I can’t do this anymore,” she whispered, dry-eyed and hollow. “This sport is turning you into someone I don’t know.”

  “That’s bullshit—”

  “No. It’s not. Just because you don’t agree doesn’t mean it’s bullshit. And being married to you is turning me into someone I don’t know. I can’t do it anymore, Billy. I just can’t.”

  Maybe because she wasn’t screaming, wasn’t crying and trying to hurt him, he finally got the message.

  His face, so handsome, so very dear to her—despite the scar, or maybe because of it—crumpled.

  “Please,” he whispered. He begged. If her heart weren’t already cracked, she might actually have felt something.

  But she looked at the boy she’d loved since she was thirteen and felt nothing.

  There was a God—the proof was that when she pushed the button the elevator doors opened immediately, and she stepped in.

  Don’t look, she told herself, staring at the white salt stains on her boots. But as the elevator door started to close, she looked up and saw her husband, all alone. Nearly naked. Tears in his eyes.

  But he wasn’t fighting. And she knew, right then, that it was over.

  Really over.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  And the doors closed between them.

  About the Author

  MOLLY O’KEEFE published her first Harlequin romance at age twenty-five and hasn’t looked back. She loves exploring each character’s road toward happily ever after. She’s won two Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice awards and the RITA for Best Novella in 2010. Originally from a small town outside of Chicago, she now lives in Toronto, Canada, with her husband, two kids, and the largest heap of laundry in North America.

  www.molly-okeefe.com