The not knowing was eating me up inside.
So I drove out of the City.
I drove North.
I drove through a snowstorm.
I drove up a mountain.
I drove past the place my car had met a timely death.
And I drove right up to a house that held my heart captive inside.
And it may have been cheesy to say, but it felt like coming home.
I cut the engine, took a deep breath to settle my nerves, climbed out of the car, and trudged up the snow-covered path.
Then I rang the bell.
And waited.
Thirteen
Lyra- 11.5 months
The door flew open a long moment later, a rush of warm air meeting my cold face.
And there he was in full-on lumberjack garb- a red and black flannel and well-worn blue jeans.
The sensation of a heat flooding my chest was all the proof I needed. If there was any lingering doubt of the depth of my feelings for him or that my rash trip had been the right move, it vanished at seeing his dark hair, beard, perfect face, warm eyes, massive body.
"Lyra?" he asked, his voice a gruff whisper, his head jerking back visibly, obviously being the last person he had expected to see.
"So, funny thing," I started, swallowing past the lump in my throat.
When I didn't go on, his brows drew together. "What's a funny thing, doll?"
My heart did a flipflop at the endearment, not realizing how badly I had missed hearing it.
"See, I had this really bad car accident last year. And I whacked my head against my car window and I met this guy. He took me back to his place and he made me hot chocolate and he taught me how to build a snowman and he cut down a tree for me. He opened his home and life to me and he gave me something I hadn't experienced before."
"Christmas," he filled in when I trailed off.
"That," I agreed, but shook my head. "But something else too."
"Not really a guessing man here, doll."
I felt my lips curve at that, maybe the only woman in the world who found his gruffness endearing even when I was about to make the biggest declaration of my life.
"Love," I supplied and watched as that reality sank in. His lips parted and his shoulders went a little slack. "I love you, Jack. And I know that it's silly and maybe illogical or idealistic and I totally understand if you think I am like some batshit crazy chick showing up here a year later and telling you I love you and that I fell in love with you in just, you know, a couple days and..."
"You done?" he asked, brow raised, one side of his mouth curved up in a small smirk.
"Ah... I guess?" I said, feeling like the ground was opening up beneath me, slowly sucking me in.
I had wasted my trip.
I had gotten my hopes up.
I had pined.
I had hurt.
All for nothing.
The feelings I had were entirely one-sided.
"Good. Come here. I gotta show you something," he said, pulling the door fully open and moving out of the way, inviting me in.
I took a breath and stepped inside, trying to keep myself from feeling like the house opened its arms for me, wrapped me up, welcomed me back.
That was silly and sentimental and...
"Wait," I said, stopping just inside the door, staring through the house toward the back wall. More specifically, to the space between the giant floor-to-ceiling windows where the fireplace was situated.
Where, above, there used to be a very nice, very generic, huge picture of a fox.
Yes, used to be.
In it's place was two pictures. On the top, the picture of his home I had given him for Christmas the previous year, nestled in a lovely rustic wooden frame that fit him, the house, and the picture perfectly.
I tried not to jump to conclusions.
It was a gift.
And, not to toot my own horn, but it was a nice picture.
Of course he would hang it somewhere.
That wasn't a big deal.
Except, the picture hanging below it was different.
I hadn't given it to him.
And while it was a nice picture in its new matching rustic frame, the fact that it was there was a very, very big deal.
Because it was the picture from my art show.
It was the one I didn't want to sell.
My box with the chains and the heart keyhole.
"How..." I said, shaking my head as I turned to look at him, finding him already watching me.
"Felix dropped it off on his way back up to Coral Cabins," he explained. "He's been up a lot this year, but he's been fucking tight-lipped about you. In fact, until he dropped that, I didn't even know he ever made good on that plan to connect with you."
"In February," I supplied, wincing a bit at the memory.
He ignored that and waved a hand. "He told me to get it a frame and to really look it over, that he would see me in two weeks. He came back down after he wrote his book, demanded I cook him dinner, then he spilled it all."
"All?" I asked, feeling my stomach drop.
He nodded at that, his eyes wincing a little and I knew when he said all that he meant all. Felix hadn't spared any of the ugly details.
"Yeah, doll, all. From the sweatclothes and chicken parm to the art therapy to your show. He asked if I saw in the picture what made him buy it and drag it all the way up here with him."
I swallowed hard. "Did you?"
"Babe, I saw it the second I unwrapped it. The fucking second."
Of course he did.
"And?" I prompted.
"And I couldn't fucking imagine what would make you stay away for a year," he said, then went on, "until I realized that it must have been the same thing that kept me on this fucking mountain, miserable as fuck for a year too."
"It's crazy," I supplied.
"Yeah," he agreed, nodding a little gravely. "But it doesn't make it any less real."
He was right about that.
Some of the best things in my life- from actually having an art career that I loved to being good friends with a notoriously reclusive and hugely successful novelist- were crazy. But they were still real.
"So, ah, are you going to say it or what?" I asked, shifting my feet a little nervously.
"How about I think about it while you get your pretty ass over here and give me a proper fucking hello," he said, lips twitching.
I didn't need an explanation of what a proper fucking hello was.
And I damn sure didn't need to be told twice.
I flew at him, jumping up at the last second, my arms going around his neck, my legs around his waist. My lips crashed down on his- hard, hungry, desperate. One of his arms went across my ass, the other went to the back of my skull as he kissed me back just as hard. He moved across the room to sit down on the couch so his hands could roam. They sifted through my hair, massaged down my back, over my thighs, like he was trying to touch every inch of me.
Minutes, hours, days later, I couldn't tell you which, I finally pulled back, eyes heavy, breath labored, heart slamming in my chest.
"I love you, doll," he told me, voice deep, eyes heated.
"I love you too," I smiled, huge, with my whole heart. "But hurry up," I said, rushing off his lap and grabbing his arm, pulling him up with me.
"Like your enthusiasm," he said, tone suggestive. "But I think we have proved that we don't need a bed."
"No, not that. Well, that, but later," I said, dragging him with me across the house toward the front door.
"Alright, what are we in a rush about?" he asked as I grabbed his coat and pushed it toward him.
"It's getting dark," I declared. "We have to go find the perfect tree to cut down."
He laughed at that, shrugging into his coat, slipping on his hat and gloves, and declaring, "I created a monster."
Epilogue
Jack- 6 years
"It's still there," I said, lazily, sighing.
"It
is not!" Lyra snapped, dropping the strands of lights, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at me.
"Sure as eff is," I said, shaking my head. "Right there in the middle. Big as effing Texas."
I wasn't allowed to cuss much anymore. And since it was a hard habit to break and Lyra was lenient, I was allowed to use substitutions.
The reason I wasn't allowed to cuss? Yeah, it was the pretty little blonde five year old sitting on the couch next to me. She was the spitting fucking image of her mother- all delicate, all light, all sweet. But she had my eyes.
"Daddy's lying," Noel said, giving her mother a very grave look.
"It's not a lie," I objected. "It's tradition," I said, giving Lyra a smile that had her softening slightly.
It didn't fucking matter that she knew it was a fake fight.
It always got a rise out of her.
Seven years strong.
"I wanna put my orn-ments on the tree," Noel insisted in a whiny voice that we all knew was because it was well past her bedtime, but trimming the tree the day before Christmas Eve was a tradition too. So she had to stay up.
"Go ahead, baby," Lyra said, handing her the box full of wooden ornaments. There was one handmade one for each year of her life, ones I had made for her with her name and the date. There was also a box of ones for Lyra. We had gotten good with traditions.
"Where are you going?" I asked as she moved to walk past me, snagging her wrist.
"To put on the coffee," she said, knowing we had a long night of wrapping ahead of us.
"The coffee can wait," I said, yanking her wrist and sending her falling onto my lap where she landed with a yelp and a smile as I wrapped her up. "Look what we did," I said, looking over at our daughter as she hung her ornaments, every damn one of them in the same spot.
"We made that," she agreed, snuggling into my neck.
It didn't fade.
I'd heard and seen and read all that shit about how love gets different, it grows with you, it gets tired.
That shit didn't happen with us.
Every single fucking time she smiled at me, reached for me, kissed me unexpectedly, snuggled into me at night, every fucking time it was new. It was fresh. It was like the first time.
That night, that night six years before when she showed up and lifted a black cloud that had been hanging over me for eleven and a half months, it changed everything.
She did leave me, briefly, to make her arrangements in the City. To put her apartment up for sublet, to grab some shit, to have guys pack up the rest and ship it up, to make an agreement with the gallery who had eventually sold out of her pictures and wanted more.
But she was back in a week and she never left me again.
We had six Christmases since then, and every damn day in between.
I hunted.
She painted.
Felix visited.
We had Noel.
We built a life.
And it was as close to fucking perfect as I had ever known.
"Thank God you hit me with your truck," she declared, as she did every single Christmas. "And that you weren't a psychopath with a torture room."
"And thank God you like lumberjacks named Jack," I agreed, kissing the side of her head as Noel finished, moved close to us, and climbed up between us.
"And thank God for Christmas cookies," she declared in all her five year old innocence.
"Yeah, honey," Lyra said, wrapping an arm around her as I wrapped an arm around both of them, "thank God for Christmas cookies." She kissed her head and turned her face up to me, "And dilapidated gingerbread houses."
"And you," I said, every ounce of feeling that had grown over the years behind those words .
Always, always her.
xx
Don't Forget
If you enjoyed this book, go ahead and hop onto Goodreads or Amazon and tell me your favorite parts. You can also spread the word by recommending the book to friends or sending digital copies that can be received via kindle or kindle app on any device.
Also By Jessica Gadziala
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Duke
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Monster
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Savior
Stars Landing
What The Heart Needs
What The Heart Wants
What The Heart Finds
What The Heart Knows
The Stars Landing Deviant
Other
DEBT
For A Good Time, Call...
Dissent
Shane
The Sex Surrogate
Dr. Chase Hudson
Into The Green
Dark Mysteries
367 Days
Dark Secrets
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About the Author
Jessica Gadziala is a full-time writer, parrot enthusiast, and coffee drinker from New Jersey. She enjoys short rides to the book store, sad songs, and cold weather.
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