The Sleight Before Christmas (Holiday Hijinx Series Book 2)
The Sleight Before Christmas: Chapter 12

Piping the last of the icing onto my gingerbread house, I rear back, eyeballing my handiwork. This year, I’m determined to be the one to get the first cup of snowman soup. Love to my brother-in-law, I’m the fucking architect—or close enough to one—and am destined to win the grand prize this year for the annual gingerbread house competition. The prize being the coveted first cup of snowman soup. Eli has been sipping the first mug every year since joining this family, and this Christmas, I’m determined to break his winning streak. Just as I add the last of the candy-swirled lamp posts, I spot my competitor descending the stairs in my peripheral.

“You don’t have shit on me this year, bro,” I call out to him. “Not a chance.”

Peyton bristles next to me, eyeing my house with envy, his grudge for me still evident in his eyes as he utters a very diva-sounding “whateva.”

Leaning over, I sniff my son’s head. “Peyton, you stink. You need a bath and different clothes.”

“I don’t have any!” He shouts in exasperation as if it’s been weighing heavy on his mind.

“Bet you’re glad you packed all those toys instead of clothes, huh?” I taunt like a fellow toddler as he stabs at his gingerbread house with icing.

After a rough start after mystery Rudolph—including Peyton’s meltdown, which led to an even rougher girl’s and boy’s night—once the matriarchs returned to their sparkling cabin, Allen demanded that his Christmas itinerary be put back into effect. No more deviations allowed.

With only two full days left before the main event and our typical Christmas prep cut short by the holiday falling midweek, we’re now working double time to fit it all in. Starting with the gingerbread houses today, tree decorating is to commence tomorrow night. Followed by The Collins family karaoke before midnight mass on Christmas Eve.

Pausing the workings of my hands and ready to claim my prize, I glance over to the imposter who hasn’t even begun to construct his house. Frowning when I see him frozen at the bottom of the stairs.

Looking utterly lost, he takes one giant step forward and pauses, palming the air as if it’s helping his equilibrium before taking another. Laughter threatens as I stare on at him before noting something is fucking . . . off.

“Hey, Eli?” I call in concern, which has him jumping back in terror. His ice-blue eyes find mine before he darts them away and then slams them back into me.

What. In. The. Hell?

“What are you doing, Uncle Eli?” Peyton shouts as if his uncle has gone hard of hearing before glancing over to me, a nervous giggle leaving him. “Are you taking big, big steps? Is this a game?”

Forever in a bromance with his uncle, Peyton joins him in the hall, taking giant steps along with Eli as he continues to make his grand entrance.

“The hell?” Brenden asks from where he sits at the end of the table. Wyatt in his lap as he continually mushes their gingerbread house into a slobbery mix of goo in his hands. Their foundation never had a chance. Amateurs.

Completely unaffected that his son is an underachiever, a grin simpers on Brenden’s lips as he, too, scrutinizes our brother.

“Getting your lunges in, bro?” Brenden asks through a chuckle, equally baffled.

“Baby?” Whitney prompts her husband from where she sits at the other end of the table, eating some leftover chicken spaghetti. Her fork stops midair as Eli takes one last giant leap for his kind before leaning against the wall as if exhausted.

“What. Is. Happening?” Brenden blurts before bursting into laughter.

“Peyton,” Eli exhales in affection before kneeling in front of my son and pulling him in for a tight hug. “I love you so much, little guy.”

“You acting weally weird, Uncle Eli, but you can be in my cwub.”

Stab.

Tossing salt on the wound, the little shit looks back at me, grinning because he knows.

“Am I weird?” Eli jerks to standing. “Well, I’m,” he looks over to where Whitney sits at the table, frowning at him. “You going to eat that?” He asks her where she sits, both frozen and terrified, her fork poised halfway to her mouth.

“Eat the food on my fork, babe?” She giggles nervously.

Eli stalks straight toward her and takes her bite of spaghetti, and she gapes at him.

“Savage, man,” Brenden says. “I approve.”

“Jesus for Christ!” Peyton exclaims.

“He’s got my vote,” Brenden jibes. “What is in the water this week?”

I glance over to see Ruby watching the interaction from where she’s wiping down the counter in the kitchen. Her rag paused before a knowing smile upturns her lips.

“Mom,” I call, and her eyes dart to mine, suspicion brewing in her expression. “What’s going on?” I mouth.

“Beats me, kid, but then again,” she lifts her chin toward Eli as if telling me to watch.

Eli gently pulls out a seat and slowly, so slowly, sits in front of Whitney as if introducing himself as a chess opponent before summoning another bite.

“Can I have more of that?” Eli asks, practically batting his eyelashes.

“Baby, there’s a whole bowl of it in—hey! DUDE!” Eli, having snatched her fork, already has a third bite in his mouth before Whitney has a chance to fully object.

“So very savaaage,” Brenden gushes in encouragement.

“Eli,” I prompt, examining him closely. “What were you doing before you came downstairs?”

“I was cleaning,” he animates in a way I’ve never seen, all his features twisting at once. “Toys everywhere, everywhere, I mean everywhere.” He drops the fork suddenly and presses his forehead to Whitney’s. “You’re so fucking cute.”

“Ohhhh,” Wyatt says. “Bad word.” I stare over at him, positive it’s the only thing he’s said since he’s been here.

“Good on you,” I tell him before flitting my attention back to Eli.

“Little ears, Eli,” Whitney scolds even as she giggles at her husband’s curious animation. “Mom, did Eli find your eggnog?”

“I will kill you,” Brenden states. “If you drank it all, I’m taking your present back.”

“Daddy!” Peyton draws out in a panic as Eli starts to kiss Whitney’s hand and arm, leading it up to her lips.

“Eli,” Brenden chuckles, “you have the Raggedy Ann room if you want to do disgusting things to my sister.”

Whitney turns her head helplessly as Eli assaults her with crazed kisses while telling her she’s adorable.

“Eli,” I summon in fear, and he jerks back and stares over at me, his ice-blue eyes glazed, or rather blazed.

“Dude, did you get lost in the trees with Serena? Been cleaning the garage, man?” I ask, knowing he’s well aware of our code.

“No, I was cleaning!” He insists before making puppy noises at Whitney for more spaghetti. “More, please? Please, baby, please?” Utterly terrified, she dips the fork into the spaghetti and gives him a bite.

“I love you,” he coos, chewing slowly as Whitney looks back at us helplessly before narrowing her eyes. “Which one of you did this?”

Brenden and I immediately lift our palms in innocence as Allen’s deep, vibrating snore reaches us from his recliner. His ears resting on the end table beside him. I can’t help but think the man a genius as Whitney goes fast forward squirrel on our asses as we frantically plead our innocence. When Whitney gets no satisfaction from Brenden and me, she turns back to Eli and cups his jaw.

“Baby, you’re acting really strange. Did you take something? Find something in the medicine cabinet?”

“No, but I feel . . .” Eli presses both his hands to his chest. “Different. My heart is beating really fast.” He grabs her palm and presses it to his chest as Whitney starts to panic.

“Eli Welch, you need to tell me right now exactly what you did upstairs.”

“I just told you, I cleaned,” he drops his hands to shovel in another bite of spaghetti, “oh, and I ate some of those gumdrops in Gracie’s purse.”

Ruby instantly makes a beeline for the stairs as I freeze, and Brenden’s eyes float to mine just as the doorbell rings.

My wife is the one to get to the peephole first, our entire world stopping when her fear-filled voice fills the chaotic cabin. “Oh my God, it’s Aunt Gretchen.”

“Gretchen, we weren’t expecting you until tomorrow,” Ruby greets from downstairs. Their mixed voices easily heard from where we are upstairs in the media room. Both of us perched on the carpet as I sit next to Eli, who’s lying on his back, his legs propped up against the wall, his hand white-knuckling mine. He’s convinced he’s having a heart attack and attempting to get the blood flowing back in the right direction. It took us a full five minutes of scrambling to finally answer the door. Half of which I wrestled Eli to get him upstairs, the other to get him in a comfortable position to have his freak out. Not only is he stoned for the very first time, but he’s also fucking gummy stoned, which has hit him ten times harder.

“It’s just a buzz, buddy,” I assure him as he continually pales to a ghastly white.

“It’s not a buzz, I’m dying. I can feel it coming, and it’s getting dark in here,” he taps his temple and turns to me, his face terror-stricken. I can only imagine the faces of those downstairs dealing with the nightmare that is Allen’s sister. Otherwise known as Wretched Gretchen. Her annual presence always a looming dark fucking cloud and made worse with every visit. Whitney hit the nail on the head when she described her as Ursula the Sea Bitch. She looks almost exactly like her, sans the tentacles. No less formidable than she’s been every single year, Eli has played buffer with her the last three Christmases. However, with this year’s buffer now in my presence, I weigh my luck in dealing with him in this state or being down there to deal with Gretchen and quickly decide I’m better off. Though I do fear for my wife and children.

Whitney decided to stay downstairs and cater to her aunt in an attempt to get her fed and gone.

“Where is Eli?” Gretchen’s voice trails up, and Eli’s eyes bulge in response. Right before my eyes, he breaks out in a sheen of sweat, his upper lip coated as he stares over at me, eyes watering.

“She’s come to drag me to hell.”

“He’s sleeping, Aunt Gretchen,” Whitney answers, “he’s not feeling well.”

“He could, at the very least,” Gretchen counters, “make an attempt to greet me.”

Eli furiously shakes his head as Whitney takes the possibility off the table.

“Could be Covid, so it’s better not to take any chances.

Brilliant sister, no one fucks with that one!

Silence follows, winning silence until . . .

“I have Covid?” Eli says. “Oh, God, this is so bad.” He pounds his feet against the wall, and I palm his calves to stop him.

“No, man, no, stop, you’re good,” I console.

“What was that racket?” Gretchen asks.

“Gretchen, how do you like the cheese ball?” Ruby prompts as I position Eli’s legs down, and he kicks them right back up, shaking his head furiously back and forth while re-gripping my hands.

“Should I tell you my darkest secrets?” He offers, and I instantly open my mouth to stop him and stop myself instead.

Fuck it.

I’m going to hell anyway. I warned Serena I was bad news, and because she didn’t listen, now we’ve bred demons. One of which poisoned him today, and so, it’s only fitting that karma has battered us again. Determined to go down with some dirt on my squeaky-clean bro-in-law, I immediately speak the words of the devil, which is now firmly perched on my shoulder.

“Yes, if you want absolution, you absolutely should.”

“I masturbate regularly,” he immediately starts, “but not too often.”

I cringe. “Let’s skip the sexual debauchery for now.”

“Oh . . . well, that’s all I have to confess.”

“That’s all?”

“Yeah,” he nods.

“Figures,” I blow out a breath. Eli’s a hard man for another not to try to measure up to. Over the years, I’ve found myself doing it more than I’m comfortable with. But it’s his history that doesn’t keep me envious. He’s fought really hard to get to where he is in life. His path to Whitney tracked with loss, self-discovery, and a hell of a lot of fight. It’s in thinking about that that I lean in, gripping him tighter to help him through the worst of this.

“Eli, I promise you, you’re going to be fine, man. You’re going to live a long, happy life with Whitney.” He nods as I add, “and kid-free.”

“We get sad sometimes . . . about the kids—or no kids,” he admits, and my heart sinks. They both married just edged into their forties, and sadly, a part of their paths led to their inability to have children.

“Ever think about adopting?”

“No,” he studies his hand, opening and closing it, “we decided not to because we have yours to shower with affection. We like the perk of giving them back. So don’t keep them from us no more.”

“I’m sorry, bro. I won’t.”

“It’s cool, but, man. I love Peyton so much. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love Gracie, Wyatt, Conner, and Jameson too,” he says. “Very much, but Peyton,” he looks over to me. “Something about that kid gets me good.”

The fact that he’s speaking a lot more coherently is a good sign, and I decide to try and keep him engaged.

“I get it, and he is yours, too. In fact, take him home. Please take him with you.”

“You say that, Thatch, but that kid is a daddy’s boy.” Eli takes a deep breath and holds it before pushing it out.

“Think so?”

“Are you kidding? I know so. All he asks for is play tools and hammers,” he shakes his head at me as if it’s obvious. “You think he’s just into construction?” He squeezes my hand. “Thatch, you’re a good dad,” he dips, his tone low, “way better than Brenden.”

“Anyone is better than Brenden,” I chuckle before the guilt kicks in. “Okay, he’s not that bad.”

“I mean, he kind of is, but you? You’re different.”

“Not lately,” I admit.

“Well, it’s going to work out because it’s you,” he states.

“What do you mean?” I ask, most definitely fishing for compliments.

He turns to me, his ice-blue eyes sincere and a little dreamy. “Because it’s you, Thatch. Everyone knows you’ve got your family, man. You’ve always got them.”

The words don’t even fully get a chance to leave Eli’s mouth before Peyton’s shriek fills the air. “Jesus for Christ!”

“Peyton!” Serena screeches next, a horrific gurgling sound coming from below. And just as a shatter reaches us, Eli full-on blanches white before he passes right the fuck out.