The Sleight Before Christmas (Holiday Hijinx Series Book 2)
The Sleight Before Christmas: Chapter 18

After showering, Serena and I made our way downstairs to a much calmer, much more communal atmosphere. The vibe more fitting of the Collins family’s typical Christmas. It was almost like magic as we descended the stairs. Erin and Brenden seemed to have ended their cold war—or at least called a temporary truce. And on this blessed third day, Eli rose, but not at all like our messiah. Instead, more in the fashion of an old-school Dracula, sans the creepy arm placement. The faint remnants of a penis still outlined on his face and slightly bloated from the carbs he inhaled in between long naps, he came to, blinking rapidly as Brenden greeted him with a “welcome back brother.”

Even Ruby seemed to have forgotten her grudge for us as she handed me my prize-winning cup of snowman soup, declaring me the winner.

“A day late, but you deserve it, Thatch. That house was one for the books.” I drank the hell out of that hot chocolate, properly boasting as one should.

Shortly after, Brenden was summoned into the kitchen to learn how to make eggnog. Ruby’s reasoning? They weren’t going to live forever.

Surprisingly, that kept Brenden’s whining to a minimum. Probably because Allen immediately saw fit just after to put Eli and me to work to set up for karaoke. The peace was maintained throughout the day as the girls stayed busy in the kitchen. And we did Allen’s bidding, putting the pieces together and stringing lights for his ever-important ‘backdrop.’

An Elvis fanatic and former competitor in impersonation, Allen was forced to box up the cabin’s den a couple years back. Tears shimmering for days as he packed away endless amounts of memorabilia and trophies. Something he’s never quite gotten over, and I swear, still glares at his wife for when she isn’t looking.

I glance over at Allen now in remembrance of a different time. A time in which we worked side by side for months all those years ago—when he became the father I never had. When I was a scared shitless kid that had little to no faith in people in general, in the definition of family, or in myself. He allowed me to be his apprentice, into his life and, quickly after, his family. As if he’s thinking the same, he glances over at me and shoots me a wink.

“How is business?” He asks.

“Booming, Dad, really. Almost to the point that it’s too much sometimes, but I’m dealing.”

“I’m thrilled to hear it, my boy. Just please, whatever you do, don’t let it get in the way of family,” he warns. “Pretty soon, you’ll be an old man and won’t be as useful.”

His words have me pausing as Ruby snaps at Brenden in the kitchen, briefly stealing Allen’s attention. My chest tightens painfully at the idea that he might feel more like an ornament in this family at this point.

“Allen,” I say, and he waves me away, shaking away any comment I might make in reply. It’s clear in his eyes as they flit over his family that he wishes he wouldn’t have said anything. Unwilling to drop it, I stand firm in my decision to deliver my rebuttal in a unique way tomorrow morning. One I hope shows him just how much his damned presence means to me.

“Hey, Witchy Poo,” Brenden says, bickering with Serena, “stop ratting me out to Mom, you damned buzz kill.”

“It’s already got enough liquor in it,” she snaps, stalking over to grab the bottle he’s continually draining into the fresh nog mix, “some of the rest of us would like to drink it, too. Mom!”

“Snitches get stitches,” Brenden warns.

“Mom!” Serena calls again, knowing Ruby is the only way to stop him.

“I’m in the john,” Ruby hollers back faintly.

“Alexa, shut my kids up,” Allen says, his fascination with her a lot less than it was when he started his affair with her years ago. Not a second later, she answers from a nearby speaker. “I’m not quite sure how to help you with that, Allen.”

He grins over to me. “See? Even the smartest woman in existence has no idea how to raise kids.”

I share his chuckle. “I’m glad we stopped at two. Don’t know how you managed three,” I pluck the electrical tape from the nearby bin.

“I didn’t manage shit,” he says, “it’s a miracle they still have heads.”

“Oh, you getting mad, sister?” Brenden taunts Serena, “are you so, so mad?” He continues, holding the bourbon bottle out of reach as she jumps for it.

“God, I can’t stand you,” she snaps, swiping one last time for it to no avail. When she turns in a huff to stalk out of the kitchen, Brenden quickly pulls a piece of paper towel off the holder, pinning the top corners of each side with his finger to each of her shoulders while shadowing her. The paper catches air, looking every bit like a little cape as she snaps back at him.

“The hell are you doing, idiot?”

“Now you’re super mad,” he snickers as Eli and I burst into laughter. Serena turns herself completely out of his hold, managing a cat swipe on his chin before her own laughter gets the best of her.

“Gah,” she laughs, “you are the worst brother, fucking ever.”

In response, Brenden surprisingly pulls her into him for a hug.

“Of that, I’m proud, but I vow to you I didn’t add but a half a cup more, Witchy. I shall not ruin the nog. Let’s stop the bitch fest, and get along today, for Mom, okay?” he proposes.

Serena, surprised by his gesture, hugs him back tightly and nods into his chest . . . just as Brenden angles them to give me and Eli a flash of the fingers he has crossed at his back. His smirk growing over the top of Serena’s head, where she still hugs her brother.

Fucker.

God, how I love this family.

As I watch the two of them, I become convinced Peyton got some of his fuck all, devilish genes from his nightmare of an uncle. Briefly, I imagine and can only hope that Gracie and Peyton have a similar relationship as adults one day. Even if it’s filled with sibling rivalry and a little bickering. Because at the heart of it, I know they’ll have each other’s backs when it really matters.

As the day winds down and delicious smells begin to fill the cabin, the Christmas spirit arrives. Not long after a thankfully uneventful but delicious dinner of Allen’s ‘roast beast,’ we all huddle together in front of the stage for karaoke. Serena sits next to me, Jameson in her lap as Peyton watches on, seemingly a very jealous man. Allen surprises us all by kicking off the night with a rendition of “Lady” by Kenny Rogers rather than his typical Elvis tribute. His timbre and delivery are pure talent. So much so that even the kids watch on, stunned by it.

The song is old and most likely lost in most collector’s archives, but it’s significant to me because of the memory it stirs.

Probably as close to as significant for the man currently serenading his tearful wife. The memory brings one I hadn’t got to recollect yet—of one of my favorite nights with Serena in our shed, or rather outside of it. Though Serena’s remembrance has her past me in the timeline of our early days, I know I’m left behind in one of the sweetest spots. At least for me, because the very first time I heard this song was just after Christmas—before I lost my shit and kicked Serena out of my truck, ending what we started.

Already freaked out by her insistence that we take our relationship out of the safe space of the shed, the reality and fear that fueled me to end it after my run-in with Daniel drove the guttural truth home for me.

But before the night I almost lost the love of my life to utter fucking stupidity, there was the last push into my full-fledged fall.

“I’m hungry,” Serena says, looking over to me. “Let’s have a Honey Baked ham sandwich.”

“What?”

“Ever had one?”

“No,” I tell her. “What’s Honey Baked ham?”

“Oh, baby, it’s the fucking greatest,” her endearment a first, it rocks me slightly as she continues. “The sweetest ham ever, but not too sweet. It’s a place that specializes in ham. It’s got a brown sugar crusty outer layer, and it’s just, it’s so good.”

Serena knows ham is my favorite, and my mouth waters at the idea of it.

“It sounds good.”

“Okay,” she pulls away from me and straightens her clothes, looking thoroughly kissed and freshly sated. The sight of her like this is my favorite. Standing in front of me, she holds out her hand expectantly.

“I’m not going with you,” I shake my head.

“Let’s think through this logically, Thatch. You just fingered me to orgasm out here. Now weigh that,” she lifts her hands to mimic a tipping scale, “against getting caught making a fucking ham sandwich with me in our kitchen. Which do you think would upset Allen more?”

“Good point,” I say, standing.

She threads our fingers together and glances up at me. “They know we’re together, Thatch.”

“Serena—”

“Ah, fuck ya objections tonight, my gorgeous man,” she lifts and plants one on me. “Let me be happy with you, okay?”

Biting my lip, I nod, loving every word she spoke even as my heart cracks at the fact that very soon, I’m going to strip every one of her notions about us away. Pissed at myself for not being honest with her the way Allen ordered me to, I squeeze her hand.

“Come on, baby, I’m starving.”

“Because you just smoked two joints,” I counter, counting two ‘babies’ and one ‘gorgeous man’. I’m so fucked, and the thing is, I want to be. But I can’t be. I can’t fucking be here. I’m done. I’m a free man, and she’s now standing in the way of it. I was supposed to tell her tonight, and I couldn’t. I couldn’t look at her and be honest, again.

“Will you ever smoke with me?” She asks as we make our way toward the house.

“I doubt it,” I say honestly, the thought of driving away from Nashville now becoming less and less appealing. As we both cross the deck, hand in hand, music starts to filter through the air, gaining volume as we draw closer to the house. The arrival of it has me hesitating.

“Huh,” she says, “well, they’re definitely up.”

Unease takes hold as she grips my hand more tightly and immediately ushers me through the back door so I can’t object. Once inside, Kenny Rogers’ voice fills the air, and the two of us sneak through the short hallway that leads between the kitchen and living room. Serena stops just short of the living room, her face quickly becoming covered in various shades of Christmas lights as her expression morphs into one of utter captivation. Studying her just as carefully as whatever she’s surveying, I know that what she’s seeing, she wants for herself. I’m only further convinced as her eyes water, and she looks over to me, nodding her head, encouraging me to peek in.

Moving to stand behind her, her crown resting just inches from my lips, I stare into the living room to see Ruby and Allen dancing next to their Christmas tree. The two of them tangled together, their posture intimate, their eyes locked. But it’s the way they’re looking at one another that briefly steals my breath. More specifically, the look in Serena’s mother’s eyes. A look that convinces me of what I’m starting to feel—believe. Because I’ve seen that same look in her daughter’s eyes. More than once.

Love.

Swallowing, I slide my arm around Serena’s waist, and she sinks back against me as we watch her parents dance. When the song ends, Journey’s “Open Arms” begins to play, and I can’t help my words.

“I love this song,” I whisper to her temple as she sways in front of me.

“Me too,” she says, stilling when I don’t entertain her movement. She runs her fingers gently against my hand as I feel myself sinking deeper and deeper into the feelings threatening to puncture my skin, utterly incapable of uttering a single word to her to describe what she makes me feel. But for the first time in my life, wanting to. Fisting my free hand, Serena holding the other, securing her to me, she turns in my arm, giving me the very look Ruby is openly giving her husband.

She loves me.

Warring emotions strangle me mute as she looks up at me, her profile lit. This girl who doesn’t see any of my mistakes or the glaring differences between us. Mistakes I’ve purposely kept her blind to. Concealed from her to steal more nights away and as many blistering kisses as we can before I’m forced to leave her.

“You know what else I love?” She asks.

I swallow and swallow again. It takes every bit of effort for me to slowly shake my head. Heart on fucking fire, I wait on bated breath for what’s coming.

No part of me wants to run away if she gives me the words, but no part of me thinks she’s anywhere near a place where she can align herself fully to them—align herself to a guy like me. She may love what we have hidden away from reality, but she would fucking hate ours if she knew what being with me consisted of—of the condemnation. The price and consequences that come with choosing me. But even as I think it, I’m swept in by the softness in her rich brown eyes, by her touch as she palms my jaw, and I close mine briefly. By her scent as she surrounds me in a warmth I never knew existed. Utterly fucking gone for this girl, I feel myself holding my breath as she leans in, and I close my eyes in anticipation.

“Ham. I love ham,” she says, giggling as she rips all fucking hope from my chest and drags me into the kitchen.

Glancing over at her now, all these years later, I catch her eyes already on me. The same litter of colorful lights dance along her profile as she gazes back at me, and without a doubt in my mind, I know she’s lost in the very same memory. This sweet spot, in the here and now, has my chest stretching, tightening with gratitude. Gratitude I felt then and still feel thanks to the crystal-clear love reflecting in her eyes as she mouths “I love you” just as the song finishes.

Serena and I remain in an eye lock as we both start to clap. Just after, I pass Wyatt off to his mother and stand. Serena frowns at my unreturned sentiment, and I feel her gaze on me as I walk over to where Whitney sits next to Eli, Peyton in her lap. Bending, I whisper my request to my wife’s sister, and Whitney looks back at me, giving me a grin and a quick nod.

Minutes later, the opening notes of Open Arms start to play as Brenden fake gags before he’s struck stupid by a Kleenex box, thanks to Ruby.

As Whitney, the most incredible of songbirds—her voice literally one of an angel—begins to rival Steve Perry’s delivery, I catch my wife’s eyes and walk over to offer my hand. Serena stares down at it, a rare blush warming her cheeks as she hands Jameson off to her brother before taking it. Ushering her from the couch, I walk her in front of the Christmas tree and pull her into my arms, and after twenty-two years, I dance with her.

We’ve probably danced twice in our entire marriage. Both times at our weddings, but I dance with her tonight not out of obligation or because it’s expected but, in truth, because I fucking want to. Like I did all those years ago. Because when I saw Ruby and Allen dancing that night, Serena’s want became my own. It became my hope for us, even if I was terrified to both want and admit it.

And so, as I stare into my wife’s watering eyes, I gaze upon her with the same love in remembrance of the exact moment I knew I did. It’s then that I find the words I couldn’t back then and bend to whisper the return sentiment. The way I wish twenty-year-old me had the moment I felt it all those years ago. But I decide it’s better late than never. And though I’ve said it a thousand times or more after that night, I make sure it rings clear for the time I felt it and failed to use the words.

“I love you, Serena Collins.”

Sniffing, I feel her nod for not using our shared last name because she knows.