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

Wrapping paper flies as the champagne cork is popped, a litany of glasses being poured as my son’s voice sounds over it all.

“Oh my Dawd!” Peyton screeches. “Rudolph got my tickets, Daddy!” Peyton bursts with excitement from his designated unwrapping spot on the floor, where he sits next to his sister and cousins.

“Maybe if you’re a good boy, you’ll get to use them soon.”

“Yes, Sir!” he sounds up, and I can’t help but smile. His eyes linger on me for a few seconds before he suddenly pops up, running over to me full force where I sit on the couch. An “oof” escaping me as he rams into me before lifting his arms in instruction to help hoist him into my lap. I help his climb, his little elbows digging into me before he palms my jaw.

“I love you, Daddy, sooo much,” he declares. Collective ‘ahs’ sounding around us before he closes his eyes and plants a slobbery, open-mouthed kiss right on mine. Chuckling, I wipe up his aftermath, my heart stinging because I know it’s most likely one of the last of those kinds of kisses.

“I love you too, buddy, so very much.” Holding onto the moment, I glance over to see our memory keeper, Whitney, with her phone raised, and I know she’s captured it for me. I mouth a “thank you,” to which she nods before Peyton rejoins the kids on the floor.

“I guess I’m mincemeat,” Serena drawls playfully next to me, gripping my hand.

“You’re anything but, baby,” I whisper as she gives me a wink, no real offense taken.

“What’s this?” Ruby asks, plucking the long tube I set in the corner last night from behind the tree. “For Mom and Dad?” She reads the tag. “Who is this from?”

“Me,” I tell her as she beams over at me. Allen scrutinizes the tube, recognition lighting his features before a slow smile blooms on his face.

“What you up to, my boy?”

“Open it and see, Dad,” I say. In seconds, Allen pulls the blueprints out and keeps his palms down to keep them open on the coffee table. The rest of the Collins crew gathers around them as Ruby looks on earnestly, and Allen raises his eyes to mine, emotion clogging his voice. “You want to expand the cabin?”

I nod as Ruby’s eyes flick up and start to water. “Really?”

“I do, but I promise you, Mom, I will not mess up the integrity of this place. I just want to make a little more room for everyone. From what I’ve mapped, we have plenty of room to lengthen the back of the cabin. Enough for three more bedrooms and a Jack-and-Jill bath. This is only if you want it. No pressure. I just thought . . .” I swallow to tamp down the threatening emotions. “This place is special, and I want our children’s children to enjoy it, too. What you’ve built. The family you, we made. It belongs here.”

“You would really do that for us?” Ruby asks, tears shimmering.

“You should know I would do anything for you, Ruby,” I tell her honestly, “but I would really love to do this.”

“There’s no deck?” Allen inquires in confusion.

“That, I thought we could redesign together and maybe build it out if I take some time off this summer?”

This time Allen’s eyes water as I find the words.

“It was the scariest and best year of my life, and I really miss it.”

“I have too,” he whispers.

“Good, then it’s a deal?”

Both of them stand, and I walk over and hug them individually. “This is incredible, Thatch. I’m so proud of you,” Ruby whispers, “so proud. Thank you. I wholeheartedly trust you with this place and accept.”

She pulls away as Allen tugs me into him, still a bear of a man. “You did good, Son. SO damned good.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, both as the terrified twenty-year-old he posed the decision to and the man that boy became. Allen gave me a chance where very few would, and for him, anything.

“What’s this?” Serena asks, taking a round, wrapped package from the tree. “Oh, it’s for me,” she giggles before untying the bow and digging in.

Eli gives me a wink and lifts his glass to me, and I lift mine back as we both take a big sip of champagne, just as Serena speaks up.

“Pledge?” Serena balks, instantly offended. “Why would someone give me Pledge? What does this mean?”

Eli sprays the entire couch full of Collins’ with the champagne in his mouth as Whitney’s jaw drops, and she looks over to Ruby. “Oh my God, Mom!”

FALL

Twenty-Two Years Ago . . .

Exiting my rusted Silverado, I approach the bear of a man on the front porch of the house as his eyes roll over me. “Hey there, Thatcher?”

“It’s Thatch,” I say, extending my hand. “Good to meet you in person, Sir,” I extend the welcome, shaking firmly while hoping he can’t feel the sweat in my palm. Joshua’s last call scared the fuck out of me. I can’t go back to the life I barely escaped, nor a cell—not a second back in time. But if I don’t land this job, I’ll be stuck in my past, possibly for good.

With what this man’s offering, I’ll be able to pay up almost all of my restitution and get space from the dumpster fire I’ve been trapped in.

“Come on back,” he says, walking down the short set of stairs to the backyard. “I’ll show you what I’m thinking.”

“Yessir,” I say, trailing him.

“Allen,” he states.

“Still Thatch,” I joke, and I take his answering grin as a good sign.

“Smartass, huh? I speak it fluently, thanks to my kids.”

Shit. Fuck!

“Shi—uh, I didn’t mean it that way, Sir. Please take no offense.”

He cuts his eyes back at me as I break out in a cold sweat. “None taken, Son, ease up. This isn’t a desk job interview. If you have two hands, you’re damned near qualified. I only have one other who answered the ad.”

God, if you’re there, it’s me Thatch. Please. Just this job. I beg you. This job and I’ll never ask for anything else.

“So, you do much carpentry?”

“I’ll be honest, the minimum basics, but I take orders well. I only have to be told once, and I can haul every bit of this wood where you need it,” I nod toward the gigantic stack of lumber.

“Well, what I have in mind is a bit complicated. This isn’t a simple blueprint,” he palms the back of his neck and looks over to me. “I’ll be honest, it’s pretty complex. This is a wrap-around, multi-level deck. Once we’ve poured cement and got the decking boards in, I might have us consult on more additions.”

I nod as he grins over at me. “You don’t have any idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“No, Sir. I’m afraid I don’t, but I will show up every day and do exactly as asked.”

“I really could use an experienced hand,” he delivers like a blow.

“I really could use this job, Sir. I’m quick on the uptake, I assure you.”

“Where did you work before?”

“Odd jobs,” I offer instantly.

He tucks his fingers in the back pockets of his jeans. “I see.”

“You’re not buying it,” I swallow and swallow again.

“You’re a little jumpy, Son, and frankly, you can’t bullshit a bullshitter.”

“I’m jumpy because I’m terrified of not getting this job,” I state, and his warm eyes flit up to mine instantly.

“I’m sorry, Son, really. But I need someone with experience. This is a highly detailed project, and I was kind of hoping to find someone to help guide me.”

“I understand, I really do. If I’m being honest, beginner was a stretch for me. Thank you so much for your time,” I offer my hand, and he takes it, pumping it. Turning, I ignore the clog in my throat and the sting in my eyes, knowing that I just cost myself for lack of the right fucking words. My damned Achilles heel. My fucking father, my brother, they can both talk a nun out of their habits, but I can’t get a fucking job as simple as a carpenter’s hand. Can’t keep my fucking cool enough to have a regular Joe view me as competent enough.

“Hey, Thatch,” Allen calls behind me, and in a two-second stretch, I know I have to make the decision either to pretend not to hear him or try to come up with more words. I’m far enough away that his call could go unanswered, and he would know I’m ignoring him purposely to save face, but something, some whisper inside me, has me stopping in that yard and glancing back. Going with my gut, I stop my footing and face him, allowing him to see the tears rolling down my face as I run my wrist over them.

“You need this job that bad?”

Fucking humiliated, I nod, muted by the burn in my throat.

“Son,” he exhales as if my expression pains him.

“Sorry,” I croak. “See, this job c-could very well save my life,” I gasp. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.” I palm my forehead, breaking in front of a total stranger because I can’t take another minute of the shitstorm that comes with being Christopher O’Neal’s son. My levee threatens to full-on break as emotion seizes me, and I shake my head, warring with it to be able to speak my way into a different life. Forever screaming as I have been for the last ten years. For a chance to fight for myself.

Jesus, somebody, please fucking help me!

“Thatch,” Allen gently coaxes, “can you try to talk to me about it?”

“I-I—” I glance back at my Silverado, my current home. One I’ve spent every night sleeping in for nearly nine months. Going from one apartment complex to the next and setting an alarm to jet before people start their morning commute—so they can’t spot and get a chance to report me. People always assume sleeping in shopping center parking lots is the better way, but I’ve found apartments are the least likely to check—at least in my experience. But I’ll take any night crammed up in that truck bench over a jail cell.

“I’m s-sorry, Sir. I’m fucking embarrassed.”

“Need a minute?” He offers.

“N-no,” the word comes out strangled as more humiliating tears roll down my cheeks. “I mean, yeah. Yes, please.”

“Take as much as you need and meet me in the backyard.”

I nod, palming my mouth, doing my best to try to get my shit together.

“Thatch?”

I look over to Allen, knowing my eyes are red-rimmed, and follow his gaze to see him staring at my truck as the truth of my situation sinks in on him. He glances back at me and holds my gaze.

“Take a minute, but don’t go. Okay? And then come back and talk to me.”

I nod, hating the fact that I can’t control my emotions. Not once in lockup did I cry. I took every day on the chin and bore it. Not once in the years before did I show any of this weakness. Not even with my brother, who damn near fucking killed me with his endless antics. Not when my mother terrorized me with her fucked mind games. Not when my father congratulated me for getting away with my first car. From the beginning, I understood we weren’t right—they weren’t right. The cruelty of my reality and the fact that I didn’t fit in at all and never really wanted to. I hated my family—still do, and now all I want is the space. Which is easier now with my father facing a sentence of twenty-five to life, my brother missing since I was in jail, and my mother having run off with some old friend of my father’s. With their semi-permanent absence, I have this chance to finally free myself—to pay my restitution, finish probation, and leave Nashville. I gather my wits enough to fight again for my chance and stalk back to where Allen stands.

“Sorry about that,” I say, my voice clear. “I won’t bullshit you, Sir, but that means I risk losing this job. Even so, I won’t lie to you, no matter how damning it sounds.”

“Felon?” He asks.

“Yes, Sir. Grand Theft at seventeen, my juvenile record had me tried as an adult. I spent nine months in. I’m four months away from finishing probation, and I just need enough money to pay off restitution.”

“Do you want to tell me why?”

“No, but I will. I come from a family full of criminals, and I followed suit. It wasn’t expected, it was forced. The night I tried to escape it, my father pistol-whipped me to within an inch of my life. Two days later, I was arrested in a Maserati and was sentenced. I’ve broken all ties with my family and even offered them up for a plea.”

“Christopher O’Neal.”

“Notorious, I know. That’s the damning part, and that’s why I’m not getting any breaks and asking for any. I want to work my way out of this. I intend to get off probation and get the hell out of this state. Start over. Permanently.”

“I have two daughters, Thatch, and a son I would move heaven and earth to protect.”

“I’m cars only, and before that, I was petty theft. I can only give you my word that I would never harm you, as much as it might not mean. But I’m doing my best to try and make that word mean something. I can only prove myself over time. I just need the chance,” I hear myself beg.

His eyes roam over me, and I see his reasoning kicking in, his expression not telling one way or another. “I’ll need to talk to my wife about this. I’ll have to get specific with her.”

Deflating, I nod. “I can go.”

“No, Thatch, stay, but I mean to tell her everything you relayed, Son. I do not lie to my wife. Ever. Well, at least about this, I did about the number of beers I drank two weeks ago.”

We share a grin, and my chest heaves slightly with hope as I do all I can to keep my shit together.

“I’ll work overtime for free, Allen. I just have to have a job to report to and get paid up. Pass my last few drug tests, and then I’m getting the hell out of here. I want no part of a future in Tennessee.”

“I understand,” he nods. “Sit tight and give me a minute. I’m making no promises, but if I go to bat for you with that woman, please don’t fucking let me down.”

“On my life, Sir, on everything, I will not let you down,” the shake in my voice seems to pain him as he studies me for a long minute before he says three words to me I’ve never heard.

“I believe you.” And then four more I never dreamed I’d hear. “I believe in you. I’ll think you’ll do exactly that, Thatch.”

He turns abruptly as I jerk my head to the side, palming my face to keep my emotions from escaping. Pride battered beyond recognition, I vow that if I get this chance to escape the life I had, I’ll take it with gratitude. Even if it means scraping by every fucking day on the wages of a convicted felon for the rest of my life, I’ll do it straight, and I’ll be fucking thankful. Any life over this one. Any life. Glancing around the house, I imagine what being on the other side would be like. To sleep within walls where people treat one another like they mean something and pitching in means taking out the trash. Doing laundry. Not hotwiring a fucking Jaguar in order to pay your own fucking way at eleven. Sinking into the grass of the peaceful house, I spot a blonde peeking her head out of the window. Terrified she heard Allen’s confession, I give her a subtle wave and she waves back, a smile on her lips. She can’t be more than sixteen, seventeen at most. In the next second, she disappears behind a curtain.

What seems like an eternity later, a woman’s voice summons me.

“Thatch?”

I stand abruptly and turn to see a beautiful woman standing at the back door. “Honey, do you like barbecue chicken?”

My eyes sting, and I feel the burst threatening, to the point that all I can do is nod.

“Well, come on then. Whitney’s shucking corn in the kitchen. Let’s get you washed up. You and me, we have some cooking to do.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I croak tearfully as she closes the door, giving me the space I need to collect myself. Palms on my thighs, I whisper out a “thank you, thank you” as guttural cries break from me. Once I’ve collected myself a second time, I begin making my way toward the back door. As I approach the house, I take notice of a wooden sign adhered to the glass at the top of the back door by little plastic suction cups. With every step I take, I’m able to make out another bolded letter—

G-R-A-V-I-T-Y.