Summary:
Will fake boyfriends become the real deal this holiday?
It’s the most wonderful time of the year—except ex-Marine Logan is jobless and getting evicted. Worse, he’s a new single dad with a stepson who hates him. A kid needs stability—not to mention presents under the tree—and Logan’s desperate.
Then he meets lonely Seth and makes a deal.
Can Logan temporarily pretend to be live-in boyfriends to increase Seth’s chances at a promotion? If it provides a roof over their heads for the holidays, hell yeah. Logan considers himself straight—he doesn’t count occasional hookups with guys—but he can fake it. Besides, with his shy little smile, Seth is surprisingly sexy.
Make that damn sexy.
Shocked that Seth has only been with one man, Logan can’t resist sweetening their deal to teach him the joys of casual sex. No strings attached. No feelings. No kissing.
No falling for each other.
Easy, right?
The Christmas Deal is a steamy holiday gay romance from Keira Andrews featuring fake boyfriends, bisexual awakening, a clueless single dad with an angry preteen, and of course a happy ending.
Original Review December 2019:
Likeable characters, interesting scenario, holiday romance, family-not-family, there are just so many things to like about this story. I haven't read all of Keira Andrews stories but the ones I have experienced never fail to be brilliant and The Christmas Deal is no different. Fake boyfriends, favors, grieving-but-a-bit-snotty step-son . . . okay sure this sounds a bit of a cliched over-used holiday plot but when it's done right it can be a brilliant setting and The Christmas Deal is definitely done right.
I'll admit, I wanted to smack Connor more than once but then you remember he's grieving for his mom and for a dad who apparently has absolutely no time or desire to know his son and I found myself warring between grounding him and crushing him with a Mama Bear hug.
Certainly a story with characters in desperate need of some holiday magic and just how that magic happens is something you have to read for yourself and trust me when I say you will not be sorry for giving this one a chance. Heartwarming drama with moments of heartache as well as discovery. I firmly believe that fate has a way of putting us exactly where we need to be and I think Logan and Seth's journey is a prime example of that and being a Christmas story makes it all the more enjoyable.
Will fake boyfriends become the real deal this holiday?
It’s the most wonderful time of the year—except ex-Marine Logan is jobless and getting evicted. Worse, he’s a new single dad with a stepson who hates him. A kid needs stability—not to mention presents under the tree—and Logan’s desperate.
Then he meets lonely Seth and makes a deal.
Can Logan temporarily pretend to be live-in boyfriends to increase Seth’s chances at a promotion? If it provides a roof over their heads for the holidays, hell yeah. Logan considers himself straight—he doesn’t count occasional hookups with guys—but he can fake it. Besides, with his shy little smile, Seth is surprisingly sexy.
Make that damn sexy.
Shocked that Seth has only been with one man, Logan can’t resist sweetening their deal to teach him the joys of casual sex. No strings attached. No feelings. No kissing.
No falling for each other.
Easy, right?
The Christmas Deal is a steamy holiday gay romance from Keira Andrews featuring fake boyfriends, bisexual awakening, a clueless single dad with an angry preteen, and of course a happy ending.
Likeable characters, interesting scenario, holiday romance, family-not-family, there are just so many things to like about this story. I haven't read all of Keira Andrews stories but the ones I have experienced never fail to be brilliant and The Christmas Deal is no different. Fake boyfriends, favors, grieving-but-a-bit-snotty step-son . . . okay sure this sounds a bit of a cliched over-used holiday plot but when it's done right it can be a brilliant setting and The Christmas Deal is definitely done right.
I'll admit, I wanted to smack Connor more than once but then you remember he's grieving for his mom and for a dad who apparently has absolutely no time or desire to know his son and I found myself warring between grounding him and crushing him with a Mama Bear hug.
Certainly a story with characters in desperate need of some holiday magic and just how that magic happens is something you have to read for yourself and trust me when I say you will not be sorry for giving this one a chance. Heartwarming drama with moments of heartache as well as discovery. I firmly believe that fate has a way of putting us exactly where we need to be and I think Logan and Seth's journey is a prime example of that and being a Christmas story makes it all the more enjoyable.
RATING:
Summary:
Fake romance shouldn’t feel this real…
Will: I've never been with a man.
Sure, I've thought about it. Wondered. Daydreamed. Imagined. But I wasn't ready to take the leap.
I have a reputation as a "ladies' man." No one has any idea how curious I am about men—not even my openly bi best friend. Make that former best friend. Michael ghosted me, and I have no idea why.
Michael: The man I love is straight.
It hurt like hell when I had to distance myself from Will. I’ve tried desperately to grow up and get over him, but my carefully constructed life just fell apart—and Will rushes to my rescue.
Now we’re pretending to be a couple to impress his boss at a holiday retreat. We’re holding hands and hugging.
We’re sharing a bed.
And Will just kissed me.
Is my best friend falling in love with me after all?
The Christmas Leap by Keira Andrews is a Christmas romance featuring friends to lovers, bi awakening, first times, and of course a happy ending. This standalone novel takes place in the same universe as The Christmas Deal.
The Christmas Deal #1
Chapter One
When the phone rang again, Logan allowed himself a flicker of hope before snuffing it out. No, it wasn’t the warehouse manager calling back to say he had the job after all. No Christmas miracle was coming.
He stared at the screen, dread sinking through him. It was Rencliffe Academy, which meant his balls were about to be busted because the kid had fucked up.
Again.
Logan shivered on the side of the bed in his skivvies, the battered parquet floor freezing under his bare feet since he’d put the heat down as low as possible in hopes of paying the bill. Fuck, he was tempted to huddle under the blankets and go back to sleep, dealing with whatever crap this was later.
But Veronica’s disappointed face filled his mind. As foolish as the choice had been, he’d married her, and her son was his responsibility now. He swiped the screen and answered.
“Mr. Derwood? It’s Assistant Headmaster Patel calling.” She spoke calmly and smoothly in a British-type fancy accent. Logan braced himself. She said, “I’m afraid there’s been another incident. Can you join us this morning for a get-together?”
He wasn’t sure why Rencliffe insisted on making it sound as if they were inviting him over for finger foods and Chardonnay or some shit. “Yeah. I’ll be there in—” He groaned to himself, remembering his Ford was broken in the shop. Because of course it was.
After a pause, she prompted, “Mr. Derwood? This is really quite urgent. Connor’s behavioral issues—”
“Yeah, I know. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thanks.” He hung up, bile rising in his throat. The only silver lining to apparently being unemployable was that he didn’t have to take time off work for yet another school visit. Too bad his disability benefits had run out. That sure made being jobless a real son of a bitch.
Merry fucking Christmas.
There was nothing else to do but text Jenna:
Can I drive u 2 work and take the car? Will pick u up at 3.
His sister was working short days Monday to Thursday after having her second kid, and hopefully he’d caught her in time. The typing bubbles appeared on the screen, and she replied:
No prob. Just leaving day care. Everything okay?
He barked out a laugh in his empty bedroom. He couldn’t even remember what okay felt like. Forget good or great. Those feelings were distant memories. He typed back:
Just have to run errand. Thx. They had to order a new part for the pickup.
A new part he couldn’t afford, but he left that out. He also didn’t mention Connor because it would only make Jenna worry, and she had enough on her plate. Shit, her plate had been overflowing since she was fourteen.
When the cancer finally got their mom, Jenna was the one who’d taken care of their father and the house while Logan had been in Iraq. He was seven years older than his baby sister, but she was the one who kept them all afloat.
She worked her ass off to include Connor in family stuff, and at least he tolerated her. For a moment, Logan considered whether he should ask Jenna to come with him to the school, but no. She had work, and she had to save her emergency time off for her own kids. Connor was his responsibility. Logan was thirty-eight years old, and he should be able to unfuck his own life.
He stood, wincing at the stiff ache in his muscles and the phantom twinges in his formerly broken bones. After being in traction, he’d never take moving his body for granted again, but goddamn, everything felt tighter than it used to. Of course, he hadn’t done his stretches, so what did he expect?
There was no time to shower and shave, but he splashed his scruffy face, ran a comb through his cropped dark hair, and scrubbed a wet towel under his arms. He sniffed five shirts before finding a fresh-enough gray Henley and pulling it on over his jeans and combat boots. Maybe he should have dressed up a bit, but the folks at Rencliffe knew who he was. Putting lipstick on a pig wouldn’t change anything.
After Jenna picked him up, he listened to her good-natured complaints about her kids and husband and Christmas shopping. She chattered nonstop until they reached the six-story, glass-fronted office building in a corporate park on the outskirts of Albany.
There was a puke stain on her shoulder, but Logan didn’t tell her. She’d call it “spit-up,” but from what he could tell, it was puke. But it was already dry and too late for her to change anyway.
Putting the SUV in park by the front of the building, she gave him a gleaming smile, dimples appearing in her cheeks. Logan and Jenna shared the same greenish-hazel eyes, but she’d been the only one to inherit their mother’s sunny smile and optimism. “I haven’t let you get a word in edgewise. Sorry.” Her smile faded. “You sure everything’s okay?”
“Yep. Have a good day at work.”
But Jenna stayed put behind the wheel. “Look, I know it’s still too soon to think about dating again—”
“Yet you’re bringing it up anyway.”
She sighed. “I just hate seeing you so miserable—and don’t bother telling me you aren’t. I know you don’t like me worrying, but newsflash: I worry anyway. And maybe dating would help.”
“It wouldn’t.” The thought of meeting a woman and trying to impress her, getting to know her, inviting her into the shit show of his life—it was exhausting.
Hell, Logan hadn’t even had the energy to hook up with guys beyond a half-hearted hand job in a bathroom stall at the mall a few weeks ago. It had been quick and rough, the way Logan liked it with men. No kissing, no hugging, no need to be tender and concerned about feelings.
That’s how he knew he was straight. He only wanted that other stuff with women. Men were for getting off and nothing more.
Jenna sighed again. “You’re right. I don’t know why I said that.”
He gave her a small smile. “Because you’re desperate to fix things for me.” Because Jenna was good and kind. He didn’t deserve her. “Don’t worry about me, all right? You’d better get inside or you’ll be late.”
“Oh, did you hear about the warehouse job?”
He shrugged. “Not yet.” He’d put in a bunch of applications other places, so maybe one of them would call. For now, there was no point in worrying Jenna more by telling her he’d failed yet again.
“I’m knocking on wood.” She rapped her knuckles on her head, then leaned over the console and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Have a good day.”
He walked around the vehicle, waving to her before she disappeared inside. Logan had a good foot on his baby sister, and as he adjusted the driver’s seat and mirrors, his phone rang again. He pulled it from the pocket of his leather jacket, his stomach dropping. The landlord. He let it go to voicemail. He didn’t need to hear Mrs. Politano tell him again that the rent was overdue.
He hadn’t been able to afford the rent on Veronica’s house after her death, and he’d moved into a tiny bungalow in a rundown neighborhood. Even if he’d had the money, the thought of sleeping every night in the room where Veronica died had been unbearable.
“Fuck,” he muttered as he drove out toward Rencliffe. It was about forty-five minutes away, and Logan wished he could just be there already to get this over with.
He jabbed at the presets on the radio, and every one played commercials or Christmas songs with sleigh bells and peace on earth by a warm fireplace. He left it on a station blaring an ad for extended Black Friday deals. From what he could tell, Black Friday went for about six weeks at this point.
If that warehouse job had come through, maybe he’d have a hope of a decent Christmas. He could’ve at least bought Connor some presents. But the job hadn’t come through, because no one would hire him once they found out he’d been fired from the railway and blamed for the accident.
No matter that he’d served his country for four years in the Marine Corps after 9/11 and earned a commendation medal. Thank you for your service, but you’re a useless sack of shit now.
He struggled to take a deep breath, the low ache in his sternum that had never fully gone away flaring hot. Logan tugged at his seatbelt. His broken bones had healed, but sometimes he just couldn’t fucking breathe. Usually it was only when he exerted himself, and he knew right now it was probably all in his fucked-up head, but it still hurt.
The sign marking Rencliffe’s curving driveway was freshly painted in gold and navy, proclaiming:
Rencliffe Academy
The Brightest Minds Since 1909
Logan followed the driveway through the towering trees, only a few red, gold, and shit-brown leaves left hanging as winter quickly approached. Visitor parking was empty but for a silver Audi. Birds chirped almost desperately as he walked up the path to the main gray-brick building, which was decorated in massive red-ribboned holiday wreaths and lights that were currently off.
The school was a sprawl of five or six buildings, including the dorms. A newer addition had been constructed in the same style with big arches and turret-type things on the top like a castle. Veronica had called it Gothic, which apparently didn’t actually mean scary, although Logan found it all pretty creepy. Rencliffe was definitely the type of place where a crazed murderer would strike in the movies.
He walked into the vaulted foyer of main building, his boots thudding. He stopped in front of a massive Christmas tree decorated in white lights and old-fashioned wooden ornaments shaped like birds, pinecones, and angels. Probably all made by the students.
The hush hanging over the polished wood and marble foyer made him think of church. They’d been Easter-and-Christmas Catholics when he was growing up, but he hadn’t even done that much in years. Though Rencliffe wasn’t a religious school, he still half-expected a priest or nun to appear to greet him. Instead it was an older woman, who led him down the eerily quiet hallways to Mira Patel’s book-lined office.
She was surprisingly young—probably thirty. According to the framed diplomas behind her desk, she’d attended the University of Delhi and Oxford, so clearly she was pretty freaking smart. Her black hair was tied back in a twisty bun, and she had big eyes behind her gold-framed glasses.
If they were in a porno, she’d be about to let down her hair, take off her glasses, and rip open her cream blouse to reveal big tits. She’d hike up her skirt and—
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Derwood. It’s good to meet you.” She sat in the padded leather chair behind her desk as Logan took one of the guest chairs and shoved away the stupid porno thoughts. “The headmaster’s absent on personal business, so I’m handling Connor’s case for the moment.”
“Right. I’m sorry if the kid’s been acting up again.”
“Mmm.” She leaned forward in her chair, folding her hands on the shiny wood desk, her nails gleaming with pale polish. “I hope you don’t mind if I go back over the particulars with you?”
“Um, the particulars?” Jesus, he felt like he was back in high school about to fail an exam he hadn’t studied for.
“Connor’s background. How we’ve gotten to where we are now. I understand you were a recent addition to his life before his mother passed away?”
Dull pain throbbed in his chest, and he forced a breath. “Uh-huh. Veronica and I met about a year and a half ago. I was in an accident at work and had to be in the hospital for a few months. Veronica was my nurse.”
A memory flashed—the wedding march playing on someone’s phone at the hospital chapel, Logan dragging an IV and Veronica still in her purple scrubs, her fellow nurses throwing confetti made of paper from the shredding bin.
Clearing his throat, he added, “My life was shit, and she was the one good thing.” He shifted on the hard-backed chair. “Um, excuse my language.”
Ms. Patel smiled. “Shit happens. You’re recovered now?”
“Mostly. If I push too hard, I get out of breath. But it’s fine.”
She nodded. “So you and Connor’s mother married quite quickly?”
“Yeah. Within a couple months. Dumb, I know. But I loved her and was so sure we’d be together forever.” He snorted. “Then, you know. Reality smacked us upside the head. She brought me home from the hospital, and in a few weeks we were driving each other crazy. Living with someone’s not all roses and unicorns.”
“No, it certainly isn’t.” Ms. Patel smiled wryly. “Compromise isn’t easy.”
He shifted, hot trickles of shame in his gut. “We tried, though. We did. We really cared about each other, even if we didn’t fit.”
“Of course.”
“And I’ve tried with Connor. I really have.” He cringed internally at his defensiveness.
She eyed him sympathetically. “I know you have. It’s a challenging situation. Thirteen can be a tough age already, and Connor’s faced a traumatic loss and major life changes. Plus, you’ve suddenly found yourself a single father. It’s an adjustment, to say the least.”
A single father.
It was so weird to think of himself that way. He wasn’t qualified to be anyone’s dad, let alone a single one. Logan nodded. “Yeah.”
“What was your relationship like before his mother’s passing?”
Passing. As if she’d drifted off down a lazy river in the sunshine. Logan hated when people didn’t just call it what it was. Veronica hadn’t passed anywhere—she was rotting in a hole in the ground. He choked down the resentment. Ms. Patel was only being polite.
“We didn’t really have a relationship. He was pissed when I married his mom, and I can’t blame the kid for that. He hardly talked to me when he was home on vacations from school, and I didn’t know what to say to him anyway. Things got very tense with me and Veronica. Then she died.”
“It was an aneurysm? That must have been quite a shock.”
He tugged at a loose thread on the cuff of his Henley. “Yeah. I’d spent the night on my sister’s couch since Veronica and I had been going at each other all day. They said even if I’d been home, it wouldn’t have mattered.” But maybe the docs were wrong. If I’d been there…
“Then Connor discovered her in the morning since he was home for the summer.”
Hearing Ms. Patel say it out loud was a steel toe to Logan’s nuts, guilt surging through him. Jaw clenched, he nodded. A clock ticked on the wall, each second louder than the last. His mind filled with red flashing lights, the sympathetic—yet definitely suspicious—cops escorting him inside his own place, a sheet over Veronica on the bedroom floor, waiting for a body bag. The poor kid sitting in the kitchen with a female cop.
Connor hadn’t been crying, and Logan hadn’t seen him shed a tear since. The kid was empty, although when Logan had clumsily tried to squeeze his shoulder, Connor had exploded with rage. It was apparently all he had left.
Ms. Patel quietly stated the fucking obvious. “It was extremely traumatic for him. We’ve endeavored to give Connor the support he needs, but he’s simply not cooperating. His biological father isn’t in the picture at all?”
Logan huffed. “Waste of space. Took off down to Florida years ago. Every once in a while he shows up with expensive presents and a bunch of bullshit stories. For a smart kid, you’d think Connor could see through him. The guy has zero interest in being a father.”
“When was the last time you were in touch with Mr. Lisowski?”
“Dunno. After Veronica died. I don’t know if Connor’s talked to him.”
“A few texts, apparently. You don’t feel he can be any help in this situation?”
“Fucked if I know.” He winced. “Excuse my language again.”
She waved off his apology. “I’d need your permission to speak to Mr. Lisowski about Connor since you’re the legal guardian. I understand Connor’s mother had been a foster child? No family?”
“Right. If you think he can help, call him, but he probably won’t answer. Mike couldn’t care less about the kid if he tried.”
She picked up a gold and silver pen and wrote in a leather-bound notebook. Logan watched her pen making loops and swoops before she capped it and looked back at him. “I understand you’re currently out of work?”
Anger flared, a hot burst in his veins. What she meant was: I understand you’re a useless sack of shit? He barked, “Look, are we going to talk about whatever Connor did, or what?”
“Yes, of course.” She folded her hands again, calm as anything. “You know that Connor’s full scholarship is incumbent upon him keeping his grades at a minimum of a B average. And even more importantly, it requires him to behave in an orderly, respectable manner. To not put himself or any of his classmates in harm’s way.”
Fuck. “What did he do?”
“Connor dropped his backpack down the gap in the stairwell from an upper floor.”
“Oh.” That didn’t seem so bad? “Did he break something?”
“The bag hit another student in the lower leg and caused significant pain and bruising. If it had hit him in the head, it very well could have killed him. This is no laughing matter or a ‘boys will be boys’ situation. Perhaps that recklessness would fly in a public school, but this is Rencliffe, Mr. Derwood.”
All he could do was nod like he was back in the principal’s office. “I understand. It was a stupid thing to do. It won’t happen again.”
She sighed, sitting back with a squeak of leather. “I sincerely hope not. We’ve attempted to engage him repeatedly, but he’s sullen and uncooperative. Connor has a brilliant mind. He used to be one of our best students. We’ve been cutting him a lot of slack, but he needs to curb this destructive and harmful behavior. Not only toward his classmates, but himself.”
Logan went very still. “What do you mean? Is he, like, cutting himself or something?”
“Not that we know of. But he’s skipping classes, showing up late, and not completing assignments. Getting into fights, as you know from your discussion with Mr. Howard a few weeks ago. Connor’s going to fail his courses, and we know it’s not because of his intelligence. The term exams are next week, concluding on Friday, December twenty-first, followed by the holiday break.”
“Right.” The colorful ceramic tree in the corner of Ms. Patel’s office seemed to mock him with its cheery lights and glossy snow. The holidays were supposed to be a magical time for kids, and what would Logan be able to give Connor? A roof over their heads if Logan was lucky.
“If Connor performs at a B level on his exams—which should be infinitely doable for him even without studying a word—and if he stays in line, he’s welcome back in January to turn things around.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Logan gripped the arms of the chair.
“Then I’m afraid Connor’s tenure here at Rencliffe will end. You should investigate the public school options in your neighborhood, although I sincerely hope it won’t be necessary.”
My neighborhood.
Where was that, exactly? The rented house he was about to be evicted from? He rubbed a hand over his face, a week of scruff scratching his palm. “Okay.”
“Mr. Derwood, I assure you we want Connor to succeed. It would truly be a shame if he squanders his limitless potential. He’s had a full scholarship here for two years because we believe in him. But he has to meet us halfway. It’s been months of acting out, and while we’re very sympathetic, we have to think of the other students. Connor has been too disruptive for too long.”
“Yeah. I get it.” He pushed to his feet. “You’ve been fair. Thank you.” He stuck out his hand, and she shook it firmly.
“Connor’s waiting in the atrium. I can take you there.”
“I know the way. Thanks.”
When he reached the high-ceilinged greenhouse down the hall—all glass and flowering plants and even a tinkling fountain, Logan found Connor tossing stones from a rock garden into the pool of water. Two stone fish were twisted together in the middle, water spouting out of their open mouths.
Connor didn’t turn, instead plonking a rock right at one of the fish heads. His navy uniform jacket was stretched tightly across his narrow shoulders, gray pants a bit too short.
If he gets kicked out, I guess I don’t have to pony up for new uniforms.
That wasn’t much of a silver lining. “Hey,” Logan said, jamming his fists in his pockets. Shit, he never knew what to say to this kid.
Connor ignored him, bending to scoop up more rocks. Logan stood there and let him finish that handful before he said, “Are you going to knock off the crap you’ve been pulling? You’re smarter than this.”
Another rock dinged off the stone fish’s head. “You don’t know anything about me. You’re not my father.”
“I know. But I’m…” Logan didn’t know. In the eyes of Ms. Patel, he was a single dad, and he felt like such a fake. But he was all the kid had left.
“You’re just the asshole loser my mom married because she hated being alone.”
It shouldn’t have hurt, yet Logan’s chest tightened the way it did when he exerted himself too much, his breath coming short. Right now it was completely in his head, and he reminded himself of that as he forced in a gulp of air. He was sorely tempted to leave Connor to his sulking misery, but he had to be the grown-up.
“You took forever to show up.” Connor turned, narrowing his dark gaze. The kid was maybe five-two, a full foot shorter than Logan and probably a hundred pounds soaking wet. Still, he internally cringed as Connor sized him up. “Bet you were hungover.”
Logan breathed out evenly, ignoring the tug in his chest. I’m the adult here. He doesn’t really know me at all. “I wasn’t hungover. I had to borrow Jenna’s car. Mine’s in the shop.”
“Sure. Bet you were out late screwing sluts, just like you were before my mom died.”
“Hey!” Logan clenched his jaw, imagining they were being watched through all the glass windows, the heat of hidden eyes crawling on his skin. He gritted out, “First off, don’t use that word. Second, I never cheated on your mother. Never.”
Connor muttered, “Yeah, right.”
“I didn’t.” Christ, he’d barely jerked off since she died. Didn’t even wake up to morning wood anymore—even his dick knew how useless he was. “Listen to me—”
“Why?” Connor’s sandy hair was a shaggy mess over his ears, which was probably a dress code violation or something. Was Logan supposed to take him to get his hair cut?
Connor’s lip curled as Logan stayed silent. “You’re such an idiot. No wonder you barely graduated high school.”
Logan didn’t argue for his own intelligence since the kid had a point. Look at the mess Logan had made of his life. But he was all Connor had, so he stood there and took it.
Veronica had loudly questioned his faithfulness a few months before she died. Logan didn’t really blame her—he’d stayed out later and later to avoid their fights about everything from doing the dishes to which way to put the damn toilet paper. She’d assumed the worst about his absences, although he wasn’t a cheater.
In the small house, of course Connor had heard all their shouting matches. Logan wanted to comfort Connor in his grief—their grief—but everything was poisoned between them. He had no clue how to fix it.
Summoning patience, Logan unclenched his hands. He spoke calmly but firmly—the way the parenting vids he’d watched on YouTube advised. “Listen to me. They’re going to expel you.”
Connor rolled his eyes. “They won’t go through with it. No way.”
“They will. You’re here on their good graces, and they’ve had enough of your shit. Ask Ms. Patel. You could have put that kid in the hospital with your prank. Why would you drop your bag like that?”
With a jerk of a shrug, Connor said, “Dunno. To see what would happen.” He added defensively, “No one was down there when I let go! Then stupid Tim walked out.”
“You know it wasn’t his fault. But listen—Ms. Patel told me you’re out if you don’t get a B on your exams and stop acting up. This is serious. They’re going to expel you. She told me to look into other schools.”
Connor’s perma-scowl evaporated as his brown eyes went wide. In a heartbeat, he looked so fucking young, his voice breaking. “Really? She said that?”
The poor kid was angry and hurt and surging with confusing new testosterone on top of it all. Logan tried to soften his voice. “Yeah. And if you get kicked out of here, you’re stuck with me full time. So hit the books and cut the shit, okay?”
The bluster returned in an instant, and Connor raised his chin. “I’ll go live with my dad in Florida. I’m sick of the cold anyway.”
No, you won’t, because your dad doesn’t give a goddamn about you.
Forcing an even tone, Logan said, “Your mom always talked about what a genius you are. That she knew it from the time you could barely talk.”
Connor’s brows drew together, and he fidgeted with his fingers, shifting from foot to foot. “She… She did?”
“Yep. She was so proud of you, getting a full ride to Rencliffe out of elementary school. She used to smile so big when she talked about you. You know, how her eyes got squinty and her nose would crinkle?”
Connor nodded, biting his lip. Even with the pimples and attitude, he looked like a baby sometimes. Logan wanted to tell him everything would be okay and give him a hug the way kids deserved to be hugged, but the few times he’d awkwardly tried anything like that, it had resulted in Connor shoving him away.
Logan sighed. “I know you hate me. I don’t blame you.” He laughed hollowly. “There’s plenty to hate. But you’ve got a good thing here. They want to help you. So let them. Okay? You can get a B on your exams in your sleep. Stop skipping class and screwing around. Make your mom proud.”
After a few moments, Connor nodded, his jaw tight. He toyed with a plaid scarf hanging around his neck, and Logan eyed it. “Is that the one Jenna gave you at Thanksgiving?” They’d always done one gift for everyone at Thanksgiving in Logan’s family for some reason. He didn’t even know how the tradition had started.
Connor scoffed. “Dunno. I guess.” He whipped it off and stuffed it in his uniform jacket pocket. “I was cold.”
“She says hi, by the way.”
“Whatever. Tell her hi back.” He shrugged. “I don’t care.”
“Okay. I’ll see you at the end of next week when school gets out.” Assuming you don’t get expelled in the meantime. Logan could only pray he’d somehow land a job so he could afford rent and food and maybe a few presents for the kid. If there was ever a time for a Christmas miracle, it was now.
Connor rolled his eyes. “Can’t wait.”
Ms. Patel appeared before Logan had to think of anything else to say. She smiled warmly. “Connor, are you up for a talk before you go back to class?”
Thank Christ the kid nodded and followed her out. Logan gave her a tight smile and made his way back through the main building and out to the parking lot. The birds still chirped, the sun peeking out from steel clouds. His phone buzzed, and this time there was a text message from Mrs. Politano:
Without rent I can’t eat. Time’s up. Changing the locks in two days, so get your stuff out.
Logan tasted bile. That was a definite no-go on the holiday miracle. He climbed behind the wheel of his baby sister’s shiny SUV and tried not to cry like the pathetic, useless sack of shit he was.
When the phone rang again, Logan allowed himself a flicker of hope before snuffing it out. No, it wasn’t the warehouse manager calling back to say he had the job after all. No Christmas miracle was coming.
He stared at the screen, dread sinking through him. It was Rencliffe Academy, which meant his balls were about to be busted because the kid had fucked up.
Again.
Logan shivered on the side of the bed in his skivvies, the battered parquet floor freezing under his bare feet since he’d put the heat down as low as possible in hopes of paying the bill. Fuck, he was tempted to huddle under the blankets and go back to sleep, dealing with whatever crap this was later.
But Veronica’s disappointed face filled his mind. As foolish as the choice had been, he’d married her, and her son was his responsibility now. He swiped the screen and answered.
“Mr. Derwood? It’s Assistant Headmaster Patel calling.” She spoke calmly and smoothly in a British-type fancy accent. Logan braced himself. She said, “I’m afraid there’s been another incident. Can you join us this morning for a get-together?”
He wasn’t sure why Rencliffe insisted on making it sound as if they were inviting him over for finger foods and Chardonnay or some shit. “Yeah. I’ll be there in—” He groaned to himself, remembering his Ford was broken in the shop. Because of course it was.
After a pause, she prompted, “Mr. Derwood? This is really quite urgent. Connor’s behavioral issues—”
“Yeah, I know. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thanks.” He hung up, bile rising in his throat. The only silver lining to apparently being unemployable was that he didn’t have to take time off work for yet another school visit. Too bad his disability benefits had run out. That sure made being jobless a real son of a bitch.
Merry fucking Christmas.
There was nothing else to do but text Jenna:
Can I drive u 2 work and take the car? Will pick u up at 3.
His sister was working short days Monday to Thursday after having her second kid, and hopefully he’d caught her in time. The typing bubbles appeared on the screen, and she replied:
No prob. Just leaving day care. Everything okay?
He barked out a laugh in his empty bedroom. He couldn’t even remember what okay felt like. Forget good or great. Those feelings were distant memories. He typed back:
Just have to run errand. Thx. They had to order a new part for the pickup.
A new part he couldn’t afford, but he left that out. He also didn’t mention Connor because it would only make Jenna worry, and she had enough on her plate. Shit, her plate had been overflowing since she was fourteen.
When the cancer finally got their mom, Jenna was the one who’d taken care of their father and the house while Logan had been in Iraq. He was seven years older than his baby sister, but she was the one who kept them all afloat.
She worked her ass off to include Connor in family stuff, and at least he tolerated her. For a moment, Logan considered whether he should ask Jenna to come with him to the school, but no. She had work, and she had to save her emergency time off for her own kids. Connor was his responsibility. Logan was thirty-eight years old, and he should be able to unfuck his own life.
He stood, wincing at the stiff ache in his muscles and the phantom twinges in his formerly broken bones. After being in traction, he’d never take moving his body for granted again, but goddamn, everything felt tighter than it used to. Of course, he hadn’t done his stretches, so what did he expect?
There was no time to shower and shave, but he splashed his scruffy face, ran a comb through his cropped dark hair, and scrubbed a wet towel under his arms. He sniffed five shirts before finding a fresh-enough gray Henley and pulling it on over his jeans and combat boots. Maybe he should have dressed up a bit, but the folks at Rencliffe knew who he was. Putting lipstick on a pig wouldn’t change anything.
After Jenna picked him up, he listened to her good-natured complaints about her kids and husband and Christmas shopping. She chattered nonstop until they reached the six-story, glass-fronted office building in a corporate park on the outskirts of Albany.
There was a puke stain on her shoulder, but Logan didn’t tell her. She’d call it “spit-up,” but from what he could tell, it was puke. But it was already dry and too late for her to change anyway.
Putting the SUV in park by the front of the building, she gave him a gleaming smile, dimples appearing in her cheeks. Logan and Jenna shared the same greenish-hazel eyes, but she’d been the only one to inherit their mother’s sunny smile and optimism. “I haven’t let you get a word in edgewise. Sorry.” Her smile faded. “You sure everything’s okay?”
“Yep. Have a good day at work.”
But Jenna stayed put behind the wheel. “Look, I know it’s still too soon to think about dating again—”
“Yet you’re bringing it up anyway.”
She sighed. “I just hate seeing you so miserable—and don’t bother telling me you aren’t. I know you don’t like me worrying, but newsflash: I worry anyway. And maybe dating would help.”
“It wouldn’t.” The thought of meeting a woman and trying to impress her, getting to know her, inviting her into the shit show of his life—it was exhausting.
Hell, Logan hadn’t even had the energy to hook up with guys beyond a half-hearted hand job in a bathroom stall at the mall a few weeks ago. It had been quick and rough, the way Logan liked it with men. No kissing, no hugging, no need to be tender and concerned about feelings.
That’s how he knew he was straight. He only wanted that other stuff with women. Men were for getting off and nothing more.
Jenna sighed again. “You’re right. I don’t know why I said that.”
He gave her a small smile. “Because you’re desperate to fix things for me.” Because Jenna was good and kind. He didn’t deserve her. “Don’t worry about me, all right? You’d better get inside or you’ll be late.”
“Oh, did you hear about the warehouse job?”
He shrugged. “Not yet.” He’d put in a bunch of applications other places, so maybe one of them would call. For now, there was no point in worrying Jenna more by telling her he’d failed yet again.
“I’m knocking on wood.” She rapped her knuckles on her head, then leaned over the console and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Have a good day.”
He walked around the vehicle, waving to her before she disappeared inside. Logan had a good foot on his baby sister, and as he adjusted the driver’s seat and mirrors, his phone rang again. He pulled it from the pocket of his leather jacket, his stomach dropping. The landlord. He let it go to voicemail. He didn’t need to hear Mrs. Politano tell him again that the rent was overdue.
He hadn’t been able to afford the rent on Veronica’s house after her death, and he’d moved into a tiny bungalow in a rundown neighborhood. Even if he’d had the money, the thought of sleeping every night in the room where Veronica died had been unbearable.
“Fuck,” he muttered as he drove out toward Rencliffe. It was about forty-five minutes away, and Logan wished he could just be there already to get this over with.
He jabbed at the presets on the radio, and every one played commercials or Christmas songs with sleigh bells and peace on earth by a warm fireplace. He left it on a station blaring an ad for extended Black Friday deals. From what he could tell, Black Friday went for about six weeks at this point.
If that warehouse job had come through, maybe he’d have a hope of a decent Christmas. He could’ve at least bought Connor some presents. But the job hadn’t come through, because no one would hire him once they found out he’d been fired from the railway and blamed for the accident.
No matter that he’d served his country for four years in the Marine Corps after 9/11 and earned a commendation medal. Thank you for your service, but you’re a useless sack of shit now.
He struggled to take a deep breath, the low ache in his sternum that had never fully gone away flaring hot. Logan tugged at his seatbelt. His broken bones had healed, but sometimes he just couldn’t fucking breathe. Usually it was only when he exerted himself, and he knew right now it was probably all in his fucked-up head, but it still hurt.
The sign marking Rencliffe’s curving driveway was freshly painted in gold and navy, proclaiming:
Rencliffe Academy
The Brightest Minds Since 1909
Logan followed the driveway through the towering trees, only a few red, gold, and shit-brown leaves left hanging as winter quickly approached. Visitor parking was empty but for a silver Audi. Birds chirped almost desperately as he walked up the path to the main gray-brick building, which was decorated in massive red-ribboned holiday wreaths and lights that were currently off.
The school was a sprawl of five or six buildings, including the dorms. A newer addition had been constructed in the same style with big arches and turret-type things on the top like a castle. Veronica had called it Gothic, which apparently didn’t actually mean scary, although Logan found it all pretty creepy. Rencliffe was definitely the type of place where a crazed murderer would strike in the movies.
He walked into the vaulted foyer of main building, his boots thudding. He stopped in front of a massive Christmas tree decorated in white lights and old-fashioned wooden ornaments shaped like birds, pinecones, and angels. Probably all made by the students.
The hush hanging over the polished wood and marble foyer made him think of church. They’d been Easter-and-Christmas Catholics when he was growing up, but he hadn’t even done that much in years. Though Rencliffe wasn’t a religious school, he still half-expected a priest or nun to appear to greet him. Instead it was an older woman, who led him down the eerily quiet hallways to Mira Patel’s book-lined office.
She was surprisingly young—probably thirty. According to the framed diplomas behind her desk, she’d attended the University of Delhi and Oxford, so clearly she was pretty freaking smart. Her black hair was tied back in a twisty bun, and she had big eyes behind her gold-framed glasses.
If they were in a porno, she’d be about to let down her hair, take off her glasses, and rip open her cream blouse to reveal big tits. She’d hike up her skirt and—
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Derwood. It’s good to meet you.” She sat in the padded leather chair behind her desk as Logan took one of the guest chairs and shoved away the stupid porno thoughts. “The headmaster’s absent on personal business, so I’m handling Connor’s case for the moment.”
“Right. I’m sorry if the kid’s been acting up again.”
“Mmm.” She leaned forward in her chair, folding her hands on the shiny wood desk, her nails gleaming with pale polish. “I hope you don’t mind if I go back over the particulars with you?”
“Um, the particulars?” Jesus, he felt like he was back in high school about to fail an exam he hadn’t studied for.
“Connor’s background. How we’ve gotten to where we are now. I understand you were a recent addition to his life before his mother passed away?”
Dull pain throbbed in his chest, and he forced a breath. “Uh-huh. Veronica and I met about a year and a half ago. I was in an accident at work and had to be in the hospital for a few months. Veronica was my nurse.”
A memory flashed—the wedding march playing on someone’s phone at the hospital chapel, Logan dragging an IV and Veronica still in her purple scrubs, her fellow nurses throwing confetti made of paper from the shredding bin.
Clearing his throat, he added, “My life was shit, and she was the one good thing.” He shifted on the hard-backed chair. “Um, excuse my language.”
Ms. Patel smiled. “Shit happens. You’re recovered now?”
“Mostly. If I push too hard, I get out of breath. But it’s fine.”
She nodded. “So you and Connor’s mother married quite quickly?”
“Yeah. Within a couple months. Dumb, I know. But I loved her and was so sure we’d be together forever.” He snorted. “Then, you know. Reality smacked us upside the head. She brought me home from the hospital, and in a few weeks we were driving each other crazy. Living with someone’s not all roses and unicorns.”
“No, it certainly isn’t.” Ms. Patel smiled wryly. “Compromise isn’t easy.”
He shifted, hot trickles of shame in his gut. “We tried, though. We did. We really cared about each other, even if we didn’t fit.”
“Of course.”
“And I’ve tried with Connor. I really have.” He cringed internally at his defensiveness.
She eyed him sympathetically. “I know you have. It’s a challenging situation. Thirteen can be a tough age already, and Connor’s faced a traumatic loss and major life changes. Plus, you’ve suddenly found yourself a single father. It’s an adjustment, to say the least.”
A single father.
It was so weird to think of himself that way. He wasn’t qualified to be anyone’s dad, let alone a single one. Logan nodded. “Yeah.”
“What was your relationship like before his mother’s passing?”
Passing. As if she’d drifted off down a lazy river in the sunshine. Logan hated when people didn’t just call it what it was. Veronica hadn’t passed anywhere—she was rotting in a hole in the ground. He choked down the resentment. Ms. Patel was only being polite.
“We didn’t really have a relationship. He was pissed when I married his mom, and I can’t blame the kid for that. He hardly talked to me when he was home on vacations from school, and I didn’t know what to say to him anyway. Things got very tense with me and Veronica. Then she died.”
“It was an aneurysm? That must have been quite a shock.”
He tugged at a loose thread on the cuff of his Henley. “Yeah. I’d spent the night on my sister’s couch since Veronica and I had been going at each other all day. They said even if I’d been home, it wouldn’t have mattered.” But maybe the docs were wrong. If I’d been there…
“Then Connor discovered her in the morning since he was home for the summer.”
Hearing Ms. Patel say it out loud was a steel toe to Logan’s nuts, guilt surging through him. Jaw clenched, he nodded. A clock ticked on the wall, each second louder than the last. His mind filled with red flashing lights, the sympathetic—yet definitely suspicious—cops escorting him inside his own place, a sheet over Veronica on the bedroom floor, waiting for a body bag. The poor kid sitting in the kitchen with a female cop.
Connor hadn’t been crying, and Logan hadn’t seen him shed a tear since. The kid was empty, although when Logan had clumsily tried to squeeze his shoulder, Connor had exploded with rage. It was apparently all he had left.
Ms. Patel quietly stated the fucking obvious. “It was extremely traumatic for him. We’ve endeavored to give Connor the support he needs, but he’s simply not cooperating. His biological father isn’t in the picture at all?”
Logan huffed. “Waste of space. Took off down to Florida years ago. Every once in a while he shows up with expensive presents and a bunch of bullshit stories. For a smart kid, you’d think Connor could see through him. The guy has zero interest in being a father.”
“When was the last time you were in touch with Mr. Lisowski?”
“Dunno. After Veronica died. I don’t know if Connor’s talked to him.”
“A few texts, apparently. You don’t feel he can be any help in this situation?”
“Fucked if I know.” He winced. “Excuse my language again.”
She waved off his apology. “I’d need your permission to speak to Mr. Lisowski about Connor since you’re the legal guardian. I understand Connor’s mother had been a foster child? No family?”
“Right. If you think he can help, call him, but he probably won’t answer. Mike couldn’t care less about the kid if he tried.”
She picked up a gold and silver pen and wrote in a leather-bound notebook. Logan watched her pen making loops and swoops before she capped it and looked back at him. “I understand you’re currently out of work?”
Anger flared, a hot burst in his veins. What she meant was: I understand you’re a useless sack of shit? He barked, “Look, are we going to talk about whatever Connor did, or what?”
“Yes, of course.” She folded her hands again, calm as anything. “You know that Connor’s full scholarship is incumbent upon him keeping his grades at a minimum of a B average. And even more importantly, it requires him to behave in an orderly, respectable manner. To not put himself or any of his classmates in harm’s way.”
Fuck. “What did he do?”
“Connor dropped his backpack down the gap in the stairwell from an upper floor.”
“Oh.” That didn’t seem so bad? “Did he break something?”
“The bag hit another student in the lower leg and caused significant pain and bruising. If it had hit him in the head, it very well could have killed him. This is no laughing matter or a ‘boys will be boys’ situation. Perhaps that recklessness would fly in a public school, but this is Rencliffe, Mr. Derwood.”
All he could do was nod like he was back in the principal’s office. “I understand. It was a stupid thing to do. It won’t happen again.”
She sighed, sitting back with a squeak of leather. “I sincerely hope not. We’ve attempted to engage him repeatedly, but he’s sullen and uncooperative. Connor has a brilliant mind. He used to be one of our best students. We’ve been cutting him a lot of slack, but he needs to curb this destructive and harmful behavior. Not only toward his classmates, but himself.”
Logan went very still. “What do you mean? Is he, like, cutting himself or something?”
“Not that we know of. But he’s skipping classes, showing up late, and not completing assignments. Getting into fights, as you know from your discussion with Mr. Howard a few weeks ago. Connor’s going to fail his courses, and we know it’s not because of his intelligence. The term exams are next week, concluding on Friday, December twenty-first, followed by the holiday break.”
“Right.” The colorful ceramic tree in the corner of Ms. Patel’s office seemed to mock him with its cheery lights and glossy snow. The holidays were supposed to be a magical time for kids, and what would Logan be able to give Connor? A roof over their heads if Logan was lucky.
“If Connor performs at a B level on his exams—which should be infinitely doable for him even without studying a word—and if he stays in line, he’s welcome back in January to turn things around.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Logan gripped the arms of the chair.
“Then I’m afraid Connor’s tenure here at Rencliffe will end. You should investigate the public school options in your neighborhood, although I sincerely hope it won’t be necessary.”
My neighborhood.
Where was that, exactly? The rented house he was about to be evicted from? He rubbed a hand over his face, a week of scruff scratching his palm. “Okay.”
“Mr. Derwood, I assure you we want Connor to succeed. It would truly be a shame if he squanders his limitless potential. He’s had a full scholarship here for two years because we believe in him. But he has to meet us halfway. It’s been months of acting out, and while we’re very sympathetic, we have to think of the other students. Connor has been too disruptive for too long.”
“Yeah. I get it.” He pushed to his feet. “You’ve been fair. Thank you.” He stuck out his hand, and she shook it firmly.
“Connor’s waiting in the atrium. I can take you there.”
“I know the way. Thanks.”
When he reached the high-ceilinged greenhouse down the hall—all glass and flowering plants and even a tinkling fountain, Logan found Connor tossing stones from a rock garden into the pool of water. Two stone fish were twisted together in the middle, water spouting out of their open mouths.
Connor didn’t turn, instead plonking a rock right at one of the fish heads. His navy uniform jacket was stretched tightly across his narrow shoulders, gray pants a bit too short.
If he gets kicked out, I guess I don’t have to pony up for new uniforms.
That wasn’t much of a silver lining. “Hey,” Logan said, jamming his fists in his pockets. Shit, he never knew what to say to this kid.
Connor ignored him, bending to scoop up more rocks. Logan stood there and let him finish that handful before he said, “Are you going to knock off the crap you’ve been pulling? You’re smarter than this.”
Another rock dinged off the stone fish’s head. “You don’t know anything about me. You’re not my father.”
“I know. But I’m…” Logan didn’t know. In the eyes of Ms. Patel, he was a single dad, and he felt like such a fake. But he was all the kid had left.
“You’re just the asshole loser my mom married because she hated being alone.”
It shouldn’t have hurt, yet Logan’s chest tightened the way it did when he exerted himself too much, his breath coming short. Right now it was completely in his head, and he reminded himself of that as he forced in a gulp of air. He was sorely tempted to leave Connor to his sulking misery, but he had to be the grown-up.
“You took forever to show up.” Connor turned, narrowing his dark gaze. The kid was maybe five-two, a full foot shorter than Logan and probably a hundred pounds soaking wet. Still, he internally cringed as Connor sized him up. “Bet you were hungover.”
Logan breathed out evenly, ignoring the tug in his chest. I’m the adult here. He doesn’t really know me at all. “I wasn’t hungover. I had to borrow Jenna’s car. Mine’s in the shop.”
“Sure. Bet you were out late screwing sluts, just like you were before my mom died.”
“Hey!” Logan clenched his jaw, imagining they were being watched through all the glass windows, the heat of hidden eyes crawling on his skin. He gritted out, “First off, don’t use that word. Second, I never cheated on your mother. Never.”
Connor muttered, “Yeah, right.”
“I didn’t.” Christ, he’d barely jerked off since she died. Didn’t even wake up to morning wood anymore—even his dick knew how useless he was. “Listen to me—”
“Why?” Connor’s sandy hair was a shaggy mess over his ears, which was probably a dress code violation or something. Was Logan supposed to take him to get his hair cut?
Connor’s lip curled as Logan stayed silent. “You’re such an idiot. No wonder you barely graduated high school.”
Logan didn’t argue for his own intelligence since the kid had a point. Look at the mess Logan had made of his life. But he was all Connor had, so he stood there and took it.
Veronica had loudly questioned his faithfulness a few months before she died. Logan didn’t really blame her—he’d stayed out later and later to avoid their fights about everything from doing the dishes to which way to put the damn toilet paper. She’d assumed the worst about his absences, although he wasn’t a cheater.
In the small house, of course Connor had heard all their shouting matches. Logan wanted to comfort Connor in his grief—their grief—but everything was poisoned between them. He had no clue how to fix it.
Summoning patience, Logan unclenched his hands. He spoke calmly but firmly—the way the parenting vids he’d watched on YouTube advised. “Listen to me. They’re going to expel you.”
Connor rolled his eyes. “They won’t go through with it. No way.”
“They will. You’re here on their good graces, and they’ve had enough of your shit. Ask Ms. Patel. You could have put that kid in the hospital with your prank. Why would you drop your bag like that?”
With a jerk of a shrug, Connor said, “Dunno. To see what would happen.” He added defensively, “No one was down there when I let go! Then stupid Tim walked out.”
“You know it wasn’t his fault. But listen—Ms. Patel told me you’re out if you don’t get a B on your exams and stop acting up. This is serious. They’re going to expel you. She told me to look into other schools.”
Connor’s perma-scowl evaporated as his brown eyes went wide. In a heartbeat, he looked so fucking young, his voice breaking. “Really? She said that?”
The poor kid was angry and hurt and surging with confusing new testosterone on top of it all. Logan tried to soften his voice. “Yeah. And if you get kicked out of here, you’re stuck with me full time. So hit the books and cut the shit, okay?”
The bluster returned in an instant, and Connor raised his chin. “I’ll go live with my dad in Florida. I’m sick of the cold anyway.”
No, you won’t, because your dad doesn’t give a goddamn about you.
Forcing an even tone, Logan said, “Your mom always talked about what a genius you are. That she knew it from the time you could barely talk.”
Connor’s brows drew together, and he fidgeted with his fingers, shifting from foot to foot. “She… She did?”
“Yep. She was so proud of you, getting a full ride to Rencliffe out of elementary school. She used to smile so big when she talked about you. You know, how her eyes got squinty and her nose would crinkle?”
Connor nodded, biting his lip. Even with the pimples and attitude, he looked like a baby sometimes. Logan wanted to tell him everything would be okay and give him a hug the way kids deserved to be hugged, but the few times he’d awkwardly tried anything like that, it had resulted in Connor shoving him away.
Logan sighed. “I know you hate me. I don’t blame you.” He laughed hollowly. “There’s plenty to hate. But you’ve got a good thing here. They want to help you. So let them. Okay? You can get a B on your exams in your sleep. Stop skipping class and screwing around. Make your mom proud.”
After a few moments, Connor nodded, his jaw tight. He toyed with a plaid scarf hanging around his neck, and Logan eyed it. “Is that the one Jenna gave you at Thanksgiving?” They’d always done one gift for everyone at Thanksgiving in Logan’s family for some reason. He didn’t even know how the tradition had started.
Connor scoffed. “Dunno. I guess.” He whipped it off and stuffed it in his uniform jacket pocket. “I was cold.”
“She says hi, by the way.”
“Whatever. Tell her hi back.” He shrugged. “I don’t care.”
“Okay. I’ll see you at the end of next week when school gets out.” Assuming you don’t get expelled in the meantime. Logan could only pray he’d somehow land a job so he could afford rent and food and maybe a few presents for the kid. If there was ever a time for a Christmas miracle, it was now.
Connor rolled his eyes. “Can’t wait.”
Ms. Patel appeared before Logan had to think of anything else to say. She smiled warmly. “Connor, are you up for a talk before you go back to class?”
Thank Christ the kid nodded and followed her out. Logan gave her a tight smile and made his way back through the main building and out to the parking lot. The birds still chirped, the sun peeking out from steel clouds. His phone buzzed, and this time there was a text message from Mrs. Politano:
Without rent I can’t eat. Time’s up. Changing the locks in two days, so get your stuff out.
Logan tasted bile. That was a definite no-go on the holiday miracle. He climbed behind the wheel of his baby sister’s shiny SUV and tried not to cry like the pathetic, useless sack of shit he was.
The Christmas Leap #2
Chapter One
Michael
There was an old saying about best-laid plans. It was probably Shakespeare, and the point was that no matter how carefully you tried to get your ducks in a row, those little jerks had minds of their own.
“I can’t break up with him at Christmas!” Jared’s voice rose incredulously.
Earlier in the day, I’d decided to take the afternoon off work for an early start to two glorious weeks of vacation time over the holidays. After running a few errands, I’d eased open the door of our townhouse to call out to Jared that I’d brought home a surprise—our first Christmas tree together.
But now I strained to listen over the thudding of my heart.
It had to be the TV. Sure, it had sounded exactly like Jared’s smooth, slightly nasal voice, but… It couldn’t have been. After working my butt off at making this relationship a success, I couldn’t have overheard my boyfriend talking about breaking up with me.
Not just my boyfriend—my partner. I wasn’t a kid anymore. Jared and I were partners. Maybe this was a bad joke. Some kind of terrible, out-of-character prank?
Ho-ho-ho?
Jared muttered, “I know.” It sounded like he was in the kitchen at the back of the townhouse. The hardwood floor creaked—which drove Jared nuts even though I thought it added charm. Warm light spilled into the hallway, flickering with his shadow as he moved restlessly. I could picture him pacing by the granite-topped island.
Jared sighed. “There’s no good time to tell him. That’s true. Still. I have to wait until January. He’s so excited about our first Christmas together here. I can’t do it.” A pause. “I know I’m not a Christmas person, but it’s fine. It makes him happy.”
I stood there clutching the twine-bound tree, my nose full of pine. The paper shopping bag on the bristly outdoor mat beneath my feet contained an artisanal mulled wine kit and chestnuts for roasting. And wait, Jared didn’t like Christmas? I knew he wasn’t a fan of tacky decorations and cheesy songs, but…
I’d stashed boxes of tasteful gold and silver ornaments that would fit Jared’s minimalist style under the bed yesterday. I knew he wouldn’t like the idea of dropped needles on the floor, so I’d bought the newest automatic watering system for the tree. The trunk of my Hyundai hatchback was crammed with gifts and rolls of the classiest wrapping paper I could find.
I had planned every detail of our Instagram-worthy Christmas.
Jared exhaled loudly. “I know, Steph. He must see it coming, right? Unless he’s in denial. Fuck, I hate this.”
Oh, god. I’d thought everything was perfect, and now it was disintegrating in front of my eyes. Well, my ears. Rigid, I waited for him to say more to his sister.
I’d always gotten along with Stephanie, or at least I thought I had? She was only looking out for Jared, and it wasn’t about me. That didn’t make it hurt less.
And okay, perfect was a strong word for my relationship with Jared. But everything was pretty good, wasn’t it? I’d been so careful since I moved into the townhouse to keep everything running smoothly. All the experts said compromise was key, and I’d compromised like a champion, hadn’t I?
“It’s only another couple of weeks. I’ll tell him in the new year.” A pause. “I know.” Another pause. “Steph, I couldn’t do it before because we went to Tampa to visit his folks for Thanksgiving. We had plane tickets, and they took us to Universal. And yes, I hate theme parks, but I couldn’t back out.”
I tasted acid. I’d been so proud to show off Jared to my parents. Proof that I was indeed a responsible adult now, and they didn’t have to worry about me or lend me money. They could live their best retired lives.
For too long in my twenties, I’d drifted. Working okay jobs with no future for advancement. Dating okay people while nursing my impossible crush. I had a steady office job now with benefits, and my impossible crush was a hundred percent over.
Gripping the teetering Christmas tree, I braced for thoughts of Will, which were the last thing I needed. Will was straight. He was never going to love me back. I’d had to put distance between us—at least while I got over him. I’d made a plan, grown up, and figured out my life. I was no longer in love with my best friend.
Whether Will was still my best friend was another story, but my hands were full with problems at the moment, including being stabbed by pine needles through my thin gloves as I fought to stay quiet while keeping the Christmas tree vertical.
Jared groaned. “I was hoping… I don’t know. That it would all magically work out. Of course, I should have ended it months ago.”
Months?!
I’d only moved into the townhouse in March. Which meant Jared had decided humiliatingly quickly that he didn’t want me to stay. We’d dated for more than a year before living together. I’d been so freaking careful not to jump into anything. Should I have seen this coming? Had I? My head spun, and I clung to the tree.
“I just feel so sorry for him.”
I jerked violently—then scrambled to keep hold of the tipping tree. Needles clawed my cheek as I tripped backward.
See above, re: best-laid plans.
Kicking over the fancy paper bag on my way down, I hit the shoveled stoop, my jeans offering no protection and my peacoat not much more. Glass smashed on the freezing concrete.
The tree pinning me, I sank back in defeat, my head perilously close to the edge of the top step. The jagged granules of rock salt I’d sprinkled over the walkway that morning dug into my skull.
Jared appeared in the open doorway wearing his favorite dress pants and black silk sweater, a furrow between his thin brows before they shot up. “Babe! Are you okay?”
I nodded, struggling to retain a shred of dignity. Jared hauled the tree off me, his handsome face transforming into a familiar smile as he laughed and cracked some joke I couldn’t make out over the buzzing in my ears.
My throat swelled painfully, tears burning my eyes. If I hadn’t just overheard him, I wouldn’t have had a damn clue anything was wrong. I was so stupid. I’d had no idea he wanted to break up with me. That he didn’t love me anymore. God, did he not love me?
Do I love him? Or did I only want to love him?
“Mike? Shit, babe. You are hurt.”
Choking down a scream/shout/sob, I pushed myself up to sitting while Jared wrangled the tree into the narrow foyer. When he turned back, his eyes bugged out.
“Jesus! Are you bleeding?” He lunged out the door in his Italian leather slippers. Dropping to his knees, he groped my left thigh, and I blinked down at the dark stain on my jeans.
“Wine,” I croaked. “Careful—you’ll get it on your pants.”
Jared pressed a hand to his chest, seeming to notice the red-soaked paper bag for the first time. The wine had sloshed all over the stoop, and my hip was wet with it.
He exhaled noisily. “You gave me a heart attack. I don’t care about my pants.”
“There’s broken glass.”
He ignored that. “You’re sure you’re okay? What happened to your face?”
I dodged his hand, squirming away and almost sliding backward down the handful of steps to the tiny front yard where I’d proudly planted a row of petunias that had lived half the summer. I swiped at my smooth cheek—now scratched to hell.
My blond facial hair grew patchy on my pale skin and took forever, so I’d learned to lean into my baby face. Maybe it would scar, and I’d finally look thirty and not like I was still in college. Swipes of blood stained my gray gloves.
Jared reached for me again. “You’re hurt. Let me help you.”
“What do you care?” I half shouted, cringing at my patheticness. Was that a word? If it wasn’t, it should have been.
“Babe, what’s—” He blinked, glancing back at the open door. His concern morphed with resignation to form a sad, defeated expression. “How much did you hear?”
I shrugged, ignoring the flare of pain in my shoulder blade. “Enough.”
Jared rubbed his face, his stubble scratching audibly before he ran his hands through his gelled brown hair. Somehow, it still looked only artfully out of place. He was rarely messy. It was one of his wonderfully mature qualities I’d been attracted to.
He muttered, “Shit, babe. I didn’t want it to be like this. Especially not at Christmas.” He carefully stood and stepped back over the broken glass to the beige interior welcome mat, rubbing his slippers on it. “Let’s talk inside. It’s freezing.” He reached out his hand.
I let him haul me up and inside the foyer, where the pine took up almost the whole space. I stopped on the mat, the door still open behind me. Jared shifted from foot to foot, crossing and uncrossing his arms.
“Why?” I asked, the single word scraping my throat.
Deep down, I knew the answer, didn’t I?
Jared blinked back tears. “It’s not you, I swear. You’re great. But it was a mistake to move in together. I should have known better.” He held up his palms. “Again, not because of you. Because of me. I love living alone. But like I said, you’re great, so I wanted to try.” He sighed. “It’s not working for me. We’re not working. We rushed it.”
“We didn’t! We were together for more than a year. We didn’t jump into this without thinking. There was a plan.”
“Was there, though? You got evicted by that shitty landlord that sold to a developer, and I thought it was time to stretch my boundaries and get out of my comfort zone.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I really like you, but…”
“Like. Not love.” My mouth flooded with saliva. I was going to hurl all over our scotch pine. Though not ours now. There was no more us and we and ours. Just like that.
He dropped his arms to his sides. “I wanted to love you. Honestly.”
All I could do was nod. It would be too humiliating to sob.
Evidently having hoarded these words for months, they spilled out of Jared now. “I really do like you! But we don’t quite fit. Come on—you have to know that. We don’t like the same kind of music or TV shows. I hate that true crime shit you’re addicted to.”
“So we compromise!” I shouted with a burst of frustration. “Haven’t we compromised?”
“Yes!” He stood straighter, fisting his hands. “We compromise on everything. Don’t we deserve to get what we really need? What we really want?” He opened and closed his mouth a few times, sputtering before blurting, “I mean, we both like to get fucked! You can’t stand there and tell me we’ve ever really clicked in bed even though we were really attracted to each other at first.”
My face was so hot my cheeks had to be bright red. God, did we have to talk about this? “I told you I don’t mind topping. It’s fine.”
And it was! It wasn’t like I didn’t get off. I’d penetrated plenty of my exes. Giving other people what they needed did turn me on. Maybe not quite as much as some other stuff did, but that was okay. It was!
His mouth tugged down, and his voice turned pleading. “You shouldn’t be settling for ‘fine.’ And if it was only about sex, sure, we could talk about options for an open relationship. But it’s about everything being ‘fine.’ As much as I care about you, ‘fine’ isn’t enough. I don’t want to settle.”
I really was going to puke.
“Haven’t I done everything you want?” I cringed at how small I sounded. How young.
Jared exhaled, his face creasing like he was in pain. “Yes. You’re so sweet and generous, and you’ve bent over backwards for me. At first, I thought you were my dream come true. You’re the most caring and thoughtful guy I’ve ever dated.”
“Then what did I do wrong?” I was practically begging.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. But catering to my whims isn’t healthy. I feel like you’re walking on eggshells trying to keep me happy. Trying to be this perfect version of yourself. You’re too…careful. It makes me feel like shit. Like I can’t be real with you. Ba—” He cut himself off. “Mike—”
“I hate being called ‘Mike,’” I blurted. He wanted real? There.
He blinked. “What?”
“My name is Michael.”
“But everyone calls you Mike.” He stared, eyes wide. “Why the hell didn’t you say something?”
All I could do was shrug. “I’m used to it.”
“See, this is the problem! You settle all over the place!” Groaning, Jared shook his head. “Fuck, I hate saying this to you. Which is why I’ve been putting it off. Also, because it’s Christmas, and I know it’s a big deal to you to do the cozy, snowy, traditional thing.”
“It’s not a big deal,” I insisted reflexively.
Jared looked down pointedly at the fallen tree at our feet. “Tell me you weren’t planning on decorating and taking pics of us in cable-knit sweaters sipping cocoa and pretending we don’t have any problems.”
“I just thought it would be nice!”
“Because you actually love Christmas or because you want everything to look perfect on Insta?”
I flinched. As much as I wanted to argue, I couldn’t.
“We need to face facts,” Jared said more firmly. “We can’t settle. You’re thirty, and I’m thirty-three. We can’t coast along in a relationship that’s not working. I think we really liked the idea of us. The reality? Not so much.”
All I could do was nod.
He shivered. “Shut the door. Come on, let’s talk this out.”
What else was there to say? Broken glass crunched under my boots on the landing and chestnuts rolled down the steps as I escaped, leaving my now ex-boyfriend—ex-partner—a nine-foot organic scotch pine, and the life I’d wanted so desperately to be mine in my wake.
“Mike?”
I would have hit the roof of the hatchback—not hard to do since there were only a few inches of clearance—if I hadn’t been wearing my seatbelt.
Cursing myself for spacing out, I focused on Zoe squinting at me from the bungalow’s porch. She wore fluffy Ugg boots but no coat, holding her cardigan closed at her throat, the icy wind blowing her dark curls into her eyes.
Zoe’s muffled voice came again as she called, “Mike? Is that you?”
The key was still in the ignition, but Zoe was already picking her way down the slick driveway. It sloped just enough to be treacherous in the winter, which I’d learned the hard way more than once back in the day when I’d lived here with Zoe and Will and a few roommates.
Her parents had bought the house as an investment property so she had a safe place to live during college. With prices skyrocketing now, it’d been a smart move.
What was I even doing here? In my aimless driving around Albany, trying to process that my hard-earned relationship with Jared was over, my brain’s muscle memory had apparently brought me back to my former home. I’d lived in a couple of apartments between this house and moving into Jared’s, but it seemed neither had made a lasting impression on my subconscious.
Great. I hadn’t seen Zoe in person in a few years, and now I was sitting outside my ex-girlfriend’s place like some kind of creep in my extremely recognizable orange car, which glowed like a beacon even in the quickly fading daylight.
Her pretty face creased in understandable confusion, Zoe knocked on the driver-side window, her solitaire diamond engagement ring glinting in the rays of the setting sun. The glass was tinted enough that it was only once I rolled down the window that Zoe saw my scratched face.
She gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth, her cardigan flapping open in the wind. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine! It’s nothing.” Shit, my face must have looked worse than I’d thought. I flipped down the mirror on the back of the visor and grimaced.
Yep, dried blood streaked over my cheek and the scratches had swelled. Was I suddenly allergic to Christmas trees? That would be just my luck after how today had gone.
“Did you get in an accident?” Zoe pressed.
I shook my head. “Christmas tree wrestling. ’Tis the season.”
“Right. Okay. So…” She frowned. “Is everything all right with Jared? And work?”
Ignoring the first part, I said, “Work’s great! I got a promotion last month.”
“Yeah? You’re still at that e-commerce company?”
“Yep. Still responding to customer complaints, but now I’m training and monitoring new staff. I’ve got vacation time until the new year. It’s a great company.”
“Cool.” Her sculpted brows met. “What are you doing here? Did something happen with Jared? I thought everything was going well. Thanksgiving in Tampa looked awesome. You seemed really happy finally.”
Could I just drive away? I toyed with the option before dismissing it and confessing, “We broke up.”
“Shit. I’m sorry.” Zoe tensed and reached through the open window to grab my shoulder. “Did he do that to your face?”
“No. It was the stupid tree. Jared’s not like that.”
She relaxed and let go of me. “Okay. I thought maybe Will was right.”
Blood rushing in my ears, I squeaked, “Will?”
“Our former roommate? Your best friend?” She arched a brow. “Ring any bells? Or did you ghost him right out of your memory?”
“I didn’t ghost him!” Hot shame washed over me. Vomiting was definitely back on the table.
“Then why are you being so defensive?”
“I’m not! I’ve just been busy.”
Zoe’s dubious expression was sadly familiar from when we dated. “If you say so.”
“Why? What…” I swallowed thickly. “What did Will tell you?”
She shrugged as an older woman’s commanding voice called out, “Is that Mike?”
“Here we go,” Zoe muttered, rolling her eyes. “You’re still her favorite after all this time. My parents just arrived for the holidays. We’re renovating the bathroom, god help me.”
For a stout woman with chronic back pain, Mrs. Schmidt-Wong moved like lightning, appearing at Zoe’s side in a parka three sizes too big—likely belonging to Zoe’s dad—with her blonde curls flying wild in the wind.
It was her turn to gasp. “Did you get mugged? Or was it a cat? You can’t trust cats. Even if you feed them every day their whole lives, they’ll eat your corpse without a second thought.”
“It was pine needles. Not a cat. No big deal. Christmas tree injury.” I tried to smile at Zoe’s mom. Torn between formal politeness and reverting to what I’d called her when Zoe and I were a couple, I stupidly said, “It’s nice to see you, Mrs….Janice. I was just driving by and…”
Come on. Think of something. Anything. Literally anything.
I had nothing. At least I stopped talking.
The wrinkles around Mrs. Schmidt-Wong’s eyes deepened as she gave me a playful smile. “You’re here to win Zoe back? Not that I have anything against Peter, but he’s not as cute as you.”
Zoe smacked her mother’s arm, the parka surely taking the brunt. “Mom. Peter is extremely cute. Well, he’s handsome. Distinguished.” She glanced at me. “No offense.” As a car approached with a rumble, she stood straight, then leaned back down to the window. “Shit, he’s home. For real, tell me what’s going on?”
“Nothing. I was just…um, around, and I stopped to check a text. I didn’t even realize it was your house.” Considering I’d previously lived here for several years, it wasn’t particularly plausible. I leaned into it anyway. “Texting and driving kills.”
“That’s true,” Mrs. Schmidt-Wong said. “Mike was always very responsible.”
Zoe hissed, “Peter’s responsible! He’s a nurse!”
Mrs. Schmidt-Wong conceded, “True, true.” To me, she whispered, “He’s just a little boring if you ask me. No sparks.”
Ignoring her mother, arms wrapped around her middle, Zoe frowned at me. “Seriously, are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I lied. “Had a sh—crappy day. Just driving around. It’s good to see you.” It was—we’d managed to stay kind-of friends after we’d broken up. Before I’d made the worst mistake of my life. Mistakes. Plural. “I’ve got to get—” I choked on the next word.
It wasn’t home. It had always been Jared’s townhouse, and as much as I’d tried, he didn’t want me. I suddenly didn’t have a home. Jesus, where was I going to live? My heart hammered. I’d been so preoccupied with my failed relationship that I hadn’t even considered the immediate issue.
“Are your parents okay?” Zoe asked, still frowning suspiciously.
“Absolutely! Living their best retirement dream.” Before she could ask, I added, “My brothers and their families are all great too.”
I’d been a surprise baby, a full fourteen years younger than my next oldest brother. My brothers were all miles ahead of me, and I’d thought I’d finally caught up somehow.
“Everything’s great!” I cleared my throat. “Merry Christmas!”
As I turned the key and the engine sputtered, Peter—who was definitely handsome if you asked me—joined the party at the window. Good thing this sleepy street didn’t get much traffic. I nodded to him, willing the damn engine to catch. It took a minute sometimes.
Zoe introduced me as I stepped hard on the gas, the engine making a sad whoa-whoa-whoa whine.
Peter exclaimed, “Oh, the bi guy, right? Hey, man. Great to meet you.” He stuck his hand through the open window.
We shook, and I let the engine rest a few seconds since I was about to flood it. “That’s me. Good to meet you too.”
Squeezing closer to Zoe, Peter apparently caught a better look at the Christmas tree wounds on my face. “You okay? Looks like you were bleeding.”
“It’s nothing!” The smile hurt my face. My laugh sounded manic.
“Are you coming in for dinner?” Zoe asked—a sort-of invitation that wasn’t overly enthusiastic. Completely understandable.
Mrs. Schmidt-Wong said, “There’s plenty! Yes, you must join us.”
I shook my head. “I can’t, but thank you.”
Aside from imposing on them and how awkward it would be, my jeans were soaked with red wine. I didn’t want to explain why I was such a mess. I turned the key again, willing my rust bucket to just do me this one more favor and get me out of this ridiculous situation I’d put myself in.
The cosmic engine gods were in a benevolent mood. The engine roared to life. More like sputtered, but I’d take it. I jammed down the button to raise the window. “Merry Christmas! Say hi to your dad and the rest of the family.”
They stepped back, and I waved as I escaped, turning at the corner and racing out of the neighborhood as fast as I could. I headed out of town, eventually ending up on a lonely two-lane highway in the darkness.
Night came so early this time of year. I’d imagined Jared and I would be decorating the tree with jazzy carols playing, sipping mulled wine and roasting chestnuts in the oven since the sleek, modern fireplace was electric.
In my pocket, my phone buzzed. I’d received at least ten texts since I’d run away from Jared, but I hadn’t looked at the screen. Maybe they were just spammers trying to trick me into giving them my bank account information or social security number. Maybe Jared wasn’t even worried about me.
I couldn’t stand to know.
Where was I even going? Where was I going to stay? I mentally ran through the possibilities of local friends. My closest friends from college aside from Zoe had recently had their first baby, so they were out.
Some people from high school were mutuals on social media, but we hadn’t spoken in years. I was only friendly with people at work—not friends.
And obviously, I couldn’t ask Will.
Ghosted.
Shit, was that what I’d done? I’d needed to take a step back from hanging with Will all the time. I’d needed to finally move on from my hopeless crush. All of our friends were getting engaged, and he’d started dating a girl he was crazy about. I couldn’t keep treading water.
But it wasn’t like we’d had a fight. We were still friends. I hadn’t ghosted him. I was waiting until I was sure I was over him to reconnect. Will was fine! He was too busy dating gorgeous women and traveling for work to think about me.
Of course he was. We were older now. This was the way life went. We didn’t have time to hang out the way we used to.
“Fuck,” I muttered. All my justifications aside, I’d had to stop torturing myself. There was only so long you could secretly love your best friend before self-preservation kicked in. I’d never have gotten over him if I still saw him all the time. And it’d worked! I was very much over him.
I slowed for a curve before accelerating. Everyone was busy with parties and holiday plans. The thought of showing up on anyone’s doorstep—let alone Will’s—was honestly mortifying after the encounter at Zoe’s house.
I’d find a hotel. I’d buy what I needed for the night and deal with returning to the townhouse for my stuff tomorrow. I needed to hole up and lick my wounds.
In silence but for the rough rumble of the engine, I followed the road even deeper into the snowy forest. The pavement was clear with snowbanks rising on either side.
Where even was I? It was time to turn around and find a place to crash. There were chain hotels and motels back in town, and I wasn’t picky.
Though there wasn’t much traffic, I didn’t want to pull a U-turn in the dark on a twisting road. Surely there’d be a driveway or another road soon. I kept going, my mind replaying everything Jared had said yet again.
He was right—I’d been in willful denial. I’d wanted so much for it to work. I’d thought it had all fallen into place with Jared. Granite countertops and a comfortable, functional relationship! Ticking all the grown-up boxes.
Even if it wasn’t perfect, I’d decided Jared was the one. Clearly, I was mistaken. If “the one” even existed. What if life was only a series of disappointments and failures, and I never—
I gripped the wheel as the distinct smell of smoke reached my nose. Before I could launch into a full-blown existential crisis, the cosmic engine gods announced they weren’t on my side after all.
After writing for years yet never really finding the right inspiration, Keira discovered her voice in gay romance, which has become a passion. She writes contemporary, historical, fantasy, and paranormal fiction and — although she loves delicious angst along the way — Keira firmly believes in happy endings. For as Oscar Wilde once said:
“The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what fiction means.”
EMAIL: keira.andrews@gmail.com
The Christmas Deal #1
The Christmas Leap #2
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