Christmas in His Bed

“I didn’t drink all of it?” she gasped.

“No. You’d be dead.” Celeste’s smile was concerned. “I put it in the kitchen cabinet.”

“We can throw it away?” Lucy offered.

“Don’t worry,” Tatum assured her. “I’ve so learned my lesson.”

“Is this Spencer?” Celeste asked, offering the photo to Tatum.

She took it. “Yes.” She stared at the image, her eyes burning with hot tears. She didn’t need to look at it to know what it was. It was a picture she’d had pegged up above her bed. It was old and they were young. She was sitting on a chair and he was sitting on the floor between her legs. Her hand was at an awkward angle, because he was holding it. But what made it so special was the naturalness of Spencer pressing a kiss, almost absentmindedly, to her hand. Second nature. Like breathing.

He’d felt the same way, she’d known it—never doubted it. Until he’d...he’d crushed her heart. But now she knew the truth. He hadn’t been some thoughtless hormonal teenage boy. No, he had to have the noblest of motivations. He was trying to save her. To protect her. Because he’d loved her.

Losing you was like cutting out my heart...

And just like that she was sobbing.

“Oh, Tatum.” Lucy sounded heartbroken.

“Don’t make yourself sick.” Celeste ran from the room, reappearing with a cool, wet cloth. “Here.”

Tatum pressed the cloth to her face, mortified.

“You can talk about it,” Lucy prompted. “We won’t say anything.”

“I don’t know if I—I can talk about it,” she forced out.

“Then we don’t have to,” Lucy said.

Tatum nodded, her brain swimming. It took her a while to ask, “Could you forgive a person for lying to you about something?”

“Depends on what it was,” Celeste said. “Some things are unforgivable.”

Tatum nodded.

“I’d disagree,” Lucy said. “If we’re talking about a person you love, almost anything is forgivable.”

Tatum glanced at the picture. “What if the person you loved most, the person who knew all of your secrets, used your weakness to drive you away?”

“Can you, maybe, give us a little more to go on?” Celeste asked.

Tatum did. From him telling her he didn’t love her anymore to that horrible scene in the cafeteria when he said those words—the words that echoed in her ears for months after she’d moved to California. “There’s something wrong with you, Tatum...” He’d kept going, saying her mother’s words while his arm draped along some other girl’s shoulders. “You need to let go. Move on. I don’t love you anymore.” She’d stood there, staring at him, wanting to scream.

“Why?” Lucy asked, her cheeks red. “Why was he so determined to make you leave?”

That was the part she had a hard time confessing. She knew her mother hadn’t treated her well, that Spencer was right. But she’d spent so many years fooling herself. Her mother was ill, alone. She had to stay—to love her. No one else would. It was only after Spencer had broken her heart, after her father had shown up determined to take her with him and her mother into a treatment facility, that she relented. Leaving had been a relief.

“My mom...” She drew in a deep breath. “Spencer was trying to get me away from my mom.”

They waited.

“Because she was mean to me.”

“Mean to you?” Celeste repeated, her eyes going round.

“Oh, Tatum.” Lucy hugged her. “People talked but I never thought... Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shook her head.