Sassy Christmas (Storm MC 4.50)

I placed my hand on his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere, Donovan Brookes. That’s the only sure thing I know in this world.”

4

Chapter Four

Harlow

I stood at my kitchen counter, beating cake batter to make cakes for tomorrow’s party, listening to Lisa tell me about her day, and all I could think was ‘I can’t go to this Christmas party’. Dread filled me at the thought of having to face everyone, and answer their questions and see their sadness and try to explain myself and -

“Harlow!” Lisa pretty much yelled at me as she clicked her fingers in front of me. “Are you listening to me?”

Dragging my thoughts back to the conversation, I attempted to give her my full attention. Easier said than done these days. My attention didn’t want to be on anything these days; it wanted to sink as far into obscurity as it could.

“Sorry, honey. Can you say that again?” Lisa deserved more than what I could give her at the moment, and a pang of remorse hit me. I’ll do better.

She sighed in the way an adult sighs. It was so Lisa; so grown up for a child, but then again she was more mature than most children her age. Her mother saw to that. “I said that Scott is being so strange at the moment and I was wondering if you knew why.”

More remorse hit me and I switched the beater off so I could focus completely on the conversation. “In what way is he being strange?”

“So many ways!” Her voice rose and her eyes widened as she detailed it for me. Lisa loved Scott like a father and I could see how concerned she was for him. “Like, you know how the three of us usually go out for dinner every Thursday night? The last couple of weeks he’s been telling me you’re not well so you couldn’t make it to dinner, but you’re not sick, even I can tell that. And apart from Thursday nights, I’ve hardly seen him but then this week, I’ve seen him every day. And he’s been talking a lot, and I mean, a lot. Scott hardly talks, so it’s weird.”

My hand went to my chest to hold the heaviness there. Scott. He didn’t deserve any of this. My inability to deal with my loss was affecting him as much, if not more, than the loss of our baby. And as much as I knew this, and felt it – oh God, how I felt it – I couldn’t bring myself to work through this in any other way than I was.

“So?” Lisa put her hand on her hip and looked up at me expectantly. Her look said that she expected me to have the answers for her.

“What has he been saying?” I didn’t have the answers for her because Scott and I hadn’t been connecting. In fact, it seemed he was talking more to her than me at the moment, and I was interested to hear what he’d said.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Scott entered the kitchen at that moment and the sound of his heavy boots on the wood floor and his intense presence filled the room, distracting both of us. His eyes were focused on me when I found them, and a shiver ran through my body at the way he was watching me, at the way his stare demanded my attention. And I knew something had changed in him.

Turning to look at Lisa, he said, “Lisa, do you mind if I have some time with Harlow?”

Lisa frowned. “As in, you want me to go home?” She didn’t sound put out; she simply needed to know what he meant.

He nodded. “Yeah. I know you two were baking, but I need to speak with her now, and it can’t wait.”

“Sure,” she said with an easy smile and began taking steps toward the front door. Looking back at me, she asked, “Can we do some more baking on Sunday, Harlow? I want to make biscuits for Christmas presents and I need your help decorating them.”

“Sure, honey. I’ll be home all day so you come over when you’re ready,” I answered her with a smile and watched her leave. When I heard the front door close, I turned back to Scott with hesitation. I wasn’t sure I was ready for whatever he wanted to discuss. “How was your day?” I asked as my heart beat a little faster in my chest.

His eyes stayed trained on mine as he took a step closer to me. “I don’t want to talk about my day, Harlow,” he said. His voice caused my tummy to swirl with nerves – after months of him giving me space, his tone now told me he was done with that; it told me he was going to push me into a corner I didn’t think I wanted to go to.

“Well I’m interested to hear about it, Scott,” I replied while I busied myself with the cake batter. Scraping it off the beaters and down the side of the bowl seemed extremely important at that moment. It also gave me the opportunity to avoid his stare.

He closed the distance between us and placed his hand on mine, stilling it. His other hand tilted my chin to bring my eyes back to his, and I swallowed my nerves as he did that.

I’m not ready for this.

Ignoring my request to hear about his day, he said, “You’re coming to the party tomorrow, yeah?” It may have been posed as a question, but it was anything but a question. Scott Cole didn’t tend to give options when he didn’t want you to have any.

Taking a deep breath, I said softly, “I don’t think I can.”

A pin drop could have been heard in the moment that followed. Scott’s thoughts may have been silent, but they filled the room regardless, and from instinct alone, I took a step away from him. However, his instincts were always on high alert and his hand flicked out to curl around my waist and pull me back to him. When he had me where he wanted me, body to body, face close to mine, arm around me, he said, “Sweetheart, I’ve been tiptoeing around this for months, giving you space and time to work through your feelings. You’ve done a good job of avoiding me through all that, and I’ve let that go even though it damn near killed me to do it. You’ve also shut down and avoided your friends and your mother. I know you’re hurting and I know you’re grieving, but so am I.” He paused for a moment, his stare growing fiercer before adding, “I hate watching you go through this, but what I hate the most is watching you go through it alone. Let me in, baby; let me be there for you.”

One of my hands moved to the kitchen counter and I gripped it hard. Scott’s words floated in the air between us, and while I was processing those, the thing I couldn’t help but focus on was the way his voice had almost cracked on his last plea for me to let him help.

He’s hurting too.

Oh God…. Oh God, I don’t want to think about this.