“I promise you, Kyra Lancaster, that I’m not going to fight with Chance anymore.”
“Ethan, that isn’t—”
“We’ve always been a lot alike,” I said. “We both have strong personalities and we’re both stubborn as hell. But I know you don’t want us fighting. I can see it in your eyes whenever we do. And neither of us—but especially me—want to upset you. Ever.”
I watched Kyra’s face approach mine before she pressed a kiss to my cheek. I closed my eyes and grinned, feeling her warmth against my skin while her body pressed into mine. I nuzzled into her lips, wishing I could simply hold her there like that forever. But I knew the guys were wondering what she was doing and I knew I was taking time away from her Christmas with her father.
“Merry Christmas, Ethan,” she said. “That’s the best present anyone could ever ask for.”
“Merry Christmas, Kyra. And I’m really glad you liked it.”
I helped her fasten her bracelet around her wrist before I embraced her in a hug. I planted a kiss in the crook of her neck, feeling her shiver ever-so-slightly against me. I hugged her tight, just in case tonight backfired. I memorized the way she smelled, just in case we lost her. I drank in the sound of her breathing, just in case I never got to hold her this close ever again.
Then, I released her to the crowd as we started back into Mark’s hospital room.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE - CHANCE
Christmas in Mark’s room was about as good as could be expected. His show of affection really took the energy out of him, so he was fading quicker for the day than we thought he would. Kyra was talking with him while they relived memories of her mother during this time of year and it only served to drum up memories of my own parents. Memories of Mom buying Christmas treats from the store and laying them out like she’d baked them on her own. Memories of Dad kissing her on the cheek and telling her how wonderful she always made Christmas.
Kyra and her father were smiling over memories and I was simply trying to keep mine at bay. I didn’t like thinking about it. I didn’t enjoy remembering. In fact, it made me angry. It made me angry that the plane crashed over nothing but device failure. It made me angry that the funeral had to be closed casket because they were charred beyond reason. It made me angry that a trip home from their vacation left six Lost Boys truly fucking lost.
It made me angry to think about and I didn’t want to be angry on Christmas.
“Chance?” Kyra asked.
“Hmm?”
“Are you okay?”
I nodded but kept my gaze out the window. I could see it in my brothers’ eyes every time we celebrated the fucking holidays. I could see how much they missed our parents. I could see how unwilling everyone was to talk about it. I’d thrown myself into work after it happened. Kept myself cooped up and did most of my shit from home. I couldn’t stand going out into town and watching mothers with their sons and fathers with their daughters. It made me fucking sick.
I felt Kyra’s hand descend onto my arm and, in an instant, my eyes were looking down at her.
“I miss them, too,” she said.
Suddenly, the air in the room shifted. I could feel my brothers stiffen while Mark was slowly drifting off. The sun was beginning to set over the trees of this frantic Christmas day and all I could think about was the last hurdle we still had to clear.
Just because we had Mark’s permission didn’t mean we had Kyra’s “yes.”
“You know, if you want to talk, I’m here, right?” she asked.
“I know,” I said. “It’s just… not something I care to rehash. I don’t think any of us want to, really.”
“And that’s fine. I know you guys had your ways of dealing with it. Just know I’m here. I’ll always be here.”
Her
words struck a chord with me I hoped would ring true within the next hour.
I turned around and faced my brothers and I could see the tears they were trying to keep at bay. Christmas was always hard on all of us but I think this was the closest we’d come to ever admitting it. This year, we’d throw all our traditions out the window the moment Kyra stepped foot onto her property and that spoke volumes about how we all felt about moving on and about Kyra. The mere fact that we were so willing and so eager to stray from the path we’d been on for years, trying to cope and deal and process our parent’s death, showed that it was like Kyra was our angel.
Our own slice of saving grace.
“You doin’ okay over there, Mark?” I asked.
“Tired,” he said.
“Did you have a good day?” I asked.