A Lot Like Christmas (Wishful 11)

“Bullshit. I’m not buying what you’re selling. Not when you’ve been practically joined at the hip with Hannah since she first came over here, and she’s been scarce as hen’s teeth the last two days. Not when I got reports back that you made that sweet girl cry. Broke down right in the middle of decorating Maudie Bell’s living room.”

Fuck.

It wasn’t a surprise. He’d been a right asshole. Deliberately striking out in a fashion that would ensure she wouldn’t come anywhere near him again. Every word he’d spewed had made him feel lower than the belly of a worm. It had been like kicking a puppy. He’d told himself it was necessary. He didn’t deserve someone like her in his life. Better he hurt her now, before it went any further. Before his darkness ended up tainting all that goodness and light.

But he’d made her cry. Damn it.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Percy demanded.

Fighting the urge to hunch his shoulders, Ryan kept his voice low and even. “I told you from the beginning, I don’t need a woman.”

“And I told you you were full of shit. She was good for you. You were happier with her.”

He didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t need the reminder of what he’d had that Robbie would never get a chance at. “What do you know, old man?”

“I know not to throw away the love of a good woman. It’s the best damned thing that can happen to a man, and you’re a damned moron if you think otherwise.”

“Hannah doesn’t love me.” He’d torched things before they could get to that point. To save them both.

“She could’ve, if you’d kept your head out of your ass. But you had to go self-destructing shit. Because that’s what you do.”

Ryan’s head kicked back. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Ever since you went Delta Force, you’ve pulled back from everybody and everything. You deny yourself anything real or good. Like you don’t have a right to that, given what you do.”

Searching for calm, Ryan curled his hands around the back of a chair and tried to stay reasonable. This was basic shit that Percy ought to remember from his own stint in the military. “I can’t afford to get attached.”

“You’re afraid to get attached.”

Insult bloomed, along with a flicker of what could have been recognition. Hannah had made the same accusation. Ryan clenched his teeth against it until his jaw all but cracked. “I’m not afraid.” He gritted the words with a deliberateness that bordered on menace.

“Then why the hell did you blow up one of the best things to ever happen to you?”

“Because she deserves better!” Ryan roared. Before the sound even faded, Duke had wedged himself under Percy’s chair, making Ryan feel like even more of a dick.

Dropping a hand to stroke the dog, Percy kept his own voice soft. “You’re damned ri

ght she does. She deserves an apology and groveling for your behavior. And an explanation for whatever set you off.”

Ryan closed his eyes, seeing Hannah’s face, pinched with hurt even as she reached out to him. Something happened. Something tripped this switch, because the guy I’ve gotten to know over the past couple of weeks isn’t an asshole.

Even in the midst of taking the hits he was dishing out, she still tried to make a connection. Jesus. And he’d wanted it. He’d wanted it more than his next breath. He’d wanted to take her into his arms and let it all spill out. But he couldn’t do that. He needed to lock his shit down and keep it that way.

A fresh flare of anger crawled through him on the heels of the pain. He wouldn’t be in this position if not for her. He’d been absolutely fine compartmentalizing everything. He could function that way. Excel that way. And she came into his life, with her tinsel and ribbon and good cheer and big heart and just blew his walls all to hell. How was he supposed to go back to war, back to the job, without his armor?

Pissed off at her, at Percy, at the world in general, Ryan scooped up the keys to Smitty’s piece of shit truck. “I’m going for a drive.”

Somewhere in this town, there had to be a place he could blow off some steam.

Chapter 10

Hannah debated with herself the whole walk to Percy’s house. Ryan hadn’t tried to contact her in two days. Maybe it had been unrealistic to expect an apology. But she simply couldn’t reconcile the hateful things he’d said to her with the guy she’d come to know. Somewhere, deep down, he’d been doing it on purpose to push her away. She was a convenient target for some other hurt. Or maybe those were more attempts at justification for his behavior. None of it made the situation hurt any less.

She’d ended up breaking down at Maudie Bell Ramsey’s house. Poor Chester had patted her back and offered up a plate of brownies, probably in the hopes that eating and sobbing weren’t compatible. The older woman had tried to get her to talk about it, but Hannah hadn’t wanted to admit how foolish she’d been in allowing herself to get attached to Ryan in the first place. Oh, who was she kidding? She’d fallen in love with the guy she’d believed him to be. And he hadn’t wanted that. He’d been clear from the beginning what this was, what it could be. She’d just believed he’d been changing his mind and coming around to her way of thinking. Her mistake.

So instead of spilling her guts to one of the Casserole Patrol—who she suspected would’ve told her compatriots and headed over to Percy’s en masse to “jerk a knot in Ryan’s tail” as Maudie Bell had said—Hannah had finished the decorating job and gone home to Carolanne. The whole story had spilled out, along with gallons of tears. And because her sister was awesome, they’d turned to baking therapy and made baklava from scratch. Hannah had packed up a tin full of it to bring to Percy as a Christmas present. She wanted him to have another sweet reminder of his Janie.

She could just drop it off, all casual-like. Don’t mind me, I’m just armed with sugar and Christmas cheer. But as she neared the house, her feet hesitated. What if Ryan was there? A part of her was afraid she’d see him. What if their next encounter proved he was actually the mean, hateful asshat and she’d been wrong about him all along? She didn’t want confirmation that her judgment was so skewed. But another bigger part of her worried she wouldn’t see him. That he’d maybe already gone—either home or back to Afghanistan—without an apology or a goodbye. The idea of it made her heart crack just a little bit more. She’d gotten her acceptance letter from the small business incubator and her first instinct had been to share the news with him. Would he even care?