Chapter Twenty
Cash had the best sleep of his life in Bailey’s arms. When he awoke the next morning, he found the room bathed in a pale light that reflected his mood perfectly. Peace reigned, from the winter sun streaming in through the windows to the light tapping of computer keys coming from the chair in the corner of the room.
Until the tapping turned faster, sharper, more irritable. He opened his eyes just as taps turned to slaps. Bailey was curled up in the armchair, smacking at her laptop, frustration all over her face.
“What’s up?” Cash frowned. She looked up at him, and he was alarmed to see tears gleaming in her dark eyes.
“My laptop’s fucked. And I think I just lost the last two thousand words of my dissertation.”
“Shit.” He got up out of bed, barely noticing the fact that he was still naked. The two of them had stayed up late into the night, exploring each other’s bodies in both desire and innocence, running through the box of condoms like they were going out of style. He’d been hoping for more of the same this morning, but clearly that wasn’t going to happen. Bailey looked ready to throw something or burst into tears, and neither of those options sounded good to him.
“Hey,” he soothed, kneeling before her and pulling the clunky old laptop from her hands. “Don’t worry. You have plenty of time, right? Your deadline’s not for months.”
She sniffed. “How do you know that?”
“I do listen when you talk, you know.”
“I never told you that,” she insisted.
He winced. “Yeah. I listen when you talk, but you’re not always talking to me.”
At least that admission, embarrassing as it was, shocked the misery off of her face. She giggled slightly, pressing her hand to his cheek, and he let himself sink into the touch. She was wearing one of his T-shirts, and, he suspected, a pair of his boxers. Despite himself, he felt his cock harden.
She looked down and arched a brow. “Seriously?”
“What?”
“Aren’t you tired?”
He waggled his eyebrows. “Are you?”
“Stop,” she laughed. But then her expression sobered. “Fuck. I don’t know what I’m gonna do about my laptop.”
“Ah,” he said. “Right. Well, I wouldn’t worry about that too much.”
“How can I not?!” She shook her head frantically, dislodging her glasses. He pushed them safely back up her nose and was rewarded with a glare.
“Just… Hang on,” he sighed, getting up. While she grumbled under her breath, he went over to the wardrobe, where he’d dumped their luggage last night. He unzipped his suitcase—yes, he’d brought a suitcase, but in his defence, it was 80% presents—and pulled out the biggest box. Just like the rest, it was wrapped in brown paper that he’d picked up from the post office. But this one had a red ribbon around it, tied in as close an approximation of a bow as he could manage.
He returned to Bailey’s little corner of the room, putting the box in her lap. “Here you go,” he said. “Merry Christmas.”
She pursed her lips. “It’s Christmas Eve.”
“Merry early Christmas.”
“What is it?”
“Open it and found out.”
She winced. “It’s not expensive, is it?”
“Come on, woman. Open the bloody present.”
“It’s not a laptop, is it? Please tell me it’s not a laptop.”
“It’s not a laptop,” he said. She gave him a hard look, but then cracked a smile and pulled off the ribbon, tearing into the paper with barely-disguised glee.
“Oh, my God. Cash! You said it wasn’t a laptop!” He watched as Bailey gaped at the box in her lap, smoothing her fingers over the picture on the front.
“It’s not,” he said smugly. “It’s a MacBook.”
“A MacBook is a laptop.”
“Nope. A MacBook is a MacBook.”
She smacked the back of his head lightly. “Stop that. I can’t accept—“
“What you can’t do is reject a Christmas present, you ungrateful wench,” he teased.
“But—”
“Bailey. Come on. You said it yourself; you need something to work on. And I don’t want you using a piece of crap that loses your work. Although,” he added with a grin, “that’s really your own fault. You should save it to a memory stick every few hundred words.”
“You’re insufferable,” she huffed, rolling her eyes. But her fingers curled around the edges of the box, and she looked down at it with a mixture of awe and pleasure in her eyes. “I just… This is really thoughtful of you, Cash.” She laughed suddenly. “The present I got you is kind of terrible in comparison.”
“Impossible,” he said, standing up. “If it’s from you, I’m sure it’ll be perfect.”
“That’s a very sweet thing to say.” She squinted up at him mockingly. “Actually, are you feeling okay? You’re being unbelievably pleasant this morning.”
“Yep. Cuz I finally got you into bed.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her up, into his body. Then he reached around her and squeezed her arse hungrily. “You should come back and top me up before the effects wear off.”
She tutted, rolling her eyes at him. But she followed him willingly as he walked backwards to the bed, their bodies tangling together. And she kissed him happily as he pulled down the boxers she was wearing. And she moaned for him five minutes later.
So he guessed she didn’t really mind.
∞∞∞
“Will!” Monroe hollered. “Play nicely! Are you listening to me?”
Will took the toy car off of his little brother’s head with a guilty pout. “Yes, Mum.”
“I don’t know why you cluck over them, sweetheart,” said Karen. “When you and your brother were little you’d stuff rocks up his nose and all sorts.”
Monroe gave her mother a horrified look. Cash shared an amused glance with Bailey, who was sitting on the carpet with the kids, but doing little to temper the… Enthusiasm of their play. Turned out she was a total pushover. George, who was tapping away at both a laptop and a tablet at once, grunted something that might have been a laugh.
As the sun sank into the trees, the living room became a breathing embodiment of Christmas Eve. They’d spent the day playing hide and seek in the huge, icy garden—which George was especially good at—and then his mum and Bailey had done some baking with the boys after lunch. Now every belly was full, yet homemade gingerbread remained piled on the coffee table. The TV was on, playing a Shrek film that the boys had insisted be recorded—but of course, they weren’t watching it at all. The fire crackled, the kids bickered, as did Cash’s mother and sister.
And his woman sat there in the middle of it all, exactly where he wanted her.
She caught him staring, gave him a shy smile. “What?” She asked, pushing her glasses up her nose.
“You look beautiful,” he told her, his voice low.
Her smile widened, and she looked down, letting her hair swing over her face. He liked that. He liked making her shy, and he liked making her smile.
So fucking much.
“I’m very pleased for you, Cash,” George said suddenly.
“You are?” Cash grinned at his baffling brother-in-law, though the man hadn’t looked up from his glowing computer screens. “Why’s that?”
“Roe has always been worried that you would close yourself off completely. But now you are in love, just like us.”
Cash stared. His mouth became dry, and sound filtered into his ears as though through a tunnel. The kids, the TV, whatever his sister was currently saying to George—it all faded into the background. And all he saw was Bailey’s shocked face, as though he’d zoomed in on her like a picture on a screen.
Then, all at once, every sense returned, slapping him in the face with their intensity. Just in time for him to hear himself say: “I’m not in love with Bailey.”
Silence fell. Actual silence. It was broken only by the sound of Shrek grousing at Donkey on the TV. Funny, really; irreverence was the backing track to what felt like the heaviest moment of his life.
Bailey looked like she’d been slapped. All the warmth fled her skin, as though the blood had drained from her face.
Cash stood, panic descending like a mist.
“Really?” George asked, clearly confused. “Because I was quite sure—”
“Shut up,” Monroe hissed. Then she stood up too and clapped her hands. “Time for bed, boys!” She trilled, her voice reaching a decibel that would do their mother proud.
Oh, fuck. Mum. She was right there, staring at him with disappointment in her eyes.
And what the fuck was he supposed to do with that? Disappointment for what? He’d done everything right, everything he could to avoid turning out like the monster who’d fathered him. He wasn’t going to risk it all now, just for a woman whose touch was pure sunlight. He was stronger than that. This was strength.
“But it’s not even late!” Will was moaning.
“Do as your mother says,” George told him. As though everything was fine. As though Cash’s world wasn’t splintering.
“I’m not in love with Bailey,” he said again, his voice vehement.
Monroe turned to glare at him. “I think we heard you the first time!” She snapped.
But he barely noticed her. He focused on Bailey’s face, on the tears threatening to spill over her lashes. And he saw the exact moment when she reigned them in, when she set her jaw and straightened her spine and locked him out of her heart forever.
And he had no idea why the sight felt like a death.
He looked to the right, where his mother remained—for once in her life—stonily silent, and then to the left where George—fucking George—continued to frown at him sceptically. And panic continued to claw at his throat, drawing blood.
“I… I have to go,” he choked out. He pushed past his sister and his nephews on their way out of the living room, stumbled into the hall. Had enough presence of mind to shove on his boots and grab a coat. Then he unlocked the front door and stepped out into the icy evening.