Lo
Christmas was a tricky time at Hailstorm.
I mean, to be fair, Christmas was a tricky time everywhere. It had a tendency to bring out the best - and worst - in people. You couldn't go a day without hearing someone saying they are dreading the holidays because of some ignorant asshat spouting prejudiced crap at the dinner table, or having to deal with parents who always found fault in you, or getting lectured because you aren't married with babies even after telling everyone for a decade that you don't want to get married and have babies. Almost everyone had something about the season that they dreaded.
But Hailstorm had the unique distinction of being a huge, sprawling family on one hand, but also a group of highly diversely different, but quite damaged people in the other.
We didn't talk about Christmas at all at Hailstorm except for in a particular room where we would not be overheard.
Because it was a touchy time for many of our people.
Clearly, if you ended up at Hailstorm, you didn't have a family to go home to. Or, more often, you had a family that didn't want you. Because you were different. Because you weren't the same man or woman that you had been before you got carted off to tote guns and partook in wars you maybe didn't even believe in. And, sometimes, and this was the most heartbreaking of all, you did have a family. And they did want you. And they would do anything to have you back. But you were too fucked up in the head to go back, to try to pretend, to put on a brave face, to subject them to your nightmares that made you scream like you were suddenly set on fire, or your sudden and uncontrollable fits of rage, or depression so deep you couldn't get out of bed.
Hailstorm specialized in special.
We hosted some of the most brilliant minds in various fields.
But, as it often went in life, the most brilliant minds were often the most fucked up ones.
I think it went without saying but if your specialty was bombs or infiltration or close combat warfare, yeah, it went doubly true for you that you were likely the worst kind of damaged.
So many of our men and women simply chose never to observe holidays.
That being said, not everyone at Hailstorm wanted to pretend the holidays didn't exist. Some wanted to cling to the good, see some of the joy in life. Others maybe missed the traditions, but were orphans, without anyone to give them the trees and cookies and carols.
For those of us who did celebrate, we had a large room where we set up a few trees, strung lights, piled presents, played Christmas music, piled Santa-shaped cookies, had a faux fireplace going.
Many of us would even sneak down at night just to watch the lights twinkle, to listen to the songs we had grown up with, that reminded us of the wonder of childhood, or the joy of family around a feast.
Cash and I had decided after Thanksgiving, when I got the Christmas bug in the same way that Reign had told us Summer had the year before, that I would keep my tradition at Hailstorm because it was important to my people and me. After that, we would have our Christmas.
Our first Christmas.
It seemed kind of surreal to be honest.
I just never had someone I wanted to spend Christmas with. I'd had men. But usually as a more casual thing. I was pretty sure the last Christmas I had spent with a man had been during my marriage.
It would be nice to replace those memories.
It was about damn time.
And if there was one thing I knew about Cash, it was that he would make it memorable. He was good at that.
He was good at everything actually. It was mildly infuriating at times. The man was too good. I was pretty sure that his worst qualities were that he brewed his coffee a little strong and wasn't a big chocolate fan.
Literally, that was the worst I could come up with.
"Lo," Malcolm called, catching up with me in the hall.
"What's up?" I asked, carrying my nondescript brown packing box loaded down with fixings for dinner from the kitchen. Which was cooked at one a.m. when everyone who didn't want to celebrate was passed out.
This was the tradition.
We cooked, had Christmas dinner together at two a.m. Then we opened presents and went to bed. Everything went back to the status quo after that.
It wasn't perfect, but it was what we could have. And it was far better than nothing. In fact, over the years, I really began to cherish it.
There were the diehard Christmas fans like myself and Ashley, and one or two of the other women. Then there were ones who popped in and out when the nostalgia struck. Like L, when he looked up from his work long enough to remember that life was more than that. But there were also people I never expected to see there.
Like Malc.
Now, because he helped me run Hailstorm most of the time, he knew what went down. Because he needed to. In case I was out on a job. Or taken out. The show must always go on.
But in all the years Hailstorm had been around, he had never stepped foot in the direction of the Christmas room.
He didn't volunteer why. I had no right to ask.
It was just how it was.
And that was okay.
But here he was, catching up to me in the hall, and reaching to take the box out of my hands. My hands actually fought it for a second, too surprised to let go.
"Malc, this is..."
"The fixins," he supplied for me, giving me a nod.
I slowed as I approached the door, making him fall into step with me as well. "You're coming this year?"
"Think it is about time," he agreed. But that was all he gave me as he reached for the door and pushed it open.
While he might never admit this, I think I knew exactly why it was about time. It had nothing to do with facing up his own demons, moving away from his past.
Oh, no.
It had a lot to do with a certain newcomer to Hailstorm.
Who was a Christmas nut. I mean, she made Summer look like Scrooge.
And any fool - not just romantic saps like me - could see it. The second she showed up at our doors, a little broken, a lot angry, leaving her past behind her, Malc had fallen hard.
It was some straight-up movie shit.
He actually jerked backward hard the first time he saw her.
I mean this was Malcolm.
He was unshakeable.
But she shook him.
Don't be ridiculous, Lo. She's too goddamned young for me.
That was what he had said when I had finally asked him about it after catching him watching her a bit wistfully as she practiced throwing a hatchet with one of the guys in the yard.
And, well, she was young for him.
But since when did that ever matter.
Who didn't love a good May/December romance?
I was certainly rooting for it.
I had a feeling it was going to be a long game.
But that was okay.
I loved the anticipation.
And this, well, this was proving that he might pretend he was sitting this one out, but he was actually stepping up to the plate.
"Yeah," I agreed, stepping inside ahead of him because he insisted on it. I might not have allowed sexism at my place, but I would never snub my nose at Malcolm's old-fashioned manners. "I think it is," I agreed, watching as his eyes scanned the room, seeming not to take in the decor at all, or any of the other people gathered around. His eyes had a mission. And as soon as he saw her standing there at the festive red and gold plaid covered tablecloth, arranging cookies onto trays, her long, almost-black hair fallen forward to hide her face from our view, his gaze stayed there.
The man didn't even do a typical once-over.
And she was looking good in her black dress too, since her family tradition had always been to dress up for Christmas dinner whereas some of the others were in Christmas jammies as was theirs.
His gaze stayed on her head as he closed the door to mute the sounds of the room to the rest of the compound, making her head turn, and a slow, beaming smile spread across her features.
"Hey Lo, Malcolm," she greeted, blissfully unaware of the way Malc seemed to stop breathing when she said his name.
She hadn't been around long enough to realize how big it was that he was here. And since no one would ever dare to tell her, she had no idea about the way Malcolm was feeling about her. "Someone made peanut butter blossoms!" she declared as we moved closer, Ashley taking the box from Malcolm since she was in charge of setting the table - a task she took very seriously. "It is taking serious willpower to wait until dessert."
Malcolm's hand moved out, snagging one of the light brown cookies with a little kiss settled in the center, holding it out to her. "It's Christmas, darlin', live it up."
She shot him a wicked little smile as she reached for it.
And I swear that when her fingers brushed his, her cheeks flushed ever so slightly.
I didn't care what was under the tree.
This was Christmas present enough for my hopeless romantic ass.
"Alright, everyone come get your seats!" Ashley declared, a very demanding hostess. "No, Malc, you're over here. We have assigned seating," she added, lying through her freaking teeth. So she could sit Malcolm next to Georgie.
When my pointed gaze caught Ash's across the table, she gave me a conspiratorial smile before taking her own seat.
Oh, it was going to be fun to have someone to talk to about these two needing to get together.
After Christmas dinner.
"Sweetheart," Cash's voice drifted to me through my dream. It was a good one too, my dream. We took off after Christmas to a lodge in Aspen where we played out in the snow and had sex in front of a fire. "Gotta wake up, honey," the voice called again as a finger traced down my jaw. "We have to have Christmas... again," he added as my sleep finally started pulling away, letting my eyes blink slowly open to find Cash kneeling down beside my couch where I had passed out into a cookie coma sometime after presents which I think wrapped up sometime around four in the morning.
"Hey," I mumbled, pushing the hair out of my eyes. "What time is it?"
"Almost nine," he said, giving me a soft smile. "How much sleep did you get?"
"Almost five hours," I said, pushing up.
"So a full night for you," he said with one of those freaking amazing smiles of his that made his dark green eyes light up.
"Just about," I agreed, giving his hand a squeeze as I looked around.
There was wrapping paper and boxes and tissue paper everywhere, something everyone had been too tired to deal with. It would likely sit there another full day before one - or a group of us - got tired of it and cleaned it up. Many of the people had gone off to bed. Ashley was curled up in an armchair using a sweater she had gotten as a present as a blanket.
And right across from me on the only other couch was Malcolm sitting upright, wide awake. With Georgie laying across the couch, passed out on a throw pillow with her legs over his lap. Malc's sweatshirt was resting on her bare legs, likely covering up the way the short hem must have hiked up in her sleep.
Cash's gaze followed mine, then came back to me with dancing eyes. "Sh," I demanded, shaking my head as he helped me off the couch. "Merry Christmas," I whispered to Malc as Cash led me toward the door. He gave me a nod in response, but said nothing.
I had a feeling he was currently enjoying his Christmas present, as sweet and chaste as it was.
"That poor fuck," Cash declared once we were in the hallway, his arm draping over my shoulders, making them slump down slightly as I leaned into his chest.
"The poor fuck?" I asked, taking a deep breath, breathing him in.
"He's so far gone," he told me, stopping to grab my jacket in the entryway, draping it on me before we moved outside where he, thankfully, had a car running and warm, not his bike which I had been half-expecting and a bit dreading since it was cold and I had just woken up.
"I think it will all shake out eventually."
"Of course you do," he said with a smile as he opened my door for me.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked when he climbed into his seat.
"It means you want to see Malcolm happy. And, clearly, this woman is who would make him that."
"He thinks she's too young for him."
"He'll get over it," Cash declared, confidently, as he was inclined to do. "Are you ready for your surprise? I'll have you know it took me over an hour to set it up."
Oh, I was ready alright.
Was there anything more exciting than gift exchanges with new partners? It let you know exactly how well they knew you. And I was maybe curious about what Cash thought I would like.
Was he going to get me a new gun?
Jewelry?
A trip somewhere?
There was no telling.
And, honestly, anything would be welcome.
I wasn't hard to please.
I just needed to know.
So as he led me up the path, insisting I close my eyes as he did so, I felt like my insides were bouncing, a sensation I was sure I hadn't felt since childhood.
The door closed with a click behind me as Cash led me past the living room where the smell of pine was still strong on our pretty gold and silver decorated tree, and, oddly, stopped beside what must have been the dining room table, except the chair wasn't where it would usually be.
"Keep 'em closed," he declared, letting go of me to, I imagined, move to a better position, so he could watch me see whatever it was that he had prepared for me. "Okay, open," he declared, sounding as excited as I felt.
My eyes drifted open to find, well, a tree.
There were twinkle lights and a tree shape.
But it wasn't pine or even that plastic crap.
Oh, no.
It was a tree made entirely of books.
I felt my lips falling open as I moved in closer, inspecting it better, and realizing it wasn't just a tree made entirely of any kind of books.
Nope.
Not my man.
My man knew me way better than that.
It was a tree made entirely of romance novels.
Half naked hunks on the cover and everything.
Because there was no shame in Cash's game.
"I checked them against that spreadsheet you keep in your purse so you don't buy repeats by accident," he told me as my hand reached out to stroke over one of the spines.
"No way," I said, looking over at him, watching the way the white lights were putting a bit of a glow around him. Which seemed fitting somehow, even if he was some badass biker guy.
"Yes way," he said, smile wide, all white teeth and charm. He knew he did good. And he was proud of himself. "And you got a little bit of everything. Got some romantic suspense, some PNR, some straight-up smut... which I expect you to share with me," he added with an eyebrow wiggle.
He liked doing that.
When I was clearly getting into a sex scene in a book, he would let me finish, then recreate it. It was our thing. He really appreciated my penchant for romance novels. It led to an out of this world sex life.
"Of course," I agreed, letting my hand fall from the stack of books even if a huge part of me wanted me to dismantle the tree to see what made up the whole thing. I moved across to him, sliding my hands up his solid belly and chest, going around to loop around the back of his neck. "This is perfect."
"I figured... how many guns does one woman need?" he said, arms sliding down my back to the lowest point of my hips.
"The answer to that is As many as she wants," I said, giving him small eyes. "But this is way better than guns. Or jewelry. Or a vacuum cleaner."
"The fuck would I get you a vacuum cleaner for? I'm the one who does the cleaning."
He wasn't exactly wrong about that. My schedule was a little more demanding than his, meaning I would often have to rush out after dinner when the sink was still full. And would crawl back into bed late in the morning after finding he had already dealt with the dishes.
He was good that way.
But he had also been living his life long before I came into the picture, keeping his place clean when no one else was around to pitch in. So he just kept on keeping on in that way. And when I had free time, I got my scrub on as well. Last time he was out on a run, I had re-grouted the bathroom.
We had a lot of balance.
It worked.
We worked.
God.
It was so amazing, so out of this world unbelievable to me, even after many months to let it sink in, that I had this. That I hadn't wasted my life reading romances that never took place in real life.
Because they did.
They so, so did.
Cash and I were living proof of that fact.
And, let me tell you, the real deal was leaps and bounds better than the fiction.
It wasn't new or novel for me to have a man who I could lean on, who I could go to for advice, or just to be a sounding board. Hailstorm had long-since gotten me over my trust issues with men.
But it was something completely different - and wonderful - to have the lightness Cash gave me. The sweet. The fun. The, well, love.
It hit me all the time still. I could be in the middle of target practice, and some stray thought of Cash would move through me, and I would get the delicious wobble in my belly. Or I could read a text from him - just his typical boyish, charming text - when he was on the road, and my heart would flutter.
I had a feeling that it would never go away, the wonder of it all.
And as Cash pulled me in for a kiss, the music was playing from a speaker somewhere in the living room, words that had never felt truer in my life before.
Love and joy come to you.