Small Cheer

 

“I heard that you went clubbing last week,” Ethan said, glancing at me from the driver’s seat with a smile.

My laugh was humorless. “Of course you did.” I had no doubt that the entire team heard all about my evening out with Melissa and her friends.

“What did you think? Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes and no. It was kind of overwhelming, all the people and noise. But once I relaxed a little, I had fun dancing.” Especially dancing with Knox, I added silently.

“Who knew there was a social butterfly hiding under your bookworm persona?”

I bit back a snort. “Hardly. I’m perfectly happy to be a card-carrying member of the Reclusive Bookworms Club.”

Ethan’s deep voice rumbled with laughter. “I didn’t realize they passed out cards.”

“Shhhh,” I said, pressing a finger over my lips. “We like to keep it a secret.”

I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes, taking a few moments to mentally prepare for the evening ahead. With Knox and Theo out of town, Ethan had volunteered to drive me to Patrick’s for Thanksgiving dinner. I wasn’t exactly dreading the dinner, but I wasn’t in a particularly social mood either.

Not surprisingly, the holiday reminded me of my dad. Since it was always just the two of us, we never made the day into a major event. But, we had our own little traditions of watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade and then football in the afternoon. Sometimes I would even convince him to watch Miracle on 34th Street with me in the evening—if I bribed him with his favorite pie.

Sensing Ethan watching me, I opened my eyes and straightened my posture. I knew the best way to divert attention from myself was to shift it to him, so I found myself asking, “Do you normally go to Patrick’s for Thanksgiving?”

“I wouldn’t say that I have a ‘normal’ when it comes to holidays.”

I recognized his vague response as a brushoff, but I decided to delve further anyway. All I knew about his background was that his mother had been ill at some point, and he lived in an apartment above his aunt’s garage.

“You don’t spend holidays with your aunt?”

“Sometimes. She’s out of town visiting extended family, but she’ll be home for Christmas this year.”

Sheesh. Getting him to open up is like pulling teeth. I hesitated, trying to decide if I should pursue my next question or not. Just do it, Haley. “And your parents . . .?”

Ethan remained silent, staring straight ahead. I felt a pang of guilt when I noticed his knuckles turning white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly.

“I shouldn’t have pried. You don’t have to answer.”

He shook his head as if to clear his mind. “My father was killed in the line of duty when I was eight. Shortly after, my mom became ill and her health slowly deteriorated until her death seven years ago.”

I reached my hand out to place it on his forearm but stopped myself since he was driving, and I didn’t want to distract him. “I’m so sorry, Ethan. I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t worry about it. It is what it is.” Easier said than done; I could tell his parents’ deaths still weighed heavily on him.

“Your father was a police officer?”

“Yeah, a homicide detective, actually.” He laughed darkly, “So it’s not like he was home for Thanksgiving every year anyway. But, man did he love his job. He would tell me things that no boy that age should hear, and I worshipped him. Wanted to be just like him.”

Ethan finally looked at me and must have noticed my somber expression because he said, “Don’t be sad. I have plenty of happy memories from my childhood. And it’s not like you’re a stranger to losing a parent.”

I smiled weakly. No, but at least I had—have—my dad.

 

*  *  *

 

Patrick raised his glass. “Small cheer and a great welcome makes a merry feast.”

I raised my glass to meet Patrick’s before clinking glasses with Jackson, then Ethan.

“The Comedy of Errors, right?” I asked.

Patrick nodded, clearly impressed.

“Thanks again for inviting me; this looks delicious.” I eyed my plate full of food. Moist turkey, cranberry sauce, roasted potatoes, gravy, and green beans vied for space on my dish. The smells wafting through the house were so incredible, I would have never guessed the food had been catered.

“Anyone who can appreciate a Shakespeare reference is always welcome. And we are happy to have you with us for Thanksgiving.”

I couldn’t help watching Jackson after Patrick’s statement; I was pretty sure Jackson was not happy to share his holiday with me, but his face remained an impenetrable mask. He may have put on a good show for Patrick, but I knew better. Ever since the gala, things had gone from bad to worse with Jackson, and my strategy to avoid him had been mostly successful.

If only Knox and Theo were here, I thought. When Knox shared Patrick’s invitation earlier in the week, he encouraged me to accept and mentioned that he and Theo were heading out of town for a few days. Apart from a text message from Theo wishing me a “Happy Thanksgiving from the Bennett brothers,” I hadn’t heard much from them.

Maybe they went home to visit family? I didn’t even know where “home” was for them. But I imagined if that was the case, they would have told me. And what about Chase and Liam? While Chase was probably spending time with Kyle and his grandmother, I had no clue where Liam was. He wasn’t on a work assignment on Thanksgiving, was he? Just because they aren’t here doesn’t mean they’re working, I thought. But when I realized that any one of them might be at a girlfriend’s house, I decided I preferred the work assignment theory.

Jackson, Patrick, and Ethan conversed easily while I ate silently and glanced around the room. Patrick’s home seemed even more welcoming than normal. The fireplace roared in the background and music played softly through invisible speakers. The large wooden table looked like an upscale magazine spread, topped with candles and a display of pumpkins and crimson flower arrangements.

Patrick cleared his throat. “We have a tradition for Thanksgiving. As Jackson and Ethan know, I like to go around the table and ask everyone to share something or someone they are grateful for. Jackson, why don’t you start.”

Jackson wiped the corner of his lips with his napkin before returning it to his lap. “I am thankful for you, Uncle, as always. And, I’m thankful for supportive friends, even when they disagree with me.”

Interesting. I noticed a subtle shift in Ethan at Jackson’s statement.

“Ethan, you’re up,” Patrick said.

“I’m thankful for my aunt’s fiancé, Jonathan, for giving her the happiness she deserves.”

Patrick raised his glass. “To the happy couple. I guess he finally proposed?”

Ethan nodded.

“Are they kicking you out of the nest?” Jackson interjected.

“And risk losing their live-in handyman?”

“Surely Jonathan can handle it?”

Ethan just laughed in response.

“Alright, Haley. Your turn.” Patrick smiled gently, encouraging me to speak up.

“Well, since I’m noticing a theme here, I guess I’ll stick with it.” I paused. “I’m thankful to Knox and Theo for welcoming me into their home. Patrick?”

“I’m thankful for all of you—for being my family. And I’m grateful for my friendships with Kenneth, Marc, and Alan.”

Jackson nudged Patrick with his elbow. “Predictable.”

“Well, can you blame me? My life wouldn’t be the same without them, or you. Any of you. And I’ve known them over half my life.”

“Wow, that’s a long time,” I said, and then cringed when Jackson’s head tilted to the side, an impish grin forming on the corner of his lips. Shaking my head, I stuttered, “I didn’t mean a long time; you’re not very old. Shoot. I mean not old at all.” I huffed, feeling exasperated. “I’m only making this worse.”

“Pretty much,” Ethan said, but I could hear the amusement in his voice.

“It’s okay, Haley.” Patrick smiled warmly. “I know I have my share of gray hairs. Mostly thanks to this guy.” He cocked his head toward Jackson.

“Don’t you dare pin that all on me. We both know Liam had as much to do with them as I did.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Patrick muttered to a round of laughter.

I looked down at my plate, surprised to find it almost empty. The food was delicious, and despite the unspoken standoff between me and Jackson, I was enjoying myself.

“If I’m not mistaken, you listed the Zenith co-founders as friends. Out of curiosity,” I said, hoping I wasn’t overstepping a boundary, “which came first, the business or the friendships?” I was genuinely interested about anything relating to Zenith, and my internet searches had returned next to nothing. For a company committed to their clients’ secrets, they were big on keeping their own as well.

“The short answer to your question is that we were friends before forming Zenith.”

“And the long answer . . .?” I asked, hoping Patrick would fill in the blanks.

Jackson folded his napkin and placed it on the table. “I need some pie if you’re going to tell this story.”

“I second that,” Ethan said, as he and Jackson rose from the table. They cleared the dishes, leaving Patrick and me alone in the dining room.

Patrick leaned back in his chair. “You really want to know?”

I nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“When I was about Jackson’s age, I joined a military special operations unit, and that’s where I met Kenneth Jones, Alan Smith, Marc Gonzales, and William Carlyle.”

“Carlyle? As in Liam Carlyle?” I asked.

Patrick nodded. “One in the same. William was Liam’s father.”

I let that information soak in as Patrick continued with his story.

“As you can imagine, with the nature of the work, we formed a strong bond. The five of us worked well together and completed a number of successful missions. Unfortunately, after a few years, we felt that we were being stifled.

“Long story short, assignments that should have been simple became bureaucratic nightmares. It seemed nearly impossible to get our jobs done; eventually, we all decided that we’d had enough and wanted out. We kept in touch but went our separate ways, taking civilian jobs and trying to live more normal lives.”

Jackson and Ethan returned with four plates of dessert. I smiled gratefully at Ethan when he placed one in front of me. A giant slice of pumpkin pie topped with whipped cream rested next to an equally large slice of apple-cranberry pie with ice cream.

“Um, wow. Thanks. Are you sure this is all for me?”

Ethan pulled out the chair next to mine. “Well, if you can’t finish, I’m always happy to help out.”

Jackson and Ethan grew quiet as they dug into their pie.

“Mmm, buttery, flakey goodness,” Ethan said quietly between bites, causing me to laugh.

“So what happened next?” I asked.

“A few years later, several of us broached the idea of forming a private security company. We were unfulfilled and bored, and we hoped that having our own company would free us from many of the constraints we operated under as part of the military.

“By that time, William had already moved to England to be with his wife and wasn’t able to join us. Alan, Marc, Kenneth, and I opened the office in D.C., and eventually the company grew to the four offices we have today.”

“Impressive. Do you still enjoy running Zenith?”

“Absolutely,” Patrick answered without hesitation as he dug into his pie. “Haley, this cranberry-apple pie is amazing.”

Jackson and Ethan nodded their agreement.

“Thanks,” I said, pleased that my pies were a success.

“The sweetness of the apples and the tartness of the cranberries really complement each other,” Jackson added.

“Speaking of sweet-tart flavor, you know what else sounds good? Cherry pie. Will you make one for me?” Ethan smiled and batted his eyelashes as if that alone would convince me to bake him another pie. “Please?”

I laughed. “No, but I’ll give you the recipe so you can.”

Patrick chuckled.

After finishing dessert, I excused myself to the restroom. I checked my phone for messages and wasn’t disappointed.

Tyler: Gobble Gobble. Happy Thanksgiving.

Me: Happy Thanksgiving!

Tyler: My mom fed us so much you’d think she was fattening us up for slaughter.

Me: Haha. Did your team win the family football showdown?

Tyler: Of course!

Me: Go Team!

After trading numbers with Tyler, he began texting me every so often. It started with a link to the baking article he had mentioned at lunch and continued with the occasional random text message. He was witty, and I often found myself laughing at his quips.

Walking back through the kitchen toward the dining room, I found Ethan and Jackson rinsing dishes before loading them in the dishwasher. Ethan dried his hands on a towel. “I’m heading out. Thanks again for dinner, Patrick. And Haley, amazing pies; feel free to make them any time you want.”

“I’m going to walk Ethan out,” Patrick said. “Then we can watch a movie if you want.”

Even though Patrick was only gone for a few minutes, the silence between me and Jackson stretched on. I busied myself with the dishes and leftovers, doing my best to avoid speaking or even looking at him.

“Now that it’s just the three of us, will someone please tell me what’s going on with the two of you?” Patrick’s voice was pleasant, like he was commenting on the weather, but I sensed the authority behind his question.

I froze for a second and then continued scooping leftover potatoes into a glass container, avoiding eye contact with both men. I should have known Patrick would pick up on the tension between me and Jackson; we weren’t exactly hiding it. But, I didn’t particularly want to answer the question. Considering Patrick had posed it, I was hoping that Jackson would step up to the plate.

After a few long moments of silence, Jackson spoke up and I forced myself to look at him. He addressed Patrick but directed his gaze at me. “I haven’t been especially transparent with Haley regarding the situation with her father. Because of that she’s been rather,” he paused, as if searching for an appropriate term, “standoffish with me.”

I bit my tongue to keep from scoffing at Jackson’s choice of words. But, I had to give him credit; at least he admitted his mistake. I had a feeling that was unusual for him.

Patrick must have found Jackson’s admission humorous, because he kept a straight face, but his eyes were twinkling with amusement. “Given your transgressions, you should be happy that Haley has only been standoffish with you, my boy.”

Jackson leaned casually against the counter. “You’re so right, Uncle. In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I must declare that I am truly grateful for her benevolence.”

I gave them a wry smile. “And to think, I was just pondering how truly grateful I am for the bacon and eggs that will accompany my leftover potatoes in the morning.” I covered one side of my mouth and whispered loudly to Patrick, “Please tell me you have bacon.”

Patrick laughed and patted me on the back as he exited the kitchen. “Don’t worry, Haley. We have plenty of eggs and bacon.” Turning back to me and Jackson, he gave us a stern look. “If I leave you two alone to finish cleaning up, can I trust you to work this out?”

After Jackson murmured his agreement and I nodded, Patrick smiled. “Great. I’ll get everything ready in the media room.”

Returning to the leftovers, I contemplated what to say. Jackson hadn’t exactly apologized, but the acknowledgment of his “poor choices” was a good start. Maybe it was time for me to bite the bullet and give him another chance.

“Jackson—”

“Haley—”

Waving my hand, I said, “Go ahead.”

“I know you’ve been mad at me, but I’m hoping I can make it up to you.”

“Okay . . .”

“The guys and I were discussing you, and—”

“Wait. You were discussing me?”

Jackson sighed. “Nothing bad. I just meant that we talked and thought you might like to join me, Liam, Ethan, and Knox in San Francisco for a few days. Since we’ll be there on assignment, we’ll be working quite a bit the first couple of days. But it’ll give you an opportunity to get away and relax, and we can all go sightseeing on the weekend.”

I forced myself to remain stoic, but all I could think about was that I would finally be able to check out my dad’s safe deposit box. And even without that incentive, of course I’d want to go.

“When are you going?” I asked, proud of my breezy tone.

“In two weeks. We’ll leave Wednesday and drive home on Sunday.”

Shrugging nonchalantly, I replied, “Sure. Sounds fun.”

Jackson gave me a knowing smirk, clearly not buying my disinterest. “Okay, it’s a plan.”

The invitation to San Francisco was a step in the right direction, so I was willing to give Jackson the benefit of the doubt. But, clearly he was more than capable of saying one thing and doing another. Only time would tell if he was being sincere, if his actions would end up matching his words.