Chapter Three

 

By the time I wake up, Mom’s lit a fire in the living room fireplace, which is why I can smell the wonderful scent of burning wood. Smiling to myself, I head into the kitchen to find Mom in the middle of brewing a pot of coffee and making breakfast. She hears my heavy footfalls, though admittedly I’m not very quiet in the morning.

“Good morning,” she beams. It still amazes me how Mom’s so joyful this early. I need at least two cups of coffee before I can be half that chipper.

“Morning,” I yawn. My eyes instinctively travel to the blank bit of tile in front of the sink and I smile to myself. The images of last night are still nice and fresh. “What are you making?” I ask as I fall into one of the chairs at the small, round table in the corner of the kitchen. I immediately cross my arms over the surface.

“Cinnamon rolls,” Mom smiles. “Hungry?” Yawning again, I nod. “Oh, I need you and the boys to bring in some more wood later, okay?”

“Okay,” I grumble as I drop my head into my folded arms. “Why?” I’m honestly struggling not to go back to sleep. Evidently, Adam wore me out more than I thought and the subsequent five hours of sleep wasn’t enough to satiate me.

“It snowed last night, silly.”

 

“Really?” Still groggy, I lift my head and peer through the kitchen window, but truth be told, I can see little more than the bare branches of a tree.

“You didn’t see it?” she asks. I shake my head. “I figured the mug in the sink was yours.”

She’s using the ‘mom’ tone that lets me know she’s mildly annoyed with something I’ve done. I force a crooked smile in response.

“It is,” I freely admit. “But, it wasn’t snowing when I was up. Just a couple flurries.”

“Hmm,” she says and returns her attention to the pastries. “It must’ve come on suddenly.”

Again I nod and let my head fall into my arms. It’s not entirely uncommon for random bouts of snow to appear in the north during winter. ‘Tis the season.

“Morning!” Max’s loud, booming voice makes me jump, but I don’t bother sitting up completely. Instead, I shift just enough to glare at him for his intentional outburst.

“Don’t be an asshole,” I growl.

“Language,” Mom immediately chastises.

“Sorry,” I reply, sounding anything but apologetic. I don’t even have to look up to know she’s shaking her head disappointedly at me. It’s her go-to response after someone curses in her presence.

 

As I continue to half-lay on the table trying to force myself to wake up, Mom goes about telling Max what she needs all of us kids, Adam included, to do later. He grumbles a little because of the time-consuming chore, but he’s not about to tell her no, either. My mom might be a calm, sweet-hearted woman, but you really don’t want to piss her off. Beneath the perfectly coiffed hair, plump cheeks, and rotund frame rests a viper waiting to bite your face off. She’s vicious when she wants to be. Seriously, she’s a little scary.

Eventually, I manage to will myself to my feet and finally get a cup of coffee. The black, steaming liquid’s been calling to me for twenty minutes or more, begging for me to drink its caffeine-y goodness, but I wasn’t able to until now.

As I dump the third teaspoon of sugar into my coffee, I sense the air shift behind me. Given Adam’s the only one who hasn’t joined the powwow in the kitchen, I know it’s him. I still glance over my shoulder, however. His hair’s messed, his clothes a little disheveled, and his eyes at half-mast. It’s cute and causes another rush of feelings through me.

If I was a smarter woman, I’d realize I’m developing actual feelings for the guy who up until now, I’ve tried to prove to the world I can’t stand, but nah. I’ll continue lying to myself even though that small voice in the back of my head’s getting louder the longer I’m around him.

“Good morning, Adam,” Mom greets warmly.

He looks to her and smiles kindly, “Good morning, Mrs. Price.”

“Cynthia,” she scolds playfully. I think she’s flirting and it makes me uncomfortable for more than a few reasons. “Please, call me Cynthia.”

“Okay,” he chuckles.

“Would you like some coffee?”

His gaze drifts to me and that mischievous glint returns to his eyes. The sight of his dimples makes me blush … a feeling that grows worse when he speaks. “Looks delicious,” he replies. The innuendo isn’t lost on me.

My heartbeat quickens and my stomach flutters. That’s the point, and I know it. Jesus, he can be such an ass. Adam saunters to my side and grabs one of the mugs hanging from the tower Mom bought years ago off TV. “Excuse me,” he says as he sidles up next to me and reaches for the coffeepot. Unwilling to let my family see the crimson shade I’m sure is about to overtake my cheeks, I back away and return to my seat. Propping my elbow on the table, I half-bury my face in my hand and return to my sullen, half-asleep state just to save myself from Adam’s silent teasing.

“Now,” Mom’s voice draws my attention. She’s holding the pan now filled with perfectly created cinnamon rolls. “These will be done in about a half an hour, okay?”

There’s a round of mumbled agreement from those of us who’ve been awake for less than an hour. With a smile, Mom pops them in the oven, sets the timer, and heads out of the kitchen to change out of her housecoat and into actual clothes.

“So,” Max chimes. “How’d you sleep, man?”

Instinctually, I glance to Adam and notice him meet my eye briefly before turning his full attention to Max.

“Fine, I guess.” He then adds with a grin: “Bed’s a little small, dude.”

“I know,” Max groans. “Shit, I’m thinking about taking the couch down here tonight.”

“Not a bad idea,” Adam agrees.

“Oh, like you care,” I say to Max. “I’ve seen you fall asleep sitting upright in a waiting room.”

He shoots me a mild glare for my declaration, but it’s true. Being twins, doctor’s visits tended to be a family event. Mom didn’t really want to make separate appointments when it came to things like vaccines and what-have-you, so we’d all go together. Two birds, one stone kind of thing. During many such trips, Max would fall asleep in one of those uncomfortable, stiff plastic chairs. Even when we weren’t waiting that long. And of course, he’s even fallen asleep on that mound of camping gear.

“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes at me, but can’t refute anything I’ve said because he knows I’m right. “Anyway, my mom wants us to do her a favor.”

“Oh yeah?” Adam asks. He proceeds to tell Adam about the firewood and is surprised his friend agrees. Max nods and tells him we’ll all start after breakfast. There’s no telling how much Mom wants us to bring from the shed, but it’s probably a fair amount, which he’s sure to explain to Adam. But Adam doesn’t care. He simply states that he’s grateful our mom’s opened her door to him freely, so a little manual labor doesn’t bother him.

It’s moments like that, when Adam’s being kind and sweet, that make me feel things for him beyond the physical that I really shouldn’t feel. But right now, I don’t care. At all.

 

****

 

For about an hour after breakfast, the three of us have the perfect system. Max is in the shed piling wood into the wheelbarrow, Adam wheels it through the snow to the house, and I unload it on the back porch. Aside from hauling it, Adam helps whomever he is closest to, and because of that, we’ve nearly filled the porch.

As I put the finishing touches on the stack nearest the door, Adam’s returning with another load.

“Max thinks this should be enough,” he says as he sets the wheelbarrow down near the back steps.

“God, I hope so,” I sigh. “This should last a week or more of constant burning.” Adam laughs, but I mean it. We’ve piled wood along the outside of the house roughly three feet high and probably ten feet long. It stretches nearly the entire length of the porch, in fact.

“Let me grab the hammock,” I tell him before he can start unloading the final bundle. “Then we can take that shit inside.”

Adam nods and I disappear inside before returning shortly after with a giant piece of what is essentially a tarp. With practiced motions, I lay it open on the porch and together, we start stacking wood onto it. When there’s a pile of about ten pieces, I tell him we can take it inside and come back for the rest.

I slip my hands through the loops at my corners of the tarp, he does the same to the opposite end, and together we lift the heavy piece of dense fabric. Waddling into the house is awkward, but this isn’t my first time. As kids, every winter Max and I were responsible for restocking the firewood.

After we pile it into the wood rack near the fireplace, we head for the back porch again, but never quite make it. Adam suddenly grabs my hips hard, and pulls me against his chest. He nuzzles in the nape of my neck just behind the crook of my jaw. His nose is freezing, but I don’t mind.

“Where are you going?” he asks playfully.

“Back outside,” I tell him. “We need to finish this.”

He spins me around and pulls me close once again. “It can wait a minute.”

“Can it?” I tease.

“I haven’t kissed you today,” he says as he brushes his lips across mine.

“We had sex, like, ten hours ago, Adam.”

“Too long,” he says. Then he leans forward and kisses me without a care as to who might see, and I’m left dizzy from the compliment. Granted, we’re off to the side, hidden just out of sight in the mudroom––but there’s a distinct chance that either my mother or Max might find us. Still, the knowledge of being caught only adds to the excitement Adam already brings out in me. It’s the taboo of it, the fact that we know we’d be in trouble if we’re ever discovered that fuels us, and we know it.

My body tingles as I kiss Adam passionately again. I’m more than willing to stoke the fires and leave him hanging: he’s done it to me before. But it doesn’t seem we’ll have the chance. While locked together and slipping deeper into my desire for him, I hear something that makes my overheated blood run cold in a millisecond.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

It’s Max.

Adam and I go rigid. We part slowly, like it’ll somehow make the situation better if there are no sudden movements. I catch a glimpse of Adam’s blank, borderline horrified expression before I turn to see Max standing in the archway separating our hiding spot from the back door. His face is primarily emotionless, but his bright green eyes are shades darker than normal and set solely on Adam.

“Hey, man.” Adam’s voice shakes nervously when he speaks.

“Seriously?” Max’s tone is distorted with a growing anger he’s clearly trying to subdue. “Are you fucking my sister?” Adam doesn’t reply so Max’s clouded eyes shift to me. The sight of them actually makes my stomach twist. “Well?”

My mouth opens, but the words aren’t coming out. No matter how hard I try, I just can’t speak. His gaze darts back to Adam and he points a stern finger at his former friend.

“I’m gonna kill you.”

Without warning, Max lunges forward. He spins around me with expert precision and reaches for Adam, but the giant is one step ahead of him and dodges the swipe.

“Dude, just calm down!” he exclaims while trying to avoid Max’s ire. “Let me explain.”

“Explain what?” Max is practically daring him to lie about what he clearly witnessed. “That’s my sister, man!” he yells. “You don’t fuck your friends’ sisters! It’s the fucking rule!”

Max’s voice is echoing off the kitchen walls as he continues to try and get a hold of Adam, but Adam’s wily. He’s making sure he keeps anything between them, whether it be the kitchen island or the round little table. He’s just trying to keep from being punched in the face, which is a distinct possibility.

“Max, just stop it!” I finally shout. Honestly, I’m a little surprised I have the strength to speak.

“Stay out of this!” he snaps at me before returning to Adam. “What’s wrong? The groupies not enough for you? You had to get a hold of Chris, too? Is that it?”

“It’s not like that, man.” Adam’s pleading, desperately trying to deescalate the situation. “We’re just,” he immediately snaps his mouth shut. The truth isn’t going to help and he realizes it too late.

“Just what?” Max repeats angrily. “Just what? Fuck-buddies? What’s the matter? My sister’s not good enough for you, or something?”

Adam’s face twists with confusion. First, he’s being yelled at for touching me, and now he’s being yelled at for not dating me? What?

“I…” Adam stammers. He doesn’t know how to proceed, and I don’t blame him. I don’t even know what’s going through Max’s mind anymore.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Max keeps berating his friend while they circle the kitchen table. “She’s not good enough.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Adam’s lost, and so am I.

“We’re done,” Max continues. “We’re fucking done, you hear me? I’m out. You can find another guitarist, because I’m fucking gone!”

“Hey!” Mom’s voice slices through the tense atmosphere immediately. The kitchen goes deathly still and all eyes shift to the short woman standing within the archway that leads to the dining room. Her face is twisted with anger, and she looks terrifying. I haven’t seen her this mad since I was a kid, and adult or not, it still scares me.

“What the hell is going on here?” All of us are stunned into silence under the weight of her gaze. “Maxwell Alan Price.” He flinches when she speaks to him. “Go to your room.”

“But, Mom, I––”

An angry scowl is all it takes to silence him. Twenty-eight or not, he goes to his room like his mommy tells him to.

“Christina Marie Price.” My blood runs cold when she looks at me. “Room, now.” I mumble yes, ma’am under my breath and all but run to the safety of my room upstairs. I don’t even bother looking at Adam. It’s every man for himself.

No sooner do I close my bedroom door behind me than I press my ear to it. I know I shouldn’t spy, but seriously, something’s about to go down, and I want to know what. But I can’t hear anything. My mom’s voice travels when she’s mad, but there’s nothing. That actually freaks me out more.

Did she kill him? Did she eat him? What’s going on?

For more than a half an hour, I’m left without answers. And I know it’s half an hour because I keep looking at my alarm clock as I pace nervously in my room. Eventually, though, there’s a knock on my door. For a moment, I’m almost afraid to answer it, but I don’t have to. Mom appears and lets the thin slab of wood swing open completely.

She says nothing, but I know in the silence that I’m free to leave my room. Albeit apprehensively, I do just that. I hear a knock on another door, Max’s, and see Mom walk by before I bravely peek into the hall. Mom’s already making her way downstairs by the time Max and I emerge. We’re both freaked out by her silent treatment, but the moment he sees me, his agitation returns. Rolling his eyes and grumbling under his breath, he walks past my bedroom and heads downstairs, too. After a few breaths, I do the same.

Mom’s alone, sitting at the kitchen table like nothing’s happened.

“Sit.”

The word is spoken without tone, but Max and I know better. We instantly do as she says.

“Now,” she begins, “I don’t know what that was about…”

I know that’s a lie. Mom’s an expert at getting people to talk, and Adam hasn’t been around her long enough to build up immunity, so he’s probably spilled everything. The thought makes me want to curl into myself, because that means Mom knows about me and him.

“…but, Adam’s decided to stay at a hotel.”

My heart sinks, but given Max’s lack of response to the declaration, it’s clear I’m the only one who hadn’t known. Considering there wasn’t a hint of arguing while I was banished to my bedroom, I assume Mom went and got Adam’s things, letting him leave without having to confront Max again.

“Now, the two of you need to move past this, you hear me?” she looks at the two of us and we both give her a solemn nod. “Good.” She stands from her seat and adds, “I’ll make some lunch.”

And that’s it. That is the extent of our ‘talking to’ and I don’t know how I feel about it. Merry Christmas Eve… I guess.