Austin’s whole face ached as he woke up the morning following Boxing Day. No. Ache was the wrong word. It throbbed. Pulse after pulse of throbbing agony gripped his face as he fought to open his eyes. Damn, even those hurt. Why did his face hurt? Probably because he’d been scowling all night. Eventually those muscles in his eyebrows and mouth had atrophied, and he ended up staring blankly at Hunter’s butt. But now those muscles were getting their sweet retribution.

He groaned as he finally fluttered his lashes open and took in his dimly lit room. Thank God for blackout shades. What time was it? Was the trip over yet? Had he slept December 27th away? A part of him hoped he had. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand.

Shit. Nine-forty on December 27th.

He still had over twenty-four hours to go. One more day. One more day of this, and then he could return home to his boring, Hunter-free, fun-free, friendless life. One more day.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and went to sit up. Black spots clouded his vision, and a small but loud and vivacious marching band picked up their instruments to start playing his high school homecoming song over and over again inside his head. The pain behind his eyes doubled, throbbing. He closed his eyes and trust-fell back into the pillows, rubbing his thumb and forefinger over the bridge of his nose to relieve the pain. Blurry images of the previous night flashed through his head like some trippy time travel scene in a movie. Jesus Christ, could things have gone any worse?

Hunter, as a last ditch attempt to be his friend, or more, had put down an Arkells song for her karaoke pick. And when her turn came, she’d turned to Austin, and with a sexy smile that had made his throat close up and his dick jerk in his pants, had asked him to join her.

Ah, hell no!

Hunter or not, Austin was terrified of public speaking or being in front of a crowd. He’d shaken his head and looked back down into his beer, deciding when the waitress came over that tequila was necessary. He was going to drink until he couldn’t feel how big of an ass he was being. Until he was numb.

He figured she would just drop it and either go up alone or pass on the idea altogether, and it had looked as though she was about to, something that made Austin’s guts spin and twist inside him. He hated seeing her so upset. But then Rowan grabbed her hand and pulled her up on stage.

“I’ll sing with you, Hunter,” he’d said. All smiles and a toss of golden hair. Austin had sat there glaring at him. The two hadn’t sung exceptionally well. Hunter was better than Rowan, but neither of them could hold a tune to save their lives. But that wasn’t what had killed him. What had destroyed his very soul was the look Hunter gave him while she was on stage. It was a look of defeat, slowly replaced by resolution as the song went on. And when Rowan wrapped his arm around her and planted a kiss on her temple, Hunter’s eyes had flashed revenge at him. And she’d done just that.

For the rest of the night after her duet with Rowan, Hunter was a social butterfly. She’d danced with multiple guys, several times with that Hank twat, laughed and giggled, and smiled at every compliment and ounce of attention thrown her way. She hadn’t even glanced at Austin again. But he’d watched her. She was all he saw. Every time Hunter danced with someone or laughed at their stupid joke, accepted a drink or smiled at a suitor, Austin did a shot.

He’d been heavy-lidded and hallucinating in the booth by the time Will and Rowan tossed his arms over their shoulders and hauled him out of the bar. He didn’t even remember the walk down the hill to the cabin. All he remembered, and he still couldn’t be clear if it was a dream, a hallucination or reality, was when Rowan and Will tossed him onto his bed, he still felt the presence of someone there, heard a voice, a soft, sweet voice. But that voice was frustrated. Even through its melodic hum, there was disbelief and anger in the tone. His boots were removed, as was his coat, all by the light and delicate touch of a sweet-smelling angel. Then that angel drew a blanket up and over him before turning out the light.

He wasn’t sure if he’d mumbled anything or not. His head felt fuzzy and his mouth a sewer, but the gasp and then click of the door were the last things he clearly remembered hearing. Neither of them gave him any comfort or eased his drunken pain.

It wasn’t until sometime later that morning, perhaps a few hours, so maybe it was lunchtime, that Austin finally felt a little less like death and managed to pry both his eyelids open and his sorry ass out of bed. He still had a killer headache determined to tear off his prefrontal lobe, but at least now he didn’t see spots every time he moved faster than a geriatric sloth.

A shower, shave and brushed teeth did wonders, and by the time he finished the last button on his black shirt, he wasn’t feeling horrible, just . . . guilty. He’d behaved like a giant asshole. Probably to everyone, not only Hunter, and now he had to go and face the music.

He put his ear to the door.

Nothing.

Opened the door a crack.

Nothing.

Took a couple of steps down the hallway toward the main living area.

Nothing.

Where was everyone?

He noticed a note taped to the kitchen counter as he wandered in and poured himself some coffee.

Shit! Hunter was over visiting Sam. The steaming coffee in his festive painted mug was no match for the blood that bubbled hot through Austin’s veins. The handle on the mug snapped off at the image of Sam taking Hunter by the hand and leading her off to a quiet corner, where lo and behold, a mistletoe hung overhead as he confessed his true, hidden feelings for her. Austin looked down at his hands to where one held the mug and the other held the handle.

Holy shit.

He turned into The Hulk when he got mad.

He had to get a grip. But he couldn’t get that picture out of his head now that he’d put it there. Hunter and Sam in a heated lip-lock under the mistletoe. Finding their Christmas happily ever after.

“No!” he said, not realizing he’d said it out loud until he heard his voice echo back to him in the cavernous, empty log cabin. Shaking his head, he switched mugs, grabbing a new one from the cupboard and putting the other one, the broken one, on the counter. He would see if he could find some Super Glue and try to fix it.

Should he toss on his boots and head to the Wrights’ house, too? Stake his claim? Would that be weird? Yes, it probably would be. Especially since he wasn’t entirely sure but would beg to guess that he’d not only ruined his chances from here to eternity with Hunter, but he was no longer on speaking terms with the others. He’d probably done something or said something to make them all mad at him. Or the women were rallying with Hunter and taking her side. Either way, he was happy for the solitude.

“How’s your head?”

Austin spun around. Amber was coming in from the garage, all sweaty in nothing but a sports bra and tight black capris.

“Did you go for a run?” he asked before realizing how stupid a question it was. It was a blizzard out there.

She shook her head and walked behind him to the cupboard, where she grabbed a glass and then proceeded to fill it with water from the tap. “No, I found a stationary spin bike in the garage. A good quality one too. So I hopped on for an hour. I’m not used to this idle lifestyle. I’m always moving, always busy. I’ll be sedentary when I’m dead.”

Austin shook his head and added a splash of eggnog to his coffee from the carton. He ran when he could, did crunches and push-ups at home most evenings before bed, but he was enjoying the downtime. He didn’t care if he put on five pounds this week, it’d been great to just de-frag. He mentally slapped himself.

De-frag, my ass. You’re more fucked up now than when you came.

“You okay, there?” Amber asked, giving him a lone quirked eyebrow. “Trying to figure out how to free Tibet or something?”

“Or something,” he muttered.

“Can I ask you something?” She pitched one hip into the side of the counter before draining her water. She filled it again, then stood waiting for his answer.

He nodded. He knew where this was going. She was going to ask him about last night. About Hunter. About his behavior. He had it coming. He deserved it.

“Does it bother you that Will isn’t doing anything around here?”

Wait, what?

“W-what do you mean?”

She lifted one sweaty freckled shoulder. “I mean you take care of the fire, the driveway, the porch, the firewood. Rowan and Juney are constantly in the kitchen. Hunter and I do dishes, sweep, tidy. We’ve even put in a few loads of towels since we’ve been here and done laundry. But Will hasn’t done anything. Nothing. Hasn’t lifted a finger. Does that bother you?”

“It obviously bothers you,” he said.

She nibbled on her lower lip and looked away before speaking again. “Yeah . . . a little. I mean, I’m not even sure he’s conscious of it.”

“I did notice you invited him to do the dishes and cleanup with you on Christmas and he declined before wandering off to go call his aunt or something.”

She grumbled. “Yeah, I did. And yeah, he did.”

“He’s used to being the boss at work. Maybe he just doesn’t know how it looks.”

“Perhaps.” She took a sip of her water. “Let’s talk about last night, shall we? What the fuck happened?”

Austin groaned. Amber tilted her head and suggested they both go sit down in the living room. He followed her in and took a seat on the couch. The blankets were all folded and neatly set on the arm; he couldn’t help himself and brought one up to his nose. This was Hunter’s favorite, and it smelled like her. She’d glommed onto it the first night, claiming it as “hers,” saying she loved how silky-soft the cashmere was. Whenever she was in the living room, it was draped around her in some way.

“Boy, you’ve got it bad,” Amber said blandly. “Smelling her blanket. Jeez, what, did she lock her room so you couldn’t go in there and do it to her pillow or panties?”

He dropped the blanket like it had just caught fire and glared at her. “No!”

Amber laughed. “Relax. I’m kidding. When Will gets up to pee in the morning, I roll over and sniff his pillow.” Her gaze flew over to the front door and then back at him. “Tell a fucking soul I just told you that and I’ll make sure you never see another Christmas.”

He swallowed and nodded. Jesus Christ, the tiny redhead was scary when the possibility of her having any emotion besides indifferent or mildly entertained was about to be revealed.

“Let’s talk about last night. Fuck, let’s talk about this whole trip. What the hell is up with you and blondie?”

He shook his head before letting his gaze fall to his lap. He was a coward. Unable to even look Amber in the eye. Hunter was too good for him. “She’s out of my league. So far out of my league. She’s successful, beautiful, experienced, social. All things I’m not. It wouldn’t work, and I don’t want to lead her on. That’s what I did to the last women I was with, even though I didn’t even know it. But I won’t do that to Hunter.”

“How did you lead them on?” She took a seat on the leather ottoman.

“They seduced me. I slept with them. They asked to come over again. I slept with them again. When they asked if we were together, I said ‘yes,’ not really knowing what to do or wanting the sex to stop. But then I never called them, never asked them out, never pursued the relationship past the second time we had sex. I did this three times.”

“Why?”

“If I knew why, I wouldn’t be doing it.”

“Dude.”

He rolled his eyes, but he still was unwilling to look at her. Amber had this disconcerting way about her. She was definitely in boss-lady mode. “What?” he finally snapped, glaring at her.

“Talk to me.”

“What’s there to talk about?”

“Why you’re afraid to even talk to Hunter. Start there.”

“I told you why.”

“Okay then, start before you came up to the cabin. Tell me about school, about growing up this super-genius kid who’s destined to change the world.”

“See,” he said petulantly, “you’re exactly like everyone else. All you see is the brain.”

“And there’s more to you?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.”

He let out a sigh and ran his fingers through his hair before crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I skipped four grades. Four, five, seven and eight. I went to private school and took mostly AP classes in my senior year, and those classes allowed me to skip the majority of my freshman year in college. I pretty much started out as a sophomore when I was barely fifteen. Do you know how hard it was being the baby in the class? Not to mention the smartest person in the class?”

“No, I do not.”

“It fucking sucks. Eventually the professors just started deferring to me and posing their questions directly at me. I didn’t even put my hand up to answer. I wasn’t this eager-beaver brown-noser. But everyone thought I was.”

“Tough to make friends, then?”

He scoffed sarcastically. “Uh, yeah. You could say that.”

“And being the younger person, you probably weren’t as mature as the rest.”

“Nope. Smarter but not more mature. I was still just a baby. At first, the teachers thought I’d play catch-up and follow my peers. That they would inspire me to mature quicker. My parents knew better. They were on the fence about me skipping grades, but the school pressured them. Said I was disruptive in my current classes because I was bored. I don’t think I was. I’ve always been a pretty easygoing kid. I think it was all about the school and how good it would make them look. Who cares how it affected me emotionally, psychologically, socially or otherwise.”

“So now you’re this socially awkward genius, Sheldon-type guy? Who has only been laid a handful of times because he has no idea how to act around women, because when all his classmates were twenty-year-old co-eds banging in the dorms, he was fifteen with his nose in a book?”

“You got it. Toss in some cystic acne, gangly limbs, a squeaky voice and big thick glasses, and you’ve got yourself one giant geek.”

“Hmm.” She drained her water, then put it down on the coffee table before drawing her bottom lip back between her teeth and nibbling away on it in thought. “That’s dumb.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re using these reasons and excuses as a crutch. Take the fucking crutch away. Break that bastard. Chuck it in the motherfucking fire. You’re twenty-seven years old and you’ve been using this ‘socially awkward’ label for years. Have you done anything to change it? Asked a girl out? You’re with your peers now. We’re all the same age. You have to have caught up by now. The acne’s gone, your voice is deep, you’ve put on muscle and clearly went and got contacts. You’re twenty-seven on the outside but still sixteen on the inside. Cut the crap, man, and grow the fuck up. You’ve treated Hunter like shit all week.”

“I know.”

“Then do something about it.”

He looked back down at his knotted hands. “Did I . . . Did I do anything to offend you or Juney last night? I—I don’t remember much.”

She made a dismissive noise at the back of her throat, then stood up. “Nope. You were fine. Kept muttering under your breath that you were going to put a hit out on Hank with the money you’ll make from this super-secret project you and Reginald Carruthers are working on. But that’s about it.”

“Oh, good.” He let out a weighted sigh, his shoulder slumping as a few of the invisible dumbbells slipped off.

“Though you did tell anyone at the bar who would listen that your super-secret project is for Audi.”

He could still hear her laughter down the hallway as he sat there staring out the window, his mouth open and his eyes unblinking. He was never drinking again.