Spencer’s loud sobs echo through the police station. He sits on a bench across from my brother, too miserable to scream at him.

"Ruined. It’s all ruined!" The drama at the parade hit Spencer particularly hard. "There’s already a local article reporting about the drunken Santa."

"This doesn’t reflect badly on you. I’m the idiot." Discomfort fills Liam’s gaze as Spencer cries. Liam pats his shoulder. "It’s all right, man. Everyone had a good time."

Spencer rips his arm from Liam. "If the police won’t charge you for destroying my event, fine. But don’t think for one second I won’t get you for this."

Liam leans forward, whispering. "We’re in a police station, dude."

"I don’t care!"

This is the part where I step in. "Er—why don’t we all calm down and dial back the threats? My brother is a total dick. He will make amends."

"It’s too late!"

I roll my eyes. "Let’s not blow things out of proportion. The event was a success. Look at the reviews on your Facebook page."

"I’m out of here." Spencer stands and storms down the hall.

"Merry Christmas!" Liam calls, earning himself a double-bird. "Well, damn."

"Can you blame him? He spent months preparing for this, and you fucked it up."

"I know." Liam deflates, shaking his head. "Will they let me go?"

"Let’s see." I leave his side, walking to the cluster of police officers. One of them approaches me, hesitation written all over his features.

"You’re Ronan Smith, right?" he asks. "QB of the Flames?"

I thought no one would recognize me here. "Yep."

A wide grin cracks his face. "I’m Officer Blythe. Thrilled to meet you."

A fan. Sweet. Things are looking up. "Nice to meet you, too."

"Can I get a pic with you? Just one."

"Sure. Take as many as you like."

I wrap my arm around the thirty-something cop and smile as his friend snaps a photo. He takes several variations of landscape and portraits before stepping aside.

Officer Blythe thumbs through the photos, grinning. "These are awesome. Thanks!"

"No problem." I begged them not to press charges against Liam. Hopefully, he’s off the hook.

"I can’t believe you’re from Danville. I’m a huge fan."

Thank God. "I'm sorry for what my brother did. He wasn't trying to start a riot, honestly. He just wanted to spread some Christmas cheer."

"Well, he could’ve caused a serious situation. I’m willing to let this go with a citation, but he needs to apologize."

"Thank you." I squeeze his arm. "You have no idea how happy you just made my mom."

"No problem."

I turn from the officers, walking to my brother. He’s the saddest-looking Santa Claus in the world. A couple hours in the drunk tank mellowed him out and stripped away his grin. For once in his life, Liam isn’t smug.

I sigh loudly, drawing his gaze. "You’re free to go after you apologize."

"Sorry. I’m really—"

"Not to me. Them."

Shamefaced, he rises to his feet and shuffles toward the group of cops. Officer Blythe faces him, arms crossed.

"I’m sorry, Officer," he murmurs. "Throwing money at a crowd was reckless."

"Don’t do it again." Officer Blythe heated gaze softens. "Go home and take off the Santa suit."

"And I’ll hide the booze." I take Liam’s arm, guiding him out of the station. "Thanks again."

The cops snigger at Liam, but for once he doesn’t fire back with a snarky reply. He looks so depressed. I don't have the heart to yell at him.

"What were you thinking?" I ask as soon as we clear the doors. "And why were you drunk?"

Liam rubs his stubble, eyes narrowing. "I didn’t intend to get that wasted. I woke up, saw the suit, and figured it’d be hilarious if I beat you to the parade. Things got out of hand when one of the elves shared a one-hundred-and-three proof bourbon with me. I had a couple of shots, and I was done."

It wasn't that big of a deal. No one was hurt. The money-throwing was a minor incident that didn’t disrupt the rest of the parade.

It totally ruined my day. "What are the chances Mom hasn’t heard about this?"

Liam sighs as he approaches my car. "I’d say slim to none."

"I don’t have time to mediate the disaster you created. Gigi won’t answer my calls." It’s worrying me. "Did she ever show up at the parade?"

"I don’t think so."

Well, that’s a bad sign. I try her number again, and it goes straight to voicemail.

We pack in my Audi. Christmas music booms from the speakers when I start the engine. I turn it down as we pull from the police station.

"Dude, I'm sorry for today. I know you had a whole day planned with Gigi."

"What the hell’s gotten into you?"

He stares out the window. "A girl."

"Typical." And he lectures me how I’m screwing up with Gigi. "You gave me so much shit for hitting on Gigi, and here you are. Getting drunk and twerking on Christmas floats."

"For the record, a twerking Santa Claus is hilarious. It’s not the sign of a meltdown."

I laugh. "If I weren't famous, your ass would be in jail. You realize that, right? We got out by the skin of our teeth."

Liam shrinks into the seat, wide-eyed. "Not yet."

"What?" I follow his gaze, stomach turns to lead. "Oh."

Mom stands on the porch, only wearing a housedress. Golden curls blow in the wind. I don't need to read her expression to know she's pissed. There's so much fire in her gaze. I doubt she even feels the cold.

"Shit. So much for sweeping this under the rug."

"Think fast," he blurts. "How do we avoid causing Mom an aneurysm?"

I sweep into our driveway. "Don’t be yourself. Let me do the talking, and try not to ruin everything."

"Mom’s probably heard about what happened from a dozen different people already. Christ, here she comes."

Mom storms down the patio, red-faced. Her scream of fury booms through the window. "Get out of there!"

"Here we go," he groans, sliding out the car. "Hey, Mom."

"Hey, Mom. Is that all you have to say for yourself? How dare you behave like that in front of the whole town? I didn’t raise you this way. You’re acting like an alcoholic. Brought shame to the whole family! I can’t believe—"

Liam keeps his mouth shut and his gaze down as Mom continues her tirade, screaming as though she’s a drill sergeant. She only pauses to take a breath before launching into another attack.

I follow them into the house and through the kitchen, where Mom insists we sit down to eat an early supper. She bangs a pot onto the stove, warming yesterday’s spaghetti leftovers. Liam sips his scalding-hot tea, as silent as a Buddhist monk.

Both of us have been here way too many times. Interrupting Mom during her rants only emboldens her rage. It's better to let her get it all out.

She doles out dinner, and we eat in silence. Mom sporadically bursts out with comments like "totally irresponsible" and "just like your father." Grimacing from that burn, I meet Liam's narrowed gaze. He doesn't enjoy being compared to Dad. I better head this off before they end up in a fight.

I face Mom. "So, how was the rest of the parade?"

She shakes her scarlet face, her voice dropping. "It was very nice. Did you and Gigi have a good time?"

"I haven't seen her." My stomach clenches and I push the plate away. "She hasn't answered my phone calls. Do you know where she is?"

"No, I don't. She must have dropped by, though. She left a present on the porch." Mom gazes up from her mostly untouched plate. "You didn't fight, did you?"

"No." Now I'm lost. "A gift?"

"It’s on your bed. Ronan, where are you going?"

"Give me a sec." I jog to my room, spotting the red-and-gold Christmas present on my mattress. An envelope sits beside it with my name written in looping black ink.

I tear it open, grabbing the Christmas card.

Well, that’s brutal. My stomach collapses, caving in from an invisible gut-punch. I don’t understand this abrupt about-face.

What happened?

We were fine yesterday. Hell, we were making plans for after the holidays. Suddenly, she breaks up with me. She says I hurt her. How? When?

I abandon the gift and the card, storming out of the bedroom and yanking my coat from the closet.

"Ronan? What’s wrong?"

I ignore Mom, bursting outside in my bare feet because I can’t get to her fast enough. Slipping on sleet, I charge to her darkened porch and hammer the front door.

No answer. Not even a fuck-you, go away.

I peer inside the windows. Nothing but darkness.

She’s gone.