Eight
Kristmas
Maddox is here.
Ten feet away and staring at me with that pissed off look that became his default expression whenever he looked at me.
Except for the last time I saw him. The last time he looked at me, his expression was softer. Hopeful.
I love you Kris. I think I’ve always loved you.
Closing my eyes, I keep scrubbing. Take a deep breath. Let it out slowly, willing my hands to stop shaking. My heart to stop flopping around in my chest like a fish out of water. When I open them the blue-eyed girl I met earlier is standing on the other side of the trash can, watching me. She’s holding a pack of wet wipes.
“Here,” she says, holding the wipes out to me. “I stole them from my dad’s truck.”
“Thank you.” I drop the wad of sticky napkins in the trash can and pull a few wipes free. “But you should probably put them back. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“It’s okay, he wouldn’t care.” She closes the flap on the wipes. “Are you okay?” she asks, her concern so genuine that I can’t help but smile.
“Clumsy and embarrassed.” I quirk my mouth at her. “But I’ll live.”
“I drop stuff all the time,” she shakes her head like it’s some sort of dreaded disease. “My mom always says that—” She stops short, distracted by the impossibly long shadow that casts itself over the trash can we’re huddled around. “Dad!” She drops the wipes and launches herself at Mad. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“What for? You gonna try to sweet talk another hot chocolate out of me?” He catches her like he’s been doing it all his life, an easy smile erupting across his face at the sight of her.
Dad.
Mad is a father.
“Maybe later,” she gives him that gap-toothed grin of hers, her fingers reaching up to comb through his dark, closely-clipped beard. “Right now, I want to ask you somethin’ else.”
I drop the wipes in the trash, willing myself to bolt. Make a break for the car. Leave Nan here. She can walk home. It’d serve her right. But no matter what my brain is telling my feet to do, they won’t comply. They stay right where they are, nailed to the ground while my gaze searches the tent, looking for the woman who is this little girl’s mother.
Mad’s mom and Nan are talking quietly near the entrance, both of them stealing glances at the three of us. There’s the pretty dark-haired woman working the gift-wrapping table. Another dressed like an elf outside, organizing the toy drive. One of them is Maggie’s mother. One of them is Mad’s—
“Is this her, Dad?”
Maggie’s question draws my attention back to the two of them. Mad has her settled on his hip, her arms linked around his thick neck. They’re both watching me, Maggie’s gaze awestruck and excited, her father’s dark and guarded. “Is she your Kristmas?”
“Yeah, Magpie.” Even though he’s addressing her, he’s looking right at me when he says it, his tone sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. “She’s mine.”
She’s mine.
“I knew it!” She bounces on his hip and grins at me. “You’re right, she does look like Christmas.”
Mad gives her a squeeze before dropping her on her feet. “Go see if Makayla needs help outside while I talk to Kris, okay?”
“Okay.” She divides a smile between us before darting away.
“Hat, gloves and jacket—and stay out of the parking lot,” He calls after her and she shouts okay before disappearing outside. Sighing, he stoops, picks up the abandoned package of wipe and opens the flap.
“You’re a father.”
Never in a million years did I think those would be the first words I’d speak to Maddox McAllister after a decade of self-imposed exile from his life but there they are.
You’re a father.
Yanking a few wipes free, he jams the rest of the pack into his back pocket for safe keeping. “Don’t say it like that.” He growls it at me, reaching out to fist his massive hand in the front of my coat to keep me from running when he advances on me.
I feel a momentary flutter of panic when I see him raise his other hand from the corner of my eye. “Like what?”
“Like I did something wrong,” he says, bringing his hand up to my face. “Like I lied. Kept something from you.” He uses a wet wipe to wipe cocoa off my face. I’m probably covered in the stuff. Feeling like a child, I push his hand away.
“I’m not a child,” I say, knocking his hand away again when he comes in for another pass. “And I never said you lied. I never—”
“That’s right, Kris—you never.” He still has his hand gripped in the front of my jacket, uses his grip to pull me even closer. “You. Not me. You, so just stop.” He pushes it through clenched teeth. Looks like he wants to smother me with the wad of wet wipes in his hand. He relaxes his grip but doesn’t let me go. “Ten years. One hundred twenty letters and you never opened a single one of them,” he says, glaring at me while he wipes chocolate stains off the front of my jacket. “If you had, you would’ve known about Maggie. You’d know everything.”
“Stop treating me like a child.” It’s a ridiculous thing to say in the face of what he’s telling me but saying it is easier than the alternative. “I don’t need you—”
“Yes you do.” He nods his head, nailing me with a hard look. “You abso-fucking-lutely need me to do this because it’s the only thing keeping me from throwing you over my goddamned shoulder and carrying you out of here.” He lowers his voice even further. Pulls me even closer. “Because as soon as I get you alone, I’m gonna do something.”
The deep rumble of his voice shoots a rush of heat straight down my spine. That heat pools in my lower belly before spreading lower. Seeping into my core. Setting off a dull, throbbing ache that has me shifting from one foot to the other. “Something?” The word comes out on a breath. “What something?”
“Not sure. I can’t decide if I want to turn you over my knee and paddle your ass for being so goddamned stubborn for so goddamned long or if I want to get you naked and fuck you so hard your Nan will feel it.” The corner of his mouth lifts just a bit. “Maybe I’ll do both.”
The hinge on my jaw loosens and my mouth falls open and I’m suddenly very grateful that Mad has his hand buried in the front of my coat because I’m fairly certain his grip is the only thing keeping me upright.
“You’d let me too…” His gaze dips to my mouth before bouncing it back up to connect with mine. “I’d be willing to bet you’re dripping wet right now. Bet you soaked clear through your panties, the second you realized who you were looking at.”
Shame stains my cheeks because he’s not wrong. “You can’t…” My brain is completely scrambled. “You can’t say things like that,” I whisper, shaking my head. “You’re—” breaking eye contact, I shoot a look to the side, letting it land on the pretty dark-haired woman behind the gift-wrapping table. She keeps looking at us, brow furrowed.
“I’m what?” He aims his gaze at the woman watching us and laughs even harder. “Are you kidding?” he says, managing to push his question out between chuckles.
“No,” I say, shoving his hand away from me. “I’m not kidding,” I hiss at him, drilling my finger into his chest. “I don’t know who you are or what’s happened to you over the past ten years but I do know that you can’t say things like that to me—not with your wife watching.”
“Then we’re safe, Kriskross,” he says, his tone losing all sense of humor. “Because I don’t have a wife. Never have. You’d know that if you’d bothered to read my letters.” He reaches into my pocket and pulls out my hat. “That nosy woman, is my little sister, Miranda. You remember her, right?” He lifts my beanie, fits it onto my head. Tugs it down to cover my ears. Smirks when he glances up and sees Frosty’s giant orange dick stretched across my forehead. “Make sure you say hi to her on your way out.”