The Sleight Before Christmas (Holiday Hijinx Series Book 2)
The Sleight Before Christmas: Chapter 20

Zipping my last suitcase, I glance out of my bedroom window to see the darkened shed. I haven’t been out there once in the last four days. I haven’t stalked it to see if he’s been there. Been waiting, allowing my anger and hurt to overrule the urge. To protect me from suffering any more humiliation. I went out on a limb and actually fought for the time I stole with Thatch. Too much already to continue to respect myself if I do anything more without reciprocation. No matter how good it felt.

After carrying my bag down the stairs and placing it next to my luggage, the dread for the trip sets in—along with the knowledge that I’ll be back at school tomorrow. Trepidation seeping in, briefly, I allow the ache to outweigh the anger, and it’s then my feet move of their own accord. Within minutes, I’m stepping inside the shed.

Heartache seeps into every pore as I glance around the lifeless space. Sections of the darkened room being replaced by flickering amber light-laced memories. Some of the best of my life. A few of us talking while measuring our hand against the others. Others of him hovering above me, wordless but in the midst of discovery.

The first night seeps in, that memory hitting the hardest. Where Thatch stood at the workbench and glanced back at me, and the words he spoke.

“Looking for something?”

I had. I’d been searching for some time for a connection like ours—even if it had turned out to be one-sided. What I felt with Thatch was unmatched. Even if it wasn’t strong enough to hold him. He’s never made a tenth of my effort, and despite his lash-out, it’s the true reason I made peace with letting him go.

The connection was there, something that felt it could be lasting, but I’m done trying to make him see it. Done waiting for him to respect and care for it. Even if it seemed to come so fast. I wasn’t alone in that—that I’m certain of.

He’d been warning us about it the whole time, and I’ve played ignorant, but I’m fully aware that what we had felt was rare, and if he refuses to catch hold of it, then it’s time to let it go. On that front, I agree I deserve better.

Making peace with the heartache, I’m about to turn when I catch sight of a wooden box sitting in the middle of the workbench. Walking toward it, my breath catches as it comes into view. Standing eight inches tall, the wooden jewelry box calls me like a beacon, a glittering red bow atop it. In seconds, I’m trailing my fingers over the slightly tacky wood. The fact that it’s newly painted has my heart skipping a beat. Built in the shape of a tiny armoire, the handles on the double doors are shaped into arched, carved branches. The wood sanded and highlighted by a light stain and gloss. It’s painfully apparent he spent endless hours working on it. My heart knocks with surety that so much care went into making it. Just as I’m about to pull open one of the double doors, his voice sounds behind me.

“It’s empty,” he whispers through the space, directly to my pounding heart—a heart that starts to hammer at the sound of his voice. Pulling the door open, I see two drawers with similar branch handles lining the bottom, and I turn the rotating necklace hanger on the top.

“You wear a lot of jewelry, but that’s one thing I’m afraid I couldn’t add to it.”

“It’s beautiful, Thatch. Thank you.”

“You deserve jewelry, Serena. You deserve glittering things on your beautiful ears, laying on your neck, pushed on your fingers, and I’m not the man that can give them to you.”

“If you truly feel like that’s what I want, then you don’t know me. But the trouble is, you do know me.”

“I’m sorry for the other day. I just didn’t fucking want that piece of shit to know what you meant to me. Because you know it hasn’t been fun for me, Serena, but it can’t be more.”

“Yeah,” I run my finger along the wood. “I heard you the first dozen times.”

“I’m leaving, too,” he states. “I’m leaving Nashville.”

“For how long?” I ask, tears filling my eyes.

“For good,” he delivers, and my chest starts to roar with protest. “I’m never coming back, and that’s why I was hesitant to start this up.”

“Where?” I clip, unable to look back at him as my heart rages in my chest, begging me to look at its new owner. Because I know I’m half in love with him.

“I was thinking Alaska.”

“Thinking Alaska? What do you mean thinking Alaska?”

“There’s no future for me here,” he states, his words like a sling blade to my heart. It’s then I know I’m not halfway anything. This man who’s moving to Siberia—America, is taking my fucking heart with him.

“Well, you did. You met me here every night, and you started something. I did give you an out, Thatch.”

“I know, but fuck, I didn’t expect it to feel like this.”

“Yes, you did. We both did. You were there the first night. You felt it, too. And after. Once you kissed me, touched me, you knew. At least I can say I fought for it.”

“That’s because you didn’t know who you were fighting for, Serena.”

“The fuck I didn’t,” I finally look back at him, done asking the questions. His stare intent as he approaches. His scent surrounds me, weakening me as he holds me captive. It’s then I fully drink him in. His expression bleak, he looks tired, exhausted, and utterly disheveled. The sight of him only makes my heart ache more because I know it’s because of me—because of our fight and the distance in the last four days. His outsides match my insides as he rattles in front of me, warring on whether or not to release the words. I stand my ground, knowing if he’s ending this, I deserve them, while terrified of finally knowing his reasons for continually pushing me away.

“I couldn’t ask you out because I’m twenty years old and barely a step above homelessness. I sleep between a rundown motor inn and my truck and don’t have a damned thing to offer you. I’m a high school dropout who stole a car because his dad ordered him to pitch in, or he would kick him out. See, once upon a time, I was good at it. I stole everything, and when I quit, my heart and head wasn’t in it. So when I was ordered to do it, I got caught and went to fucking prison.”

Shock paralyzes me mute as he carefully weighs my expression.

“Up until a week ago, I was still on probation, and that’s why I didn’t . . . couldn’t smoke that weed. I was a fucking week away from being sent back for not paying my restitution on time when I got the job with Allen. Thanks to your father and his odd jobs, I’ve paid my way out. Now that I’m free, I want to dust this place, this fucking city, because everyone with the last name O’Neal is a reminder of the life I fled. But stealing was so much fucking easier. I’ve had to fight the inclination every fucking day since we met because I wanted to give you everything. But I fought harder because I don’t want to be that gutter rat anymore.”

“Thatch—”

He shakes his head incredulously. “I don’t know what the hell Ruby and Allen were thinking. You’re practically a debutante who comes from a well-off, somewhat affluent family, and I’m . . . half of the O’Neal’s, my family, are convicted felons. The other half are wastes of human life. So do yourself a favor and pop any illusion bubble you might have about us. This was exactly as you said, fun. You’re beautiful, and I’m crazy about you, but you deserve to know why.” He whispers a thumb along my cheek. “You’re going to make some man—”

I pop him good as my chest roars with the pain, and he doesn’t so much as flinch.

“Some other guy happy, Thatch? Why not leave me with ‘it’s not you, it’s me.’ How about this isn’t the right time? Want to quote a goddamn after-school special from the eighties, or how about a beer slogan? Jesus Christ, Thatch, give me a minute to try to understand the truth about you!”

The handprint on his face blisters my insides. “I’m so sorry I—” I cover the light handprint I left with my palm as tears spill over my cheeks. He didn’t even flinch when I did it, which is all I need to know. He’s been taking hits his whole life—physical and otherwise—and it’s evident as he stares back at me, lifting his chin slightly as if he’s ready for more. “I’ve never struck another human in my life. Not like that. I’m sorry.” The tears come faster. “Why are you hurting me?”

“I’m doing you a favor, Serena. I swear I am. Just let me save you the trouble.”

“Jesus, Thatch, can’t I at least get a chance to make the decision?”

“No,” he states before turning and stalking off, the sob that escapes me stopping him at the door of the shed. He stares back at me with little to no life in his eyes, but his voice shakes with his delivery. “I’m glad I met you. I’m glad I got to know you.” He wavers slightly but maintains. “To kiss your beautiful face, touch you. But fucking you would ruin me, and so I didn’t go there. I knew the second we got that intimate I wouldn’t be able to walk away from you. I’m too into you to deal with that, and I’m too set on leaving to stay for a girl who will only see the light one day too late. I’m sorry, but this has to be classified as nothing but fun. Take care, Serena.”

“You know what you have to offer me?” I snap, and he stops, keeping his back to me. “You. And that would be all I needed. Anything I want, I can work for and obtain my fucking self. All I want from you, Thatcher O’Neal, is you.”

When he remains standing there, I feel my mother’s gaze at that table as resignation sets in. To fight, for the first time in a very long time for an idea, a spark, the strongest inclination I’ve had in forever to seek the life I want.

“You know, when I got to school, I thought I would meet all these amazing, creative thinkers who would open my mind and intrigue me—make me look at the world differently. Expand my horizons and all that crap. But it was so obvious that I had just landed in an amplified version of high school. Same guys, fuckboys, only down for themselves. And girls who were only interested in the fuckboys. At the first party,” I swallow, “I was miserable because the truth rang home as I looked around. And just before I walked out, I realized the worst feeling in the world is being surrounded by people and feeling completely and utterly alone.”

I swallow and swallow again.

“All I could do to keep my shit together was look forward to Christmas break, and ironically, all I had to do was get here to meet the mind, the guy I thought I would replace in college. Because you fascinate me, you intrigue me. You see through my bullshit and call me out on it. You rebuke the persona I’ve been ridding myself of since high school. You’re the first person I’ve met since then that felt like the right company—fuck that, felt right for me. That sparked something inside me and made me feel like I wasn’t alone.”

“Serena—”

“So fuck you. I’m glad it was fun for you, Thatch, but I’m pretty sure you just broke my God damned heart because as crazy as this may sound, I’m in love with you. God,” I shake my head, palming my burning cheeks as he snaps his head toward me, eyes glazed.

“Don’t fuck with me.”

“Fuck with you?” I scoff. “I’m not. You know I’m not, but it seems I’m the fool of the two of us. I mean, you warned me, but I guess I thought you couldn’t walk away from this. I know I couldn’t. So, I guess, make sure to drop us a postcard from fucking Alaska, jackass.”

“Tell me again.”

“That you what? That you’re a dumb bastard who’s walking out on a good woman? Nah, I’ll spare myself since I’m the only one saying anything that actually means something.”

Heartbeats pass as he stares at me, his expression guarded, his eyes glazing. He swallows and swallows again, fists at his sides. “What if I love you?”

“Well, if you’re willing to walk out on me with that shitty kiss goodbye and nothing but a ‘see ya,’ your love can’t be worth much.”

His voice breaks on every word of his reply. “My dream has been to leave this place for ten fucking years, Serena. To escape my family. To leave it all behind.”

“You already have, Thatch, just not mentally, and running to the Alaskan wilderness to do it isn’t the fucking solution. Ever heard the saying, ‘everywhere you go, there you are?’ Same shit. You’re too smart to believe otherwise,” I state, unsure if my heart is still pumping because I knew the minute I saw Thatch O’Neal that he would mean something to me. The confirmation running with surety of what that something is now because I’ve fallen in love with an idiot.

“Well, then, go, my first heartbreak. I gotta admit, it stings like a bitch, but I’m sure I’ll move on. Go to Alaska, Thatch. Your destiny awaits.”

“Say it again, Serena.”

“Leave!” I screech. “You’ve humiliated me, and I’m not a fan of that. Maybe you aren’t so special.”

“I can’t,” he swallows as if the words are hard to get out, “I can’t imagine never touching you again,” he rasps out hoarsely. “I can’t imagine a future without you now, God damnit!” His expression shatters me, the hope in his eyes blinding me as our eyes bolt and hold. “I’ve done everything right since I met your dad, gone against every instinct drilled into me since I was a kid. To take, take, take what didn’t belong to me. To steal what someone else has worked for. To take what someone else deserved. But if you say you’re mine, you better fucking mean it.”

“Look at me, Thatch,” my chest heaves and shudders as I feel like I’m about to explode. Too many feelings, too damned soon. If this isn’t love, then it’s something really close. “Do I mean it? I feel like I’m dying, so do what you will with that,” My chest bounces as tears stream down my cheeks. “But if you take another step away from me, you will never get to know.”

“Don’t fuck with me,” he repeats, his eyes shining. “Please don’t fuck with me. I can’t give you some fairy tale life. I’m not the fairy tale guy. I don’t know how hard it will be with me. I’m a convicted felon and I’m . . . it will be hard.”

“I don’t care. My heart is set on you, Thatch.”

He rushes me, pinning me to the workbench as he did the night we met, his expression one I’ve never seen. Unguarded, utterly and completely raw.

“If you tell me one more time that you’re mine, I’ll stay. I’ll wait until you graduate, and I’ll fucking ring your finger, Serena,” he whispers. “I will earn you, and I’ll fucking take you from the guy who deserves you. I’ll steal you right now from the man who deserves your hand, your heart, your body, your future. I’ll steal your fucking future because I want you that fucking much.”

“Then take me, you stupid bastard,” I rip at his hair as his lips brush mine, “but don’t leave me.”

We collide, our kiss hungry even as we exhale relieved gasps into each other’s mouths.

“I love you,” he croaks as my heart bursts into rhythm with relief. We rip at each other’s clothes as he pushes my knees apart.

“I’m too pissed at you to return the sentiment.”

“It’s too late now, I’m not leaving you for anything. Not ever. I will marry you, Serena.”

“Fine by me, jackass,” I snap as he pulls my jeans and panties off, as I rip at the buttons on his fly. “But I expect a better proposal when the time comes.”

“God, baby,” he cups my face as I wrap around him, his length meeting my soaked middle. “You’re really mine?”

“Been yours since we locked eyes, Thatcher O’Neal.”

“Then fucking tell me,” he demands as he runs his head along my soaked sex.

“I’m too pissed,” I croak as he crushes me with his desperate kiss.

In seconds, he’s lined up with me, pushing inside me inch by delicious inch.

“One day . . . you’re going to have my baby,” he declares with ferocity.

“One day,” I whisper back, knowing he means it, feeling he means it as he claims the rest of me in one sure thrust. We both cry out at the feel of our connection as our desire runs rampant. The surreal feel of him, of us. Of our stinging hearts soothed now as he burns through me. I revel in the stretch as I claw his heated skin. My soul skyrockets as he rears back and thrusts in again and again, every single one claiming. Somewhere between fucking and making love, we collide over and over, becoming more solidified. On fire and utterly swept away, we make love all night. In the morning, we lay tangled in one another. Tangled in the hope of the words we spoke. Intertwined by the promises we made and determined by what’s in our hearts to keep them.

“Young, stupid, and in love, but we kept them,” I whisper, staring on at my husband, who breaks down boxes in clean up, his expression full of pride at his handiwork before he grins over at me. I cut the lights a second later to take in the view of both my husband and the snow drift falling in the cabin window behind him.

“What’s that?” Thatch asks.

“I can’t believe we’re still together after all this time.”

“What?” He asks, a little indignation in his tone.

“I mean, we fell in love so fast and decided on each other almost just as quickly. Made promises and then spent years seeing them through. You were under no obligation to stay in Tennessee when I went back to school. To marry me. Hell, we even waited a while after to have Gracie. We kept those promises because we truly did decide on each other that night. We knew, Thatch, and we meant it, but damn, the odds were stacked.”

“It wasn’t easy,” he utters, seemingly just as reflective.

“Not at all. I powered through years of college. Our first apartment was a shithole thanks to your pride, but we did the damned thing, Thatch. I graduated, and we got married. I can’t stop thinking about the night I stopped you from leaving . . .” Tears fill my eyes.

He nods. “I was just there on the ride home.”

“I wonder why this year it’s different, why we’re looking back so much.”

“So when they arrest us for our horrific parenting, we remember the good?” He chuckles.

Not ready to dismiss it, I continue to admire the man I married. “I wonder if you would have left if I hadn’t stopped you.”

“I probably would have,” he says truthfully, and his words sear my heart, but I love that he’s still so honest with me. “But I think I would have come back. I’ve never felt so much for anyone in my life. I knew—even though it scared me—I never would again. If you had let me go, I would have come back.”

“You went from a hardened criminal to a boyfriend, an apprentice to a construction worker, to husband and father. Then, to master contractor and business owner. You’re the epitome of self-made, Thatcher O’Neal. You underestimate yourself, but we didn’t. I’m so proud of you. And you’re right, you’ve really fucking come into yourself this year especially, and God do I love who you are.” I relay as his eyes shine. “But with or without me, you would have become the man you are. I want you to know that.”

“Doubtful,” he whispers, his eyes shining. “You’re so much of the reason I wanted to do better.”

“No,” I rake him. “No, Thatch. I love you for saying it, and maybe you believe that, but I know you would have done it. You’d already abandoned your worthless family and found your passion. Your aspirations were blooming. So, if it wasn’t me, you would have found a woman to grow into yourself with. To believe in you and love you. To see you like I see you.” My eyes water. “How lucky am I that it was me?”

His shimmering eyes spill over as he shakes his head. “Fuck, Serena.”

“You need to hear this because though you just told our daughter the worst about your past, of what you’re most ashamed of, I couldn’t be more proud of the man I married. I’m so glad it was me.”

“Baby, stop,” he whispers, shaking his head in denial.

“In many ways, by comparison, you’re almost a completely different man than the one I fell in love with in mere weeks, and somehow, you’re still my favorite version of Thatcher O’Neal.”

“Are you trying to kill me?” He utters in exasperation. “You can’t bitch at me for twenty-two years and then say all these nice things at once. It’s too much,” he runs his knuckles on his chest. “Yep, I feel a heart attack coming.”

“Stop joking, Thatch. I’m trying to make you realize that I understand now that we’re the lucky ones. The kids and me. Have always been. We are the lucky ones—Gracie, Peyton, and me, and I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel differently.”

He stalks over to me and kisses me softly, then deeply, and for a brief second, I’m the terrified nineteen-year-old holding her heart out for the first time to a boy, praying like hell he’ll take it. In that kiss, he does, with every swipe of his tongue, his tender touch ringing out the same promises he made all those years ago. When we part, we touch foreheads. Pulling back, his eyes glitter down on me and, in those seconds, I feel it. The fleeting butterflies, the initial zing that bound us. But it’s our lasting love and the life we made after that keeps us connected now. In keeping the promises we made so long ago, when we were far too young, too naïve, and had too much life to live to know if we would be able to keep them. But we did, and to this day, we do. Through it all, year after year.

“I’m just as proud to be your husband.”

“Thank you, baby.”

“Sometimes when I pull into the drive,” he says, “I think about the road we’ve traveled,” he states, reaching down and dipping into his jeans pocket, “and during every step, you made whatever house we had into a real home. Every single time.” He takes my hand, opening it so my palm is up before depositing a locket into it, slowly piling a chain on top of it.

“Thatch, it’s beautiful,” I say, studying the uniqueness of it.

“Yeah, it’s a pretty shiny thing, and I know how you like those, but it’s what’s inside that takes my breath away,” he murmurs.

“My husband, the newborn romantic,” I state. “I could really get used to this.” I frown. “I hope it isn’t a phase, like the faux hawk. I really love the damned faux hawk.”

“Let me finish,” he states.

“Sorry.” Noting the O carved into the metal for our last name, I lift it so we can both admire it as he moves to stand closer to view my reaction.

“Baby, open it,” he urges, his eyes alight as I press the tiny button on the side to release it, and it pops open. The hinge tight, I crack it wider and gasp when I see pictures of both Gracie and Peyton, and . . . me. Each of them in my arms, what looks like mere seconds after I gave birth. In both, I look an utter mess in my hospital gown, my hair plastered to my head, my eyes glued to the baby in my arms.

“Aside from the first time I laid eyes on you and the day you wore white and pranced down the aisle toward me—smugly,” we share a smile.

“I totally pranced,” I agree.

“These are the two images that stick out most in my memory. I mean, you looked like hell, let’s be honest.”

I glare at him, and he chuckles.

“But you still managed to be the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. These images I’ve managed to memorize without needing a photo, but damn, am I glad I took them.”

“When?” I study the photos that are so perfectly captured.

“Kicker is, I was obvious about it when I did, but you were too in love with our babies to notice. And baby,” he draws my gaze to his with his tone, “that look in your eyes, the one you have for them right there, that’s the way you look at me. How could I ever fucking leave that?”

He hooks a finger under my chin, keeping my watering eyes to his. “We joke about you being my bitchy wife. Hell, I just made one, and over the years, I know you’ve felt guilty for the way you’ve spoken to me at times, Serena. But it’s one of the reasons I fell for you. Even if my little masochistic kink has backfired here and there.” He laughs as more tears spill over. “I didn’t fall in love with you because you were a handful and expect you to at some point settle the fuck down. Let’s face it, no amount of good dicking was ever going to tame you, Brat.”

“Never mind, I’ll never add romantic to your repertoire, Thatcher,” I press my lips together before bursting into laughter. “You’re the worst, but you have been so romantic this week. Is it over?”

“I hope not. But you and I both know we can promise one another to death and be a pathetic mess next week. I’m cool with whatever as long as it’s forever,” he declares.

“Me too.”

“I mean it. That’s why I want your family’s motto right next to ours.

“What?”

He runs his finger down to the bottom of the locket and points at the inscription as I read it. “Chaos.”

“And,” he flips it over.

“Gravity. So cool, Thatch. I love it.”

“Got to have one to appreciate the other, right?”

“You’re awesome. And to think, all I got you was an Elite set of clubs.”

His girly gasp follows me as I walk over to the coat closet and drag out the heavy bag that I donned with a giant bow as his jaw drops.

“Santa is real.”

“Mep. You have a tee time set up at the country club for the first slot available—weather permitting—and a standing reservation every freaking week.”

He frowns. “Baby, I can’t play every week.”

“You’re taking it, Thatch. Daddy time. You time. Alone time. Because what’s the fucking point of being successful if you can’t enjoy it?”

“Baby,” he sets the clubs against the edge of the couch and scoops me beneath my ass, gazing up at me. “Damn, thank you. I know those were expensive as hell.”

“You deserve them. Period. Merry Christmas, Thatchalamewl.”

He rolls his eyes, his grin only amping. “Best one yet.”

“I can think of another present to give you, Handy Man.” I bounce my brows.

“I would be agreeable to that,” he drops his voice, “but you’re not really feeling that offer.”

I gape at him.

“I know when my wife wants it, don’t insult me. So . . . tops and bottoms tonight?”

“It’s just, to be honest, I’m a little sore. I’m not as . . . flexible or quick to rebound as I used to be. If I’m brutal, my pussy feels like it got hit by a Mack truck. I. Am. Sore.”

“I got a charley horse at the end,” he admits sheepishly, “it totally almost fucked up my finish.”

“Oh my God, I thought that was a new move!”

We both burst into laughter, and I shake my head. “What a life,” I say on exhale. “Come on, baby, let’s attempt some sleep. The kids will be up very soon.”

We start to turn off the lights and toss all the remaining trash in the bag as I glance over at Thatch.

“You know, we’ve been dysfunctionally functioning for twenty-two years. Not that many couples can claim that. I’m proud of us. Hell, we even renewed our wedding vows.”

“Like idiots,” he jokes.

“Yeah, well, who’s the idiot who asked twice?”

He gives me a lopsided grin. “And had two kids.”

“You mean Gracie and the Oops—”

“Yeah, too bad we changed his name from Oops O’Neal. It suits him perfectly. They say you should always stick with your first instinct,” I joke, tying off the trash bag as we both chuckle. “You think they talk shit about us like we do them?”

“Worse,” he answers instantly, “and it is going to get worse. Think about how you, Whit, and Brenden talk about your parents.”

“With the utmost respect,” I defend.

His face screams skepticism. “Delusional.”

After placing the trash just outside the front door, we glance back at the tree, the snow falling behind it as morning light threatens to break, a slightly purple hue filling the living room.

“Another all-nighter with my Handy Man,” I say as he pulls me back to him, nuzzling me.

“Worth the loss of sleep,” he murmurs.

“Yeah, but only for you and for our babies,” I agree before we make our way upstairs. Not long after, my husband pulls his pajama top over my head before kissing me like he would his brat. Just after, tucking me into him. As he sleeps, I run my fingers through his hair with a thankful heart, sending a prayer up for twenty-two more years. Just after I doze off, Peyton knocks twice, announcing himself a split second before bursting through our door.

“Mommy! Daddy! Rudolph comed!!!”