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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

nate

Christmas has always been a special holiday for me. It’s the one time of year I know I’ll always get to see my dad. Because of his work and my crazy skating schedule, I don’t get to spend as much time with him as I’d like to. Growing up, it got hard after my mom left and I went to go with live my grandparents.

But trust me, I still saw my dad a lot. It just wasn’t a childhood where he came home every night.

Our time together was more limited, sometimes unpredictable.

Except for Christmas. Dad would always make sure he got at least a few days off to spend it with me. But even if he could only swing one day, we always made a point to come to this cabin. We’d decorate in the late night hours, making the place as festive as possible, throwing up a tree we picked up from a farm in town, seeing who could toss the most presents under it the fastest. And laughing. So much laughter, my stomach hurts just thinking about it.

Yesterday, after Paige and I finally pulled ourselves away to eat a breakfast that had gone tepid, she asked me about my family’s holiday traditions. The first kernel of curiosity I’ve ever seen from her to revolve around Christmas.

And I couldn’t help but wonder if it had more to do with me than anything else.

I hope it did. I like knowing she’s curious about parts of myself she’s never gotten to meet.

So I told her.

I just didn’t think she’d actually do anything about it.

Until I wake up on the first Christmas Eve I get to spend with Paige, naked and alone with a forming frown as I stretch my arm out. Only to find her side of the bed cold.

The frown continues to grow as I hear banging on the other side of the closed door. I quickly toss on the sweats we threw off in a rush last night, and the shirt I gave Paige to sleep in, also torn off before either of us touched the mattress, going on a hunt to find her.

It doesn’t take me long.

She’s standing in the kitchen with her warm red hair thrown over her shoulder, wearing an apron that’s never been used. The resort hoodie that she’s officially stolen from me is underneath.

I think my dad got the apron as a White Elephant gift one year because I can’t see either of us willingly buying anything with an elf costume on it. We like Christmas, but not that much.

However, Paige looks delectable in. Even as her face scrunches up seeing me. “Ugh. What are you doing up? Go back to bed.” She shoos me away with a grease-covered spatula. “Right now.”

“Why?” Not heeding her directions, I walk further into the kitchen, grinning at the way her eyes dip to my sweatpants, at the tent pitched in it.

Paige points the spatula at me like a sword, waving it in front of her. “Don’t come any closer, Ford.”

“Scared of what I’ll do, Princess?”

“ Yes. You made me incredibly unproductive yesterday?—”

“Some would say having multiple orgasms in a day is very productive.” Each time I asked her the same question: my fingers, mouth, or cock.

She rotated between my mouth and fingers, and I try not to think about why she hasn’t picked my cock yet. Not that I’m impatient about it. I’ll wait until she’s ready. I just hope she will be ready, that whatever’s happening between us will continue. That the regret I keep waiting for her to have never comes.

A blush covers her cheeks, running across her nose at my reminder. “And I don’t have time for that right now. So if you will please listen to me and get your ass back into bed, pretending you never saw me, I’d really appreciate it. Now, go.”

I don’t move, my brows coming together in curiosity. “What are you doing in here?”

“Making drugs,” she answers dryly. “What do you think I’m doing in here? I’m trying to make you breakfast!”

Again, I can’t help but ask, “Why?”

“Because yesterday you said that your dad always used to surprise you with a special Christmas breakfast in bed.”

I rub my mouth, trying to muffle the sound of my laughter.

I fail.

“What?” Paige’s voice takes on an edge, wielding her spatula-sword at me again. “Why are you laughing at me?”

“My dad hasn’t done that since I was, like, twelve.”

Her mouth drops open. “You can’t be serious.”

“Wait.” My laughter dies off. “You thought I was getting served reindeer-shaped pancakes as a twenty-five-year-old man?”

“ They were reindeer-shaped? ” The distress in Paige’s tone is only amplified by a sharp burning smell that fills the kitchen.

We both look to the stove, where three ill-shaped blobs of batter sit, smoking.

Paige squeaks, her hands covering her mouth, while I gently move her out of the way to turn off the burner, removing the pan from the heat. Slipping the spatula out of Paige’s hand, I use it to flip over one of the pancakes, revealing a charred color underneath.

“Nooooo,” Paige groans, leaning her forehead against my shoulder in utter defeat.

Leaving the utensil on the counter, I spin around, wrapping her in my arms, where she fits perfectly. “Why were you trying to serve me breakfast, sweetheart? I thought I was supposed to be the one feeding my little scrooge today.”

She burrows into my chest, wrapping her arms securely around my waist, so her words are muffed when she says, “I wanted to try and recreate some of the traditions you do with your dad, because I know you have to be missing him. That being stuck here with me isn’t what you really want.”

A mix of emotions go off inside me, like fireworks shooting in different directions. She wants to make today special for me. My Christmas-hating princess is trying to muster up enough spirit to make up for my dad not being here.

Feelings, more than words, engulf me.

Sure, it sucks that I don’t get to spend it with my dad, but Paige is wrong if she thinks I don’t want to spend this day with her. That I don’t want to spend every day with her.

“Baby,” I whisper. Something thick clogs my throat as I brush some of the hair off her face. I tilt her head back so she can see my face, but anything I’m about to say gets lost in her wide-eyed stare.

Over the years, I’ve thought about what I would do if I ever got Paige to come home with me, but now that the time is finally here, all those ideas fly out the window. They don’t matter.

Because they’d never compare to this moment with her.

“Thank you,” I tell her softly, my thumb rubbing down her cheek. “This means everything to me. But how about before you burn the cabin down, you let me cook you pancakes?”

“Okay.” She nods. “They can be reindeer-shaped, too. If you want.”

I smile, pressing a kiss to her forehead before letting her go. “What? That’s not too Christmasy for you?”

She scoffs. “Reindeer are actual animals that exist year round, Nathan. I’m not a monster. ”

“You’re right. You’re just a really tall elf.”

Paige makes a face at me before sticking her tongue out.

Faster than she can react, I swoop down and suck it into my mouth.

Because I can.

Because she lets me.

Fuck. She all but melts into me, her body arching to get closer.

My nostrils flare, still unable to wrap my head around this being real. Even with Paige whimpering under me. The way every cell in my body all but burns at her close proximity.

It feels like a sick joke, that I can touch her. Taste her. Be this close to her and have it feel like it’s always belonged, like we’ve always done this.

But it’s not what I want. I don’t want temporary. I don’t want this to just be contained to a cabin. I don’t want an affair we both are going to walk away from.

I want Paige and me—together. Forever.

And the only way I can have that is if we finally talk about what happened two years ago.

Today. I have to tell her today.

Paige, not satisfied with her failed attempt at breakfast, continues on a quest to make this day something to remember for me.

But what she doesn’t understand is that this is already the best Christmas Eve I’ve ever had.

Sorry, Dad. It even tops the year you got me that four-wheeler and Grandma Betty threatened to ground you.

Because it’s with Paige.

Everything is always better when she’s around.

Still, not to be deterred, no matter how many times I tried to tell her she didn’t have to do anything else, Paige waved me off. Pulling up National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation on my laptop, she sat through the entire movie without a single bah humbug. In fact, I even heard her trying to suppress more than one laugh as we watched.

When it was over, she dug out my noise-cancelling headphones, telling me I can go around singing my Christmas carols if I wanted to.

Laughing, I slid the headphones off her head until they hung around her neck, using them to pull her into me as I told her I was only kidding about the singing. To say she looked more than a little relieved would be an understatement.

I’d be offended, but I have a really awful singing voice. So she’s forgiven.

We did, however, spend a few hours decorating the Christmas tree finally. I had been saving to do it with my dad like I have every year, but I think it’s even more fun with Paige, who took out each ornament with diligent care. Sometimes asking about the story behind one and laughing at the crumbling school craft ones my dad refuses to get rid of. But it wasn’t until she got to the ornaments that I’ve collected from competitions past that her good mood spiraled into an almost melancholy state.

She tried to play it off, but every so often I’d catch her with a similar expression. Lost in the depth of her head. And I want nothing else but to pull her back to me.

I watch Paige now as I fix her a cup of hot chocolate, my chest tight, burning with how right this feels. How at home she looks sitting on the living room floor, between the couch and coffee table. We’ve all but forsaken the godawful couch, opting to make a pallet of blankets to cushion us from the hard ground instead.

The newly adorned tree sits proudly behind her, Snowball lounging on one of the branches, with the snow-covered mountains a formidable background in the distance.

Her cascading hair is tucked behind one of her ears as she rests an elbow on the coffee table, her head resting on her hand as she bends over a photo album we found in one of the boxes used to make Snowball’s playpen.

I’ve been watching every little reaction that crosses her face, cataloging every sound as she relives my childhood memories. Each one is like a dart to my heart, bullseye after bullseye.

Maybe most people wouldn’t want the person they’re obsessed with to see every embarrassing photo of them. But I fucking love it.

Love that she’s so interested, looking at each photo with careful attention. Soaking in every moment, every feature.

It only amplifies how right this feels. Not just in the cabin. But being back in each other’s lives.

We might not have spent a lot of time together these last two years, but it feels like we were just on separate vacations, easily picking up from where we left off. Two puzzle pieces finally being put together, fitting in a spot only meant for them.

The burning sensation only intensifies as I finish pouring the obscene amount of marshmallows into her mug.

As if sensing me, she tilts her head up. A content smile on her face.

Another fucking dart.

I can’t help but notice there’s been an ease in her shoulders, a softness to her jaw. The little crease in her forehead has all but smoothed out.

She looks almost at peace.

Like for the first time in her life, she doesn’t need to be anywhere or do anything.

She can just be.

It makes me want to never leave, to be trapped in here forever so I can keep pulling back her layers, stripping her bare of all her defenses before gently claiming her heart.

Claim it and protect it and never let it go.

“Stop smiling at me like that,” Paige orders as I hand her the freshly made mug of hot chocolate—I’m really glad I stocked the cabin with food the day I decorated it because this is her third cup and it’s not even 4 p.m.

“And how else am I supposed to look at you?” I ask, sinking onto the blankets next to her, our thighs touching.

Maybe once she would’ve pulled away from my touch, but now as I stretch my arm along the back of the couch, she leans into my side, and I start to play with her hair.

She sighs. “I don’t know. I haven’t found one that makes your beard look any less attractive. But keep trying different ones until I let you know.”

I pull on a few of her red locks, my smile not diminishing in the least. “Are you saying you’re a fan of the beard?”

“I’m saying it makes you look even more attractive than you already are, and sometimes it’s frustrating to focus on anything else. It would be kind if you tried to look more ugly at times.”

I stare at her profile, my chest feeling heavier and heavier with each word out of her mouth.

I want this. I want her. More than anything I’ve ever wanted.

Every day. For the rest of my life.

I’ve always wanted her, but now I know what it’s like to live without her, and the idea of going back after having a taste of what our lives could be feels too cruel to even think about.

I’ve caught the way Paige looks at me, felt the way she holds on to me. With that same desperation I cling to her with. And I can’t help but hope that she feels the same way as I do—that she doesn’t want to go through life without me again.

There have been too many moments where I’ve reached for my phone to call her, to tell her some news or just because I’ve missed her voice. Too many times when I’ve been somewhere and wished she was beside me.

Two long years of seeing her every day and mourning her as if she was gone.

Pain radiates inside me. Now knowing what I stand to lose.

Tell her. Tell her right the fuck now.

But before I can, Paige turns back to the album, flipping the page. And freezes.

The smile she’s been wearing drops instantly, replaced with a look of wonder and shock and pain as she sucks in a sharp breath.

My heart sinks with it. Following her gaze, I see a photo of us from one of our many competitions back when we were still partners.

With an almost wounded expression, Paige runs a gentle thumb over us.

We look so young, bundled up in matching tracksuits, pressed cheek-to-cheek with smiles so wide the corner of our mouths practically touch. My toque is pulled so far down Paige’s head, the black fabric swallows her eyebrows, while my hair sticks up in wild strands.

Moments before this photo was taken, Paige was complaining about how her ears were cold. Not being able to stand the idea of her being even in a little discomfort, I yanked my hat off and tried to wrestle it onto her head. As I struggled, Paige couldn’t stop laughing, squirming against me without really pulling away.

The arena we were competing at that weekend is prominent behind us. I can’t tell you where we were, what city—let alone country—we were even in, just that we couldn’t stop laughing that day. It had nothing to do with how we were dominating our program, and everything to do with each other.

Not liking the look on her face, I turn the page. Only to see more photos from competitions past. Different backgrounds, sometimes different costumes, but in every single photo we have that same exploding happiness.

Paige looks at all of them quietly, slowly drinking them in. Her blueish-green eyes getting sadder and sadder with each one.

I turn the page again and curse. Jesus Christ, how many competitions did my dad go to?

I start to flip the page once more when Paige stops me. Honing in on a picture of us when we won our medals. She’s in my arms, and we’re laser focused on each other. No one else is even on our radar, locked away in our own little world.

Our smiles feel like a gut punch for what would happen just a few weeks later.

I can’t look at these pictures without a wash of regret pulling me under. Even now, my chest feels heavy. Palms clammy. I go to turn the page, when she stops me with a delicate hand around my wrist. “I haven’t seen these pictures in a really long time.”

Paige sounds so far away, even though she’s right next to me. As if she’s been transported back to that time.

I struggle to breathe, knowing I’m the reason she’s haunted by this day.

“We look so happy,” she says softly, her finger methodically tracing over our features, with a longing on her face that makes my heart stutter. Almost like she forgot it could be this way. “In all these pictures, we’re so happy.”

We haven’t talked about skating or her ex-partner or anything since we’ve been here. And between our exploration of each other’s bodies yesterday and the weather being too cold to venture outside today, we haven’t gone skating either.

Normally, that would drive Paige up a wall. Making her get antsy and temperamental. But she hasn’t even attempted to go out on the ice.

“We were always happy.” I swallow thickly. Each word weighing more than the last. “Not just when we were skating together.”

The room is quiet, save for Snowball as he scampers from branch to branch in the Christmas tree, knocking ornaments against each other as he does. But I barely hear him. Sucked into a vortex of Paige’s sad, sad eyes. I see the question in them before she can ask, but it doesn’t stop my heart from turning to lead when she does. “If we were so happy, why did you leave?”

My throat feels thick with words unsaid, as they fight to get out all at once. But I don’t know how to tell her any other way than the brutal truth. “Because it was killing me to stay.”

Paige sucks in a sharp breath, pain covering every part of her face. Devastation shaking her voice as she asks, “Was I really that horrible of a partner?”

I start to shake my head before she’s even done with the question. “No, Paige. No.” My hand cups her cheek as she tries to look away from me.

I see our history play out behind her eyes, shifting through memory after memory, conversation after conversation. But she’ll never find an answer that way, because the reasons have always existed inside me. “You were the best partner I’ve ever had.”

Cole better hope I never get out of here. Because if I do? He’s a dead man for planting these seeds of doubt in her head, for making her question everything. Even the partnership we had.

But I guess I’m to blame for that, too.

“Then why did you leave me?” She pushes again, trying to keep the pain out of her words, but she looks so lost, searching for answers to our past.

This is it. This is my moment.

The one I’ve been dreading as much as desperately needing to confess.

Paige Montgomery has been a fixture in my life since I was ten years old and she told me my waltz jumps weren’t just atrociously executed but actually made her physically ill to witness.

It was my first day at Charmed Athletics and I really wanted to make a good impression, prove I belonged at this organization.

Only, I made myself so nervous that I couldn’t land a fucking waltz.

After my fifth attempt, resulting in me clumsily catching myself before I ate ice for breakfast, a young, intense even back then, Paige Montgomery skated over to me in her lavender outfit with severe expression that could rival even the most intimidating coach’s, and told me that I was basically awful.

Maybe I should’ve hated her on the spot. I’d never been good at being a team player, had come in with the mindset to impress, and there she was, this prissy little girl who could fit in my pocket, telling me just how bad I was.

But instead, I laughed. And she smiled.

I fell in love with her that day, and I’ve loved her ever since.

She’s staring at me, waiting.

Tell. Her.

I take a deep, painful breath. “Because I was so in love with you, it was destroying me.”