Page 5

Chapter

Four

HOLIDAY OFFENSE

Madden

“My heart knew you were the one long before I set eyes on you.” – W

T he sun was beginning to set, bathing the garden in tons of gold and pink. I am sitting on a large, weathered rock near the edge of the over the top garden, my gaze lost in the shimmering waves that clash at the shore as I think of how this place was almost too perfect. I don’t trust perfection. I’ve never had and the O’Sullivan household and their estate feels like something that is too good to be true.

At least for someone like me— someone that ruins everything he touches.

I sit here on this old rock like I do every evening trying to escape how suffocating it all feels. The O’Sullivan garden is beautiful with vibrant flowers, butterflies of all sizes, and the occasional burst of colorful magic. And even though it is a sight to behold during sunset, it is even more wondrous at night when the moon shines down on it.

As I brood in my usual corner, my thoughts swirl around me like the tides in the ocean. Angry and restless.

I am so stuck in my head that I barely notice the mushroom ring that circles a cluster of toadstools until something—someone smalls—moves within it.

She appears almost like a magic trick, emerging from behind the mushrooms shy and quiet, seeming otherworldly.

The O’Sullivan girl.

Willow.

I had to close my eyes and reopen them to make sure if it was just a dream. There is just something about her that doesn’t feel real. Her small silhouette is framed by the soft, ethereal light on the sun setting over the horizon.

I lean forward to get a closer look and notice she is holding a book as big as her face, her fingers lightly brushing the worn leather cover as she flips through its pages. Her brown curls fall around her face, shimmering, casting a gold halo around her. Pretty…

Thud.

I touch my chest feeling my heart beating. It’s been a while since I’ve felt it react to anything or anyone.

The organ in my chest seems as if it was trying to tell me something but what? All I really know is that I can’t look away. Willow looks as if she had stepped straight out of a fairy tale, her delicate features and the way she is sitting so poised among the mushrooms makes her look like a magical creature. Her big and curious blue eyes focus on the book as if she can’t get enough of what is inside.

While she is lost in the pages of her book, I sit there, feeling a pang of wonder and something I can’t quite name. The world seems to fade around her and so does the torturous noise in my head, and for the first time in a long while, I feel like I can breathe without it hurting.

How rare…

How does she do that?

As I continue to watch her, she suddenly looks up from her book. Her eyes meet mine with a spark that no one seems to have when they look at me, and a soft smile across her face.

She rises gracefully from the ground and then she begins to walk towards me. Her feet are bare and her toes are painted mint green. I noticed earlier her mother’s nails are also painted green.

As Willow approaches, the space between us seems to shimmer with an invisible pull that feels like magic. Her pretty smile grows warmer even when she looks shy, and for a moment, it feels like the whole world has quieted down and we are the only two people in it.

Feeling a little bit too much at once, I shift nervously on the rock, suddenly aware of being caught staring like a fool.

When she finally reaches me, she stops just a few feet away. Her eyes quietly search mine as if she knew the secrets I haven’t shared with anyone else. She nervously tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and that’s when I see the tiny gadget on her left ear.

I think that’s what helps her hear better.

A minute or so of silence passes between us when all that can be heard is the waves crashing on the shore in the distance and the loud beat of my heart.

Willow’s lips don’t part to speak, but her greeting is clear. She raises her small hands, her fingers moving in graceful motions that form the shape of the word “hello” in the language she uses to communicate. Her eyes hold mine with a gentle, inviting gaze as she performs the gesture. How do I know this? Well, I might have sneaked into their library and read a book about American Sign Language for beginners.

I don’t know why I did it. I just knew that it felt right.

I wanted to learn her language.

As Willow smiles shyly at me I feel an unknown warmth spread through me. When what seems like a long while of me not responding, her gaze lowers almost as if she was embarrassed. That makes me feel bad. The sad look on her face makes my chest ache and not in a good way. So I lift my hand in return, mimicking her gesture as best as I can, and sign "hello" back as I utter the words as well.

Willow looks up and smiles wide, tilting her head slightly, seeming pleased. She then reaches out and touches my hands lightly, her fingers brushing against mine with a feather-like softness as if asking me to hold her hand.

I don’t want to.

I don’t know how to care for delicate things and this fairy-like girl is as delicate as they come but despite my grumpiness, I feel an inexplicable pull. When the feeling in my chest becomes too much, I give in to her silent demand. With a resigned sigh, I take her hand and she leads me back towards the ring and once there she pauses just at the edge of it, looking back at me with an encouraging smile.

I narrow my eyes suspiciously while her blue eyes are bright with excitement, as if there was something wonderful awaiting us. And even though at first, I was reluctant to entertain her, I can’t help but feel a sense of anticipation building within me as she holds my hand tight.

Quietly Willow guides me to sit inside the ring, where the toadstools formed a natural, rare circle. She settles beside me, placing her book about fungi carefully on the ground between us. As she places the book down, Willow’s eyes meet mine again. Her round cheeks are bright pink as she stares at me with an expression that is filled with wonder, as if she is eager to share a piece of her rare world with me.

My stomach flips, and I feel small-like bugs swimming in it. I am nervous. Why is that? She’s just a girl. Maybe it is because every time she smiles my pulse seems to quicken. That hasn’t happened before her.

Trying to settle my racing heart, I glance down at the book between us, then back at Willow, and find myself wanting to know more about her and what makes her smile like she’s doing now. The science book lies open between us. When she wouldn’t say anything, my curiosity got the best of me, and I finally broke the quiet. “Why don’t you use your voice?” I ask, my tone harsher than I intended.

At my question, Willow’s face falls. Her eyes, which had been so bright a second ago, cloud over with a sadness that makes my chest ache. She instinctively raises her hands and covers her eyes as if she was hiding from me.

I frown, disliking how that made me feel.

Seeing her sad eyes stirs something deep inside me. Without thinking, I reach out and gently tap her nose with my finger. “I bet you sound real pretty, fairy,” I whisper, my voice tender. I’m never soft. I don’t know how to be soft because I had no other choice but to always be angry.

Willow’s hands fall to her lap and I’m able to see her pretty blue eyes once again. The sadness in them melts away, replaced by a radiant smile. She taps her chest three times while smiling up at me.

I wonder why she does that.

Does her chest hurt like mine does when she smiles at me?

I don’t know much but one thing I do know and that is that the sight of her beaming at me makes me feel like I can touch the stars. Something I also haven’t felt before.

I like the feeling. I like it a lot.

Then when I realize she isn’t going to share her reason for not using her voice, I decide to drop the question not wanting to risk hurting her feelings again. So, I lean back and watch as she quietly flips through the pages of her book. Her fingers dance lightly across the pages, searching intently until she finally pauses on a particular spread. She points at something, then looks up at me with a dreamy, contented smile.

I lean closer, trying to make sense of what she is showing me. The image on the page is a photograph of a rainforest in Brazil. I recognize it because I’ve seen it before in one of the books scattered throughout our cramped, dim apartment. My father had always cherished those images of his homeland and his youth before coming to America.

He was proud of his roots and so he had countless pictures of beautiful places he had visited when he was young. One of those was the Amazon forest.

As I look at the picture, understanding dawns on me, and I look at Willow. “Yeah, beautiful,” I whisper, my eyes meeting hers.

Her smile widens, and she returns her gaze to the page, her fingers lightly tracing the edges of the photograph.

That day I came to terms with two things.

1 Life was fucking unfair to the people good at heart.

2 Willow Emersyn was the only person that could make me feel things I was deathly afraid to feel. She made me see the world through her innocent and sweet eyes and little by little she slowly made me believe life could be great for someone like me. Life could be magical if only I believed.

Now

Christmas time.

Holiday cheer.

Festive shit.

It makes me sick.

Happy people make me fucking sick.

We roll up to one of my hotels in a sleek, black SUV, as the sun sets over the Brazilian coastline. The ocean breeze carries a faint scent of coconut and sea salt, but it’s drowned out by the cacophony of excited voices. Lincoln, my bodyguard, steps out of the SUV and pushes open my door and I step out, squinting against the glare as my hotel staff and guests swarm around me, their eyes wide with recognition and excitement.

“Oh-my-fucking-God. Is that Madden Hunt?” I hear someone whisper in disbelief. “Holy shit.”

“Holy fuck! Hi, Madden!” Another one screams.

“What is he doing here?” A girl that looks about fifteen whispers to her father.

I’m used to this chaos. Being in the public eye has never been an issue for me. Not really.

As I walk by I notice a few of the guests, with their smartphones in the air, snapping photos like crazy.

The fans? I don’t mind. It’s the sleazy and cheap reporters who make it their mission to report fake shit even if it means ruining someone’s reputation and livelihood that bother the fuck out of me. Those I really can’t fucking stand.

With Lincoln at my back, I step further inside the hotel. I can’t help but sneer as I take in the god-awful Christmas decorations that have been plastered over every available surface in the lobby. My eyes narrow at the sight before me.

I knew it was going to be bad but I didn’t think it would be this fucking bad.

Brightly colored Christmas lights strung haphazardly from the ceiling flickered against the palm fronds, casting a colorful glow over everything. A gigantic inflatable Santa—decked out in swim trunks and sunglasses—looms near the entrance, a surfboard tucked under one arm.

“It can’t get any more Christmassy than sunburned surfer Santa, right boss?” Lincoln laughs from behind me.

Ignoring his sarcastic observation, I carry on taking in the lobby. The sight of tinsel and oversized candy canes clashing with the tropical backdrop is as jarring as it is obnoxious.

What the fuck was I thinking?

The scent of coconut and sunscreen wafts through the air, mingling with the faint echo of holiday music, an off-key rendition of “ Jingle Bells ” set to a tropical beat.

“Mr. Hunt, welcome!” The hotel’s manager, whose face is as bright and glossy as the decorations, rushes up to me, a grin stretching from ear to ear. “We’ve been expecting you!”

I nod curtly, barely glancing in his direction.

The manager, Javier, continues to prattle on, oblivious to my sour mood. “We’ve got the penthouse suite ready for you, of course. And we’ve arranged a private dinner at your convenience. Anything you need?—”

“Just get me to my room,” I interrupt, my tone sharp. Javier’s smile falters for a split second before he recovers, leading the way. The crowd parts like the Red Sea as we move through the lobby, their eyes still glued to me as they whisper amongst themselves.

As we walk, I catch more glimpses of holiday-themed garlands and oversized inflatable reindeer decorating the open-air lounge. The whole scene is an assault on my senses. I grunt and shove my hands into my pockets, trying to ignore the overly cheery atmosphere that seems determined to get under my skin.

I hear murmurs and see fingers pointing. A group of teens nearby gapes, their phones pointed directly at me.

I’m surprised none of them have asked for an autograph or a selfie.

I spoke too soon.

As we make our way to the elevator, a little boy comes barreling toward me, his tiny feet barely keeping up with his eager spirit. The brat, no more than five, skids to a stop right in front of me, eyes wide in amazement.

“Excuse me, sir. Can I have your squiggly letters?” the boy exclaims, breathless, his curly brown hair bouncing with each animated word.

Squiggly letters?

At first, I frown, my sour mood bubbling to the surface. I just want to get to my fucking room and not deal with the world. “Look, kid—” I begin to say, but my words trail off as I look down at the child. The boy’s light eyes sparkle with unfiltered joy, and his chubby cheeks are flush from the heat.

Something in his innocent face tugs at a memory, softening the edges of my irritation. I can’t help but think of a girl I once knew, someone with the same playful spirit and those same bright, hopeful eyes.

A reluctant smile creeps onto my face as I kneel down to the boy’s level. “You want my squiggly letters, huh?” I ask, my tone lighter. The boy nods vigorously, grinning from ear to ear.

With a sigh, I motion for Lincoln to hand me a pen and a scrap of paper. When he does, I turn back to the kid. “Alright, kid. What’s your name?”

“Rafael!” the boy replies, bouncing on his toes.

“Okay, Rafael,” I say, writing on the paper. As I hand the paper back, I feel a weird tug in my chest as the kid smiles wider. “Have you been good this year for Santa?”

Rafael shakes his head vigorously, a cheeky smile breaking across his chubby cheeks. “Nope!”

“Good,” I reply, leaning closer. “Being good is no fucking fun.”

Rafael giggles, his laughter infectious. “Yeah! I just want fucking toys!”

I laugh at that. “Maybe if you’re just a little naughty, Santa will leave more toys under your tree,” I add.

He giggles some more, gives me a thumbs up and runs off to his parents.

“You ain’t shit, boss. You know that?” Lincoln shakes his head with a smile.

I rise to my full height, and shrug. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” I mumble growing tired of the loud noise from the crowded lobby.

We resume the walk as finally, Javier ushers me into the elevator, and I let out a sigh of relief as the doors close behind us. The elevator dings softly as we reach the top floor. I step out and follow Javier down the corridor. The last floor is all mine and there’s only one more suite and I make sure that no one books it when I’m here.

When the door to my suite finally opens, I step inside, and I don’t waste a second before letting out a long, tired breath.

“Fucking finally,” I mutter, though my voice lacks any trace of warmth.

Lincoln trails in behind me, shutting the door with a soft click. I plop down onto the large leather couch, grateful for the quiet.

Lincoln drops my suitcase onto the floor and scans the room while I do the same. The suite like every fucking corner of this resort is decked out in Christmas decor. Tiny, twinkling, multi-colored lights are strung across the ceiling, and garlands with red ribbons are draped over every available surface.

There’s mistletoe too.

Great.

My gaze lands on a large mechanical Santa in swim trunks sitting prominently in the corner by the window, its fat belly jiggling slightly as if the fucker was mocking me. The sight is absurd. Whose bright idea was to add the tacky as fuck decorations to the rooms? It sure as fuck wasn’t mine. Not the ugly ones at least.

There’s a 7-foot Christmas tree in the center of the room, adorned with colorful beach-themed ornaments—surfboards, palm trees, and even a Santa wearing sunglasses.

Lincoln, who has been silently observing from the doorway, raises an eyebrow at my reaction. The fucker knows better than to say anything, but I can tell he’s barely holding back a smirk and a sarcastic retort. “Looks like the staff went all out,” he replies, his voice betraying a hint of amusement.

“No, shit,” I grumble, pulling my phone from my front pocket.

He flips me off, stepping further into the room and shutting the door behind him. “Alright, I’ll get shit squared away for you. Is there something else you need, princess?”

“Fetch me a drink will you,” I cut him off. “I’ll need all the alcohol I can get to help me with this festive nightmare.”

“I’m not your fucking servant,” Lincoln chuckles softly as he ignites my request and moves to check the room’s security features.

“It’s so difficult to find good help these days.” I mumbled through gritted teeth at his retreating back.

“Love you too, motherfucker,” he booms just before I’m left alone with no drink and the horrendous decorations. I grimace at the same time I let my gaze linger on the inflatable Santa. Its grin seems to widen as if the ugly thing knew just how much its existence bothers me.

Having had enough, I rise from the couch and walk to the window, pushing aside the thin, flowy red and white curtains that are decked out in yet more Christmas-themed patterns and stepping into the balcony. Once outside, my eyes settle on the view, hoping for normalcy instead of the holiday horror inside. Instead, I find a sprawling balcony overlooking the ocean, where the holiday absurdity continues.

I’m greeted by the sea breeze and the soothing sound of waves crashing against the shore. The view from all the way here is breathtaking, but it’s almost completely obscured by the sight directly below me. The outdoor area looks like it’s been transformed into a North Pole without snow and Santa’s workshop.

There are strings of twinkling lights hanging from every palm tree in sight. Inflatable snowmen—who have no business being in a tropical setting—are dotted around the green areas. Then there’s the pool area, which is decorated with faux snow, inflatable gingerbread cookies and oversized candy canes. The lounge chairs are draped in red and white, and a makeshift stage in one corner hosts a group of carolers dressed in mismatched colorful polo shirts and Santa hats.

I lean against the railing, taking in the scene below. It’s like someone took everything I hate about the damn holiday and decided to throw it all together in a beachside blender. The corniness is almost too much to bear.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Again, what was I thinking asking for this shit?” It’s my fault really. I must’ve lost my mind when I told my team who ran all my hotels around the world to go all out for Christmas.

It made her smile. The damn holiday that hurt like a bitch to me, always put a smile on her face. I ignore the obnoxious voice inside my head dead set on torturing me with thoughts of the sweet ghost from my past.

And as I watch the happy guests below mingling and snapping photos amidst the decorations, I can’t help but feel a bit of irritation dissolve into reluctant amusement. Who would’ve thought I would end up in the middle of all this Christmas madness? I sure wouldn’t have.

December is just another month like any other for me. There’s nothing special about it. Not the decorations or the festivities. Certainly not the people who seemed to look happier and act kinder when they spent the rest of the year being insufferable assholes.

It’s all fake.

Yeah, there’s nothing special or magical about December. At least not for me.

Lincoln clears his throat from behind me, pulling me from my thoughts. “Tacky Christmas decorations aside, boss. This is one beautiful place you have here.”

Pride takes over me at his words as my gaze lingers at the grounds below.

“Yeah….” I look around all I’ve built for myself. “It is.”

He nods, his lips twitching into a rare smile. “I’ll be down at the bar. If you need to go somewhere, call me, yeah?”

I nod and listen as he heads back inside the suite.

I stay rooted in place, now looking at the horizon, enjoying the peace this place always gives me specially during this shitty season. Then with one last glance at the over-the-top Christmas display below, I head back inside with a heavy feeling in my chest.

A feeling as if something waited for me out there.

I just didn’t know what and quite frankly I couldn’t care less.

Nothing ever lasted.

No one ever stayed.