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December

I promised my mama I’d be home for Christmas this year, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my twenty-eight years thus far, it’s to not break promises to your mama. I’m thankful that it’s unseasonably cold this winter so no one questions why I’ll be wearing sweaters for the duration of my stay.

I’m not sure why I was so shocked when Aaron got upset again and left more marks on my wrists and arms. But when I showed up fifteen minutes late to meet him at a dinner party after McKenna’s practice ran long, he was irate when we got home. He pinned me against the wall, squeezing my arms with such force that even after a week, my skin is still riddled with deep purple marks. There was also the hole in the wall that he made when he punched the drywall beside my head. He said I had to patch it myself because he wouldn’t allow someone else to come clean up the mess “I’d made.”

Taking a deep breath, trying to clear the thoughts from my head, I send up a prayer of thanks that Aaron wasn’t able to come with me to Texas. He said he was working on a case that wouldn't allow him to be out of the office for five days.

Snapping me out of my thought spiral with his deep baritone, Brody says, “Come on, Kota. Don’t pitch a hissy fit over this. There’s no use; you’ll never win this battle. I’m your older brother, and I have every right to be concerned about your happiness, safety, and well-being.”

“Brody Meyer, I know you’re not fixin’ for a fight with your baby sister on Christmas Eve,” Mama scolds.

Yep. It only took one look from my big brother to know something was off about me. And without a moment of hesitation, he knew Aaron must be the cause of whatever was going on.

“It’s no secret I’ve never liked Aaron, Mama. The first time I met him, do you remember what I told you?”

She shakes her head at him and gives him a look of warning, but Brody completely disregards her. “I said that man looks like a sheep-killing dog. And the girl you raised was no sheep.” Brody looks me in my teary eyes. “Don’t let that sonofabitch turn you into a sheep, Kota Lynn.”

“I won’t.”

“You swear it?”

“I swear it, Bubs.” With that, I get up and excuse myself. After placing my dessert plate in the dishwasher, I head up to my childhood bedroom to grab my book off the nightstand. I need to bury my head in a reality that isn’t mine.

Just as I grab my tattered copy of Little Women , my phone lights up with a text notification. I tense, thinking it might be Aaron, but relax when I see Carson’s name. Well, the name I put him under in my contacts. It’s both a nickname and a cover in case Aaron were to see my phone.

Mr. Wilder:

Merry Christmas Eve, Dakota!

Me:

Dakota? Who stole your phone? So formal . . . you must want something from me.

Lol, it’s just me. But I wouldn’t hate it if you said hi to my idol for me.

Knew it!

Can you blame me for shooting my shot, Super Nanny?

Ah, there he is. You couldn’t even go two minutes without a nickname.

It’s a form of endearment. Like a love language.

So are you saying you love me, Golden Boy?

Shit. Why in the hell did I ask that? The text bubbles appear and disappear before reappearing again. What feels like minutes but is really only moments later, his reply pops up on my phone.

Mr. Wilder:

I’m really good at golf.

What? Well, that’s one way to avoid my awkward question.

Okay . . .

We should go together sometime. It’s my favorite thing to do in the off-season.

I’m not going to lie, you probably wouldn’t want me to golf with you. I’ve never been before.

I could teach you.

It’s not right. I’m older than you. You shouldn’t be the one teaching me anything.

You can teach me anything you want. I’m a very eager student.

Carson Wilder makes my cheeks heat even from thousands of miles away.

I’ll trade you baking lessons for golf lessons.

Deal. I’m holding you to it.

You’ve got it. I’m about to get lost in a book. Merry Christmas Eve!

What book?

I’m not sure if his interest in what I’m reading is genuine, but each time he asks, my chest tightens.

Little Women. I’ve read it every Christmas Eve since I was nine.

That’s commitment. Which character is your favorite?

I’d like to be more like Josephine with her fiery personality.

Personally, Aunt March is my favorite.

That makes me laugh so loud I have to cover my mouth to muffle the sound.

“What has you laughing like a schoolgirl, Kota Lynn?” Brody’s voice startles me.

I grasp my chest. “You scared me, Brodes.”

“Seems like you startle easier than ever these days.”

Shaking my head, I start to disagree, but he puts his hand up to stop me.

“Look, Mama told me to come up here and apologize for speaking out of place. But I’m not gonna do that.” I snort at his bluntness. “You see, ever since Pops passed away, I made it my mission to become your protector. I won’t apologize for having your best interests at heart.”

My chest aches the same way it does every time I think of my daddy. He passed away when I was in middle school. He was diagnosed with brain cancer, and six months later, we were laying him to rest.

“Something is going on. You’re acting different—skittish even. You can’t expect me to just stand back and watch my sister be unhappy. I hope like hell you know you can come to me with anything, sis.”

Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I whisper, “I know, Bubs.”

And I do know. So why can’t I muster up the courage to admit what is happening? Why can’t I go to the people I love the most in the world and tell them I don’t feel safe?

I know if I admit to Brody what has been happening with Aaron, he will jump into protector mode. He’ll help me get a swift divorce and set me up with a new place to live. But I also know he can be hot-headed, and finding out Aaron has laid hands on me multiple times now could possibly land Brody in jail.

I’m so close to leaving Aaron and making it on my own that I can almost see the light at the end of the tunnel. By this time next year, I’ll celebrate Christmas with my family as a single woman.