Page 44 of A Love Like Christmas Time
Chapter 18
Lauren
I’m not sure how long we stay like this. His arms are around me, holding on as if he’s drowning and I’m the only thing keeping him above water.
I hug him back as forcefully as he hugs me, his hot breath feathering against the crook of my neck. One of my hands has found the nape of his neck, softly playing with his hair, while the other one draws calming circles over his shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles against my skin, but doesn’t make any attempt to let go.
“Nothing to be sorry about,” I whisper, not releasing my grip on him either. I just wish our first hug had happier circumstances.
He’s obviously upset, though I don’t know why. And truthfully, I don’t need to, if he doesn’t want to tell me the reason.
My heart aches for him. If there’s any way I could make him feel better, I would jump at the chance. While I might not be the kind of person who gets shit done around my house, if it comes to my friends, you better believe I’m springing into action and scratching out eyes. Figuratively.
“Whose ass do I need to kick?” I ask him in a whisper, trying to brighten the mood. And when his body trembles with a low chuckle, I breathe a sigh of relief.
“No fights,” he finally mumbles, loosening his grip around my back ever so slightly. Then he changes his mind and tightens his hold again.
“I threatened to throw a pumpkin at Nic’s ex.” God, I’m still mad she stopped me. That idiot would have deserved it. “I can make damn sure to throw a snowball spiked with rocks or ice at whoever hurt you. I’d have to be close, though. I don’t have the best aim,” I offer, but he shakes his head. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Depends,” he mumbles, his thumbs moving against the small of my back, sending goosebumps up my spine.
“Depends on what?”
“Can we stay like this?” The way he asks it almost brings tears to my eyes. He sounds vulnerable, his breath shaky with nervousness.
“Of course,” I assure him and slightly wriggle in his lap to adjust my position. “I have nowhere else to be. And you know how much I love admiring your café’s brick wall.”
“You’re really something,” he mutters and takes a deep breath. Silence stretches as I twirl one of his curls around my finger until he continues in a whisper. “Do you remember how I told you that my mother left?”
I confirm with a gentle nod.
“It happened when I was about to turn six,” he explains, his fingers playing with the hem of my sweatshirt. “Everything was as usual. She helped me put on my backpack, gave me a kiss and sent me off. Only she never came to collect me.” He swallows heavily and draws in a shaky breath. “I waited for her for hours. All alone in the schoolyard, until it got dark and someone finally reached my dad and he picked me up. And then, when we came home, she was just… gone. Packed her suitcase, some clothes, her documents and left.”
He clears his throat. My heart hurts for him, emotions clogging my throat, making it hard to swallow past.
“I kept hoping she’d come back. Like an abandoned cat, I used to wait by the window for her. I think it took something close to half a year until it finally settled that she wasn’t returning. The funny thing is, the hope…” He clears his throat again. “The hope never quite goes away. There were no warnings. In the morning, she told me she’d see me later. There were no signs, no warnings whatsoever. And her leaving…” He clears his throat. “It did something to my dad. I had no illusions about being part of a picture-perfect family before she left, but I thought there waslove, you know?”
He moves his head, resting his chin on my shoulder, letting go of my shirt to pull me tighter into his arms, as if I’m a giant emotional support teddy bear. I guess I kind of am.
“He became socold. On paper, he did everything a parent should do. He got me from school, made sure I was fed, bought me toys and all necessities.” A deep sigh leaves him, and it’s taking him a few moments to gather his thoughts. “But he wouldn’t read me stories anymore. He wouldn’t take me on outings for ice cream or a movie — stuff we always used to do before. The older I became, the less he was home, which was a good thing, because when he was there, it always felt as though there was a certain aura around him. Like a bubble. A bubble that was quick to burst, which always ended up with him shouting at me. Blaming me for her leaving and for him being unhappy. When I was sixteen, I got myself a job, only because I wanted to avoid him.”
“I’m sorry, Caleb,” I can’t help but whisper.
“When I turned eighteen, he kicked me out without warning.”
I take a sharp breath. “What?”
It’s taking everything in me not to follow my instincts and lean back to find his eyes. Instead, I completely freeze in his hold, anger tightening my muscles. Kicked him out? What the hell?
“It’s okay,” he assures me. “It was a long time ago.”
“That doesn’t make it okay,” I point out, biting back a lot of mean comments before I decide to let it rest. “Sorry, go on.”
“As I said, he kicked me out. Told me I’d ruined his life enough. I packed my shit and the savings I had from my job, and I took off. Don’t ask me how, but I took some buses, and at one point, I ended up here in Wayward Hollow, right in the town square.”
I’m facing away from the windows towards said square. But my eyes jump over to the mirror, watching the dark, snow-covered trees illuminated by orange street light in the reflection.
