A Very Grumpy Lumberjack Christmas

10. The Mistletoe Grinch

10

THE MISTLETOE GRINCH

N oel sucks in a sharp breath, staggering back a half step. Her already pale cheeks whiten even more, as if my answer sucked the very life from her. She presses her hands over her chest—smack dab on the grinning Santa’s face on that damn ugly sweater.

It should look ridiculous on her.

Because it is really fucking ugly—with the gaudy fluff balls dangling all over it, the oversized rose-colored cheeks on the big man, and the silver and gold yarn Mrs. Jolly used to make it reflecting the orangey glow from the fireplace.

But Noel could be wearing an old potato sack and make it look like a damn ball gown—or nothing and make me completely forget all the reasons I said “no” in the first place.

She’s always been one of the most beautiful and strongest women I’ve ever known, but now she’s acting like I cut straight through her mom’s knitting work to her heart with that single word.

Fuck…

I regret how my answer hurt her, but it’s the truth. Lying to her about it, telling her I would have stayed, that things could have been different, won’t change anything.

Not then.

Certainly not now.

We would still be standing here at an impasse. Hurting each other by doing what’s best for us individually but destroys us as a whole.

I take another long sip of my drink, trying to figure out how to deal with this woman now that we’re trapped in this space together, forced to confront the past we both ran from.

Her to Canada; me to this cabin where I could hide.

Lot of good it did…

All it took was her lifting her head and meeting my gaze from inside that car on the embankment for every wall I’ve built to protect myself over the last eight years to crumble instantly.

Tears stream down her cheeks, and she swallows in a way that almost looks painful. “I knew you wouldn’t stay. Just…hearing you actually say it hurts a lot more than I thought it would after all this time.”

There are so many things I want to say in response.

Words that have burned like acid inside my chest for almost a decade. But telling her any of it would only make this already tense situation worse—for both of us.

Instead, I ask her the question I know the answer to already. Because maybe—just maybe—once she voices the truth, she’ll understand that this isn’t something we can simply talk out. That I am not the only one to blame for how we fell apart.

“Would you have come back with me ? If I had approached you that day, if I had begged and told you how much I loved you and needed you here. Would you have returned to Mistletoe?”

I brace for impact .

Steel myself for what is coming so she won’t see me break down in front of her.

Noel presses her lips together in a firm line, wrapping her arms around herself and hugging tightly, like she’s trying to physically hold herself together as much as I am. “No.”

And there isn’t any further explanation needed.

I wouldn’t have stayed.

She wouldn’t have come back.

It absolutely would not have mattered if either of us had done anything differently then—or now.

That doesn’t make it hurt any less or make it any easier to be in this room with her.

I need space.

Air that isn’t filled with her peppermint shampoo scent.

Some way to get my head around the fact that wanting Noel, even loving her, will never, ever be enough to make it work.

“Yeah…” I down the last of my drink and release a heavy sigh, dropping my head low. “That’s what I thought.”

I push off the counter and make my way to the bathroom without looking at her again. If I did, I might go to her, pull her into my arms, bury my face in those luscious golden waves, and breathe her in. Then do something far worse…

Like let myself love her again.

I close the bathroom door and lean against it, clenching my eyes closed and listening for anything from her.

She doesn’t make any sound out in the living room.

All I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears from the pumping of the heart I wasn’t sure I possessed anymore as it thunders against my ribs.

The need to wash away the pain, to cleanse myself of these feelings, wants, desires, and needs that will only make the agony worse, finally draws me across the small bathroom and to the glass- enclosed shower.

I flip on the water as hot as it will go and strip, stepping in while the spray is still cold enough to sting my heated skin.

Maybe it’s exactly what I need to wake myself up from this nightmare I’ve brought upon myself by bringing her here.

You should have taken her to Mom and Dad’s…

Hindsight is twenty-twenty.

It might have been the best course of action to keep her as far away from me as possible, but then again, it would have exposed her to whatever crud Dad has and risk her getting sick when she’s only home with her mother for a week.

There’s no way to undo it now, anyway.

Not with the way this storm seems intent on keeping us trapped in this cabin together for the foreseeable future.

Going outside again in this would be insane, even for me.

So is bringing the woman who broke your heart to the place where you spent your most intimate shared moments with her…

“Fuck…”

And as the water finally starts to heat, I allow the warmth to soak into my sore muscles, releasing the tiniest bit of the tension that has felt like it would make me snap since the moment she drove back into my life yesterday.

Christ, was it really only one day ago?

It feels like I’ve been tortured by her presence for years instead of a few dozen hours.

And I thought I had eradicated that part of me that cared.

I believed I had completely swept away those little shards of my heart that she shattered, and I was confident there was nothing left of it. But one fucking day of having her back in my life has undone all the work I’ve put into the last eight years.

Releasing a frustrated groan, I turn to face the showerhead, letting the scalding-hot water beat against my chest and flow down to my cock that doesn’t seem to want to get on board the “you can’t have her” train.

No amount of chastising myself for it will make the traitor go down.

My attraction to that woman will never die.

Not until the day I do.

Which makes the fact that I can’t take my aching cock in my hand and do anything about it a thousand times more painful.

“Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!”

I lash out, knocking free the bottles from the small cutout shelf to clatter near my feet, then slamming my palms against the tile in front of me and dropping my head under the spray.

The bathroom door flies open almost instantly, like maybe she followed me and had been standing just on the other side when I lost my shit.

I jerk my gaze toward it, frozen in place by what I find.

Noel stands there, wild, concerned eyes scanning the small space until they land on me.

They flare wide.

She sucks in a sharp breath but doesn’t move.

My cock twitches under her assessment, and I reach out and swipe my hand over the fogged glass to better see her. Those baby blues of hers follow the movement and linger over my body as if she’s examining a work of art.

Silence broken only by the water pelting the tile and the bottles fills the few feet between us.

“Noel?”

“Shit.” Her eyes flare, and she spins around, shaking her head as she reaches out to grip the doorjamb. “I’m so sorry. I heard a crash and—”

“And thought you needed to come to my rescue?”

It would be funny under any other circumstances…

If having Noel in here while I’m naked and hard and wanting her wasn’t so agonizing.

“Umm…” Noel glances over her shoulder, keeping her eyes on mine instead of letting them drift lower, as they had before. “I was just worried…”

I push off the tile, rising to my full six-five height, and turn to face her—nothing but the single pane of glass and a few steps separating us. “You don’t have to worry about me, Snowflake. I’m a big boy.”

Her gaze drops, and she quickly jerks her head back to face the main cabin, her fingers tightening on the wooden doorframe. “Even big boys can still get hurt…at least, those who let themselves feel anything.”

That final added comment kills any playful retort I had.

She really believes that…

“You think I don’t feel anything? That it didn’t hurt me, too?”

“That what didn’t?”

“Us. Breaking up. Losing you.” I release a humorless laugh that echoes off the tile. “It fucking destroyed me.”

Her back stiffens. “You seem to be doing pretty fine.”

“Fine?” I snort and shake my head, fisting my hands at my sides as the water cascades over me, keeping me warm as the conversation and her belief that I’m “fine” chills my blood. “Turn around, Noel.”

A shiver rolls through her, and her nails bite into the wood under them, as if she’s using it as an anchor to keep her from following through with my request. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Luke.”

The waver in her voice makes my hard cock throb.

“Why not? It isn’t anything you haven’t seen before, and I don’t like talking to your back.”

Seconds tick by.

Then a minute .

Almost two before she finally releases her death grip on the door frame and slowly turns to face me.

Pink colors her cheeks—a flush caused by the heat and humidity in the tight space or perhaps by the eyeful she’s getting.

“Do you think this is fine, Noel?” I spread my hands out wide, absently referencing my life in general. “Do you think how I live is? You want to know why I hate Christmas so much? Do you want to know why I can’t stand to be around the people and the music and all the merriment?”

She doesn’t answer, just stands silent, watching me like I might somehow pose a threat.

Maybe I do.

God knows she does to me.

The worst one I’ve ever faced.

Far more serious than any mountain lion or bear or coyote that might wander onto the mountain. This woman won’t maul me—she will devour my soul again.

“I hate Christmas because it reminds me of you. Because this whole damn town reminds me of you. You were always the walking personification of Christmas spirit, and I didn’t have the strength to think about you and not fucking crumble every day.”

Her whole body trembles as she absorbs my words.

“Shit.” I scrub a hand over my face and force myself to look away from her, up at the hot spray to let it wash away the regret.

Because I shouldn’t have said all that.

I shouldn’t have made such a stupid admission when it won’t change anything, when it never could.

Finally, her soft, unsteady voice floats to me over the sound of the rushing water. “But you loved Christmas, too.”

I shake my head, returning my gaze to hers. Any hope I had of keeping those unsaid things that way completely gone now. “No, Noel. I loved you . I loved spending Christmas with you, doing all those things together. Going to the tree lighting. Wrapping gifts. Singing carols. All the stupid bullshit that now nauseates me because every fucking minute of it, I think about you, what I had, and what I lost. And God”—I release a sardonic laugh—“it’s been almost a decade, and I can’t get over it. I can’t get over you. ”

And now the truth is out there, hanging somehow frozen in the warm, humid air.

She stares at me for so long that I wonder if she’s actually going to say anything. So long that I reach out and flip off the water, sliding the glass shower door open to step out onto the mat. So long that I have time to grab a towel and wrap it around my waist before she finally shows signs of life again.

Her tongue darts out across her lips, and Noel approaches me slowly, tentatively, like I’m a wounded, caged animal and she’s worried I’m going to lash out at her if she unlocks the gate and unleashes me.

She’s probably not far off.

That’s how I felt since the moment she left, since the minute she said she was taking the job in Toronto: wounded, utterly fucking destroyed.

Like I’m half a man, half the person I was when she was here with me.

Like I’m not fully human.

Like my goddamn heart is three sizes too small.

Or maybe I don’t have one anymore.

Maybe she always held it, and when she left, she took it with her.

Noel stops just short of reaching me, twisting her hands together in front of her like she doesn’t know what to do with them. Her eyes shimmer, but she manages to hold back her tears as she examines my face carefully. “Do you really mean all that? ”

“Fuck, Noel…”

I squeeze my eyes closed and release a heavy, deep breath that I feel all the way into my bones. When I open them again, she’s shifted closer, and I can feel the heat of her body radiating into my damp skin.

Her bottom lip quivers. “Do you?”

It feels like a trap.

Bright-red warning lights flash in my head.

Alerting me of the danger.

Cautioning that moving forward will be at my own risk.

But I can’t see any of it when I look at her, so nervous as she awaits my answer.

“That’s how I’ve always felt about you, our entire lives, Snowflake. You know that. The fact that we didn’t get together until we were sixteen had more to do with me not thinking I was good enough for you and nothing to do with me not wanting you before that. I wanted you always . So, yes, I meant every fucking thing I said.”

And my body urges me to do something really stupid.

I reach out and caress her cheek, the skin so soft and flawless against my calloused hand.

The feeling is so familiar.

So goddamn good.

It’s like a drug seeping into my veins.

My cock twitches against the towel, my still-wet body primed for the very bad idea that has taken root in my head.

The only question is whether or not Noel wants to take the trip to fuck-ourselves-over-ville with me.