Christmas By Design

11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Beckett

I am an idiot. What the actual fuck did I think was going to happen when I brought up Alex’s insinuations?

In my defense, I thought it was a good idea at the time. I figured we should clear the air, at any rate. She was obviously nervous, and it seemed like a logical conclusion that it was about me. If she had been flirting, then spending the night here with me could be either embarrassing—if that was all she had intended to do—or a step too far, too fast. I guess it didn’t occur to me that she wasn’t interested at all.

I really am a moron.

Did I want her to be looking for something more? Yes. I might as well admit that, even if only to myself. I haven’t been intentionally flirting with her, but that’s probably because I’m just objectively bad at human interaction. I have been looking at her. Thinking about her. And, as long as I’m being honest with myself, wanting her.

But it’s pretty clear now that those feelings are not reciprocated. Which should have occurred to me long before I brought it up. She said the guys in the office harass her. I should have put two and two together.

Never mind that their harassment makes my blood boil.

But we have more important things to deal with right now. Namely, that it’s freezing in here, the snow is coming down so hard outside I can barely see out the window, and Gemma is in the first-floor office with the door shut. Crying, from the sound of it.

Don’t flatter yourself .

Fine. This isn’t about me. But then what is it about, and how are we going to survive a blizzard in a house with no power if she won’t come out near the fireplace?

I decide to give her some space and text my neighbor to ask him to feed my cat. Then, I get the fire going. When she comes out, at least she’ll be warm. Maybe she’ll emerge by the time I’m done.

But when the flames are crackling and dancing in the fireplace, she still hasn’t appeared. It’s getting colder, and I know she hasn’t eaten yet. I don’t have a choice anymore. I have to check on her.

I stand outside the door for a moment, and all I can hear are big, gasping sobs on the other side.

That’s not good.

It doesn’t sound like normal crying. It sounds like panic crying, like she’s having a panic attack just on the other side of this flimsy door. I want to break it down and hold her until it passes, but I don’t think that display of misplaced chivalry will make anything any better.

I settle for tapping softly. “Woodard?” I call roughly. “Everything okay?”

No sooner than it is out of my mouth do I cringe. No, you idiot. Everything is not okay. Am I doomed to repeatedly put my foot in my mouth around this woman tonight?

She doesn’t answer. The sobs get quieter for a minute, but then I hear her gasping as if she’s trying to control it but failing.

I try again. “Can I come in?”

She still doesn’t answer, but I hear her shift. The door shakes as if she’s pressed herself up against it.

I’ll take that as a no.

“I won’t if you don’t say I can, okay?” I ask as gently as possible. It admittedly sounds less soothing than I’d like, but I’m doing my best. I lower myself to the ground where I imagine she’s sitting on the other side of the door and rest my head against it. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on, but I can tell you’re upset. And I’m very, very bad at small talk, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

A wet, huffing sound comes from directly on the other side of the door.

“Was that a laugh? I hope that was a laugh.” I mutter the last part. “Anyway,” I continue, “if you’re upset about being here with me tonight after what that asshole said, you don’t have to worry. About me, I mean. I’m not… I won’t… shit.” I curse softly. I am really mucking this up. What the fuck am I even trying to say?

But then the doorknob twists, and the door pops open. I immediately push it wider and crawl inside. I can see her in the dim light filtering in from the window beyond which the blizzard is officially in full force. She’s curled up against the wall, hugging her knees to her chest. Her face is buried, and wild curls the color of dark brick cover her face.

I scoot close enough to her that I can serve as a support, but I’m careful not to touch her. I don’t say anything. Just being near her feels like a win for now. Sure enough, her breathing starts to become less ragged.

After a few minutes, she croaks out, “It’s not you.”

I’m flooded with relief. “Oh.” Then, I test the waters. “I suppose I shouldn’t flatter myself about that either, then?”

Gemma groans. “That was mean. I’m sorry. When I get…” She pauses, swallowing. “When I get anxious, I get angry sometimes.”

I let that settle for a moment. “Is that what’s happening? You’re anxious?”

She nods.

“But not about being here with me?” I clarify.

She turns her head so her cheek is resting on her knees. Her green eyes are glassy, and they gleam in the dreary light coming through the window. Big, red splotches mar her pale skin, and her makeup is smudged around her eyes.

Still, she’s breathtaking. I can’t help but feel like it’s a privilege to see her this way. Vulnerable. Like she trusts me with her fear.

“No. It’s not you. I…” She trails off again. Talking is clearly difficult for her right now, so I wait. “Shit, this is going to sound really stupid when I say it out loud.”

“Try me.”

Her breathing speeds up again as if she’s at war with something inside her mind. “I’ve never left my baby for a whole night.”

She buries her face into her knees and sobs.

I lean over so my head is close to hers. “Gemma,” I say softly. I don’t think I’ve ever said her first name aloud before, but I like the feel of it on my tongue. I say it again. “Gemma, can I… Would it help if I held you?” I want to calm her. That’s all. Nothing more.

If I keep telling myself that, maybe it’ll be true.

“I don’t know,” she admits between gasps. “I’m not usually near anyone when this happens.”

“Can I try?”

“You want to hold me while I panic-cry in a house with no power in the middle of a snowstorm?” Even despite her voice shaking, it still sounds incredulous.

If only she knew. “I really do.”

She nods without lifting her forehead from her knees. I close the distance between us, touching our hips together before slinging my arm across her back and shoulders. She immediately folds herself into me, angling her body so she can lean her head against my chest. I rest my back against the wall to give her some more room and weave my fingers into her hair so I can hold her close. It takes all my effort not to moan at the feel of her tucked against my body. She fits so perfectly here.

Which feels like a shitty thing to notice when she’s panicking.

“It isn’t stupid to worry about your baby, but it’s going to be okay,” I say into her hair. She smells like cinnamon and sugar. “Is she with someone you can trust?”

She nods against my chest. “She’s with my parents.”

“Good. They love her as much as you do, I bet. Remind me how old she is?” I know how old her baby is. She turned two in August, and she’s adorable. She has dark, straight hair she must have gotten from her father, but big, round eyes just like her mother. But I want to keep Gemma grounded here, and it seems like getting her to talk about her kid is as good a way as any.

Sure enough, I can feel some of the tension seep out of her body. “Two.”

“Probably time for a sleepover with Grandma and Grandpa, then,” I muse.

“We live with them. For now, anyway.”

“So, they already know a lot about her routines, and she’s in a place she’s comfortable.” That’s reassuring, I’m sure.

“Yes. That’s why this is so stupid. Sometimes I’m not really rational where she’s concerned.” She chokes back another sob.

Nope, we’re not going back there again. I tighten my arm around her. “Still not stupid. You’re used to being with her, and you can’t be. It’s okay to be nervous about that. But she’s fine there, and I’ve got you here. Okay? What’s her name?”

She relaxes a fraction again. “Nova. Her dad left me when I found out I was pregnant and said I wanted to keep her. She was a light in the dark for me. So, I named her this astronomical event that produces a star. It felt fitting.”

“That’s beautiful,” I say as I cradle her upper body. I press my hip closer to hers. “That’s really beautiful.”

She must be coming down from the adrenaline because she droops into me. For a minute, I think she’s fallen asleep on my chest, and even though it’s so cold I can see my breath, I’d happily stay right here all night if she’d let me. But her teeth start chattering, and she shudders. That adrenaline crash coupled with the dropping temperature is going to be a recipe for disaster.

Time to get her warm.

“If you feel okay to move, I started a fire in that giant fireplace in the living room. We can sit near it and stay warm. Would that be okay?” I ask, smelling her hair one last time.

She starts to get to her feet, but she’s shaky. I jump up next to her and take her hand. I don’t know what makes me do it, though I tell myself it’s to steady her and not to satisfy my need to continue touching her. She squeezes her palm against mine.

“It seems like you’ve done this before,” she ventures as we make our way to the living room.

“Done what?” I let go of her hand to let her settle herself on the couch. There’s a blanket draped over the back of it that I hand to her. She tucks her arms underneath it, still shivering.

“Talked someone through a panic attack.” Her eyelids are growing heavy. Hooded, almost, but not with desire. No, that would be my own, I’m afraid.

I blink a few times to clear my expression and sit on the floor so I’m eye-level with her. “Maybe I’m just a decent person?” I try to keep my voice playful. It feels like that’s what she needs right now.

She hums, unconvinced. “You don’t strike me as that type.” Her tone suggests she’s teasing, and I purse my lips against a smile. Her eyelids droop some more as she tracks the movement of my mouth.

“I minored in psychology in undergrad,” I admit. “It has been surprisingly useful.”

Her gaze meets mine again, bright now. “You remember what you learned that long ago?” She beams at her own joke. It changes her entire face, and I’m surprised to find relief, heady and strong, washing over me.

I feel myself break into a smile, but I correct it quickly. “Okay, Woodard. Point goes to you because you look about ready to pass out.” I can’t help it. I gently tuck one of her curls behind her ear. Her eyelids flutter closed, and she sighs.

“When you wake up, you need to eat something,” I insist, but my voice is rough.

She doesn’t seem to hear it, though. Or at least she doesn’t react. She mumbles an “mmm-hmm” before quickly falling asleep.

I watch her for a long time, the crackling of the fire not nearly loud enough to drown out my thoughts. She’s beautiful in a wild, chaotic way. Certainly not the type of woman I ever thought I’d be interested in, but I can’t help it. Something about the way she needles me is exciting, and the way she trusted me to hold her through a vulnerable moment sealed the deal. In just a few short weeks, Gemma the Tornado has barreled through the office and into my heart, and I’m pretty sure nothing will be able to stop her from completely destroying me.