Christmas Criminal

11. Noelle

11

NOELLE

Saturday, December 14th

W hile handing out pamphlets for the sheriff's office is not my idea of fun , I'm enjoying the way Nick's eyes are glued to me. Every time I turn around, there he is, watching me.

If he's trying to hide it, he's not doing very well.

I bend over a little further as I talk to people wandering by the booth. Give him a little treat to get him through the day in the hopes that he returns the favor later. Maybe he'll rest his hand on my neck like he did this morning. Grab my ass like he did last night. Shove his tongue down my throat and tug us close.

He was quiet during lunch, but I wouldn't be surprised if that was because of Hank, who seemed to be particularly talkative today. That, and I'm also trying my hardest to obscure our burgeoning connection. Because Hank will tell my mom, who will tell my sister, and before I know it I'll be completely surrounded by people making fun of me for it.

After lunch, I pick right back up where I left off. Smiling despite my annoyance with the situation. Hank and Nick talk in low voices behind me, every once in a while standing behind me to greet whoever it is I'm talking to. For Nick, they're former students and parents. For Hank, they're townspeople.

I don't really hate Hank. He bothers me, and I hate that he's the one who caught me throwing eggs at my dad's house, considering he's buddy-buddy with my mom, but I don't hate him.

While Hank is pulled into another conversation off to the side, Nick stands to talk to someone he recognizes. And I'm left between the two of them, a fake smile plastered on my face, as I hand out yet another little pile of pamphlets.

And then Nick's hand lands in the small of my back. A simple touch that ultimately holds very little meaning, but it sends another little zip of heat down my spine. No one can see the way he's touching me, and judging from the genuine smile he's shooting at the people we're talking to, I can't help but wonder if he's even doing it on purpose.

Like maybe his hand is magnetically drawn to my back in the same way my vagina feels magnetically drawn to his dick.

I move a little closer, and his fingers move gently across my coat. I smell him all around me, that smoky sweet firewood scent that infiltrates my brain like a drug that makes me want more more more .

And as we wave goodbye to the people whose names I've already forgotten, I spot a familiar face in the crowd, just as he's spotting me.

"Fuck," I say, taking a step behind Nick, breaking that contact that had me distracted enough to not notice my dad was skulking around nearby.

"You okay?" Nick asks, holding his hands out on either side of me as if he's waiting for me to jump into his arms. Which, to be fair, doesn't seem like the worst idea in the world. If anything, it would at least make everyone else feel as awkward as I do when my dad is around.

"My dad," I say, crouching so that he won't be able to spot me.

Nick glances over his shoulder and gives me what looks like a pained smile. "I think it might be too late to hide, Noelle."

I grimace. "Fuck fuck fuck," I whisper.

"What's the matter?" Hank asks, his attention turning to me as he rests his hands on his hips and takes a step closer.

"Nothing," I say, because having everyone's attention on me really only makes things worse. "It's nothing."

"Her dad," Nick explains, and I throw my hands out in front of me in response. "What? Are you going to sit here and pretend he's not the reason you're hiding when he's about to be here in five seconds?"

"Maybe!"

He raises an eyebrow, and I put my hands over my face, leaning forward and resting my forehead against Nick's chest. A second later, he hesitantly hugs me, strong arms squeezing me against him. He lowers his voice so only I can hear. "Do you want me to ask him to leave?"

"No," I say, and it comes out a little breathy. "I guess I have to talk to him eventually."

"I can," he says, and when I pull away from him, he keeps his arm around my shoulders. Like a protective little box where no one can get me. His fingers are in my hair again, and all I want is for him to lean forward and kiss me. "Really, you don't have to talk to him if you don't want to. You know I will always be the first to suggest talking rather than stewing, but you don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

My eyes snag on his as I wonder when the change happened and I started trusting him. Not that I ever explicitly didn't .

But more than anyone I've known before, I feel like he's on my side. Like he sees my struggle and while he wants me to work through it in a healthy way, he's not going to force me into anything.

I do think he would get involved if I started looking for another carton of eggs, though.

Hank huffs as I take a hesitant step away from Nick. "Better you talk to him than me."

I turn to him, struggling to figure out what that means.

Hank shrugs. "I'm just saying, if there's one man in this town who deserves some scrambled eggs on his door, it's him." He shakes his head, taking a step toward the back of the hut as I cock my head to one side. "And just so you know, I do not condone that behavior." He takes a seat in his chair and nods to me. "But I'm glad you did it."

A surprised laugh escapes me, and when I turn back to Nick, he’s grinning. He shrugs and takes a step to the side.

And I come face to face with my dad. And my two half-sisters, I guess you'd call them. If I remember correctly, the second one started high school this year.

"Hey, kid," my dad says, his voice happier than I'd expect, considering the last time I saw him, I was in the back of Hank's cruiser. "How are you?"

I force a smile onto my face. "I'm doing well. And yourself?"

I don't mean to sound so formal when I speak to him. It just comes out that way when I'm nervous. I didn't have this side of me in high school or else I would have used it a lot more often. Once I figured out I had some sort of talent designing websites and it was something I actually enjoyed doing, I went full speed ahead finding clients. I spoke to executives I had no business talking to, with only my professional voice and a false sense of confidence.

In the halls of my high school, I turn into sad Noelle with no friends. But in the real world, I can deal with hard questions from clients. I can deal with losing the occasional contract–not that it happens often, but such is life. And I'm going to deal with my dad in the same way I would a business deal. Confidently and without emotion.

If he wants emotion, he can refer to Appendix A: The Egg Splattered Across His Door.

"Doing okay, kid. I miss you. The girls miss you."

I clench my teeth to avoid scoffing. "Miss you, too."

Nick's hand brushes across my lower back, and a second later, he's holding his hand out to my dad to shake. "Nick Monroe," he says, and my dad tentatively shakes it, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of us. There's no doubt in my mind he's wondering what's going on here. "I teach math at the high school."

To start, he knows Hank and I aren't the best of friends. And he knows I wouldn't be caught dead in this town participating in community events.

That, and the math teacher. Why the hell is the math teacher touching his daughter?

Or at least, the woman who used to be his daughter.

My dad spies Hank in the back of the hut. "Hank, nice to see you."

Hank grunts, and I turn to give him the most confused look I can muster while fixing my face for when I turn back to my dad.

My dad clears his throat, running a hand over his hair as he puts an arm around his closest daughter, who is much more interested in her phone than she is in our conversation.

I don't blame her.

In the few seconds of silence between us, my dad decides to speak. "Hey, uh," he starts, "I wanted to say I'm sorry about Thanksgiving. I didn't know Christina was coming over, and I didn't realize when she called me that her leg was broken. I thought she was... I don't know, just upset."

I know this conversation has the potential to derail me. I'm betting Hank and Nick know it, too.

I clench my jaw, trying my best to remain level-headed. "Don't you think it's worth showing up even if your daughter is just upset ?"

He blinks. "Well, of course. I just meant that I didn't realize how serious it was."

"So to be clear, you're teaching your two replacement daughters that you're not going to show up for them unless they have a broken leg to prove that something is wrong?"

The small one blinks up at me, her eyes finding mine. I'm struck for a moment how much she looks like me. There's no more of that little kid playfulness–she has that discerning teenager eye now that tells me she's sizing me up right now as much as I'm skewering our shared sperm donor.

"No one is replacing anyone," he says, holding a hand up to stop me. "I was trying to teach them that I'd be there for them during the holidays. No matter what. And I was."

And I go off the deep end. Dad: 1, Calm Noelle: 0.

"Ugh, that's such bullshit. A holiday means nothing if you don't show up otherwise. It's a stupid day where everyone decides to shove pie up their asses and pretend they're one big happy family. Yet the family that actually needed you to show up was left lying on black ice in your driveway."

The taller one raises her eyebrows. I get the feeling she didn't know how Christina's leg was broken.

My dad shakes his head. "Alright, I'm not getting through to you," he says. He wraps an arm around each of the girls' shoulders. "I'm not trying to be an asshole. I was trying to apologize."

"Apologize by proving you can show up when you need to."

He turns, tugging the girls along with him. I shout after them. "And by the way, you two small fries," I call, because of course I'm blanking on their goddamn names. They turn, despite my dad's best efforts to face them forward. "Just because he doesn't show up at the right times, doesn't mean that you don't deserve someone who does!" I'm fully aware I'm making a fool of myself, but along with the anger my dad is inspiring, I feel a certain amount of kinship with these girls.

When you don't have someone to teach you what you deserve, you end up looking for validation in all the wrong places. My sister and I figured it out, thanks in large part to my mom swiftly kicking my dad to the curb when she found out about his second family.

But if you don't have anyone to correct your course–to listen when you need an ear or plain show up when you need them–it's a recipe for disaster.

I don't want them to have to claw their way back the way I did.

Before I can stop myself, I'm screaming over the crowd of people closing in between us. "And if you're ever upset and you need somebody to talk to who will listen , you come find me! I'll listen to you!"

The small one's eyes catch on mine, and I nod as if to reaffirm this, before she's tugged away by my dad and disappears into the crowd.

Nick's hand moves against my back. "You okay?"

I blink, reorienting myself to the space around me. "Yeah. Sorry." I cringe. "Oh god, I think I need to get into the fetal position for a while. Jesus Christ, I can't believe some of the things that come out of my mouth sometimes."

Nick laughs, his hand pressing into my back a little harder through my coat, like he can sense I need that comforting touch.

"Good for you, Noelle," he says as the blood rises in my cheeks.

He doesn't move his hands as I spin slowly toward him, and they come to rest on my hips. His eyes are on mine, his eyebrows raised as if he's waiting for me to combust or derail or otherwise spin out of control.

All I want to do is press my face into his chest, feel his warm hand on the back of my neck and his breath darting across my face. I want to feel his hands in my hair and hear the way his voice dips when he's speaking only to me.

"It feels like I'm warring with myself," I say, rubbing my hand over my chest. "I feel like I'm fighting for my life to retain who I've become while simultaneously trying to stand up for who I used to be." I let out a long breath. "Honestly, I just hope he can get his shit together for those girls. Do better for them than he did for me and Christina."

Hank grunts. "Deserves a lot worse than a talking to if you ask me, but unfortunately, I'm the sheriff."

I crinkle my brow, cocking my head to the side. "Hank, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you're asking me to egg his house."

He points a finger at me, his eyes connecting to mine. "Listen to me, Noelle. If I catch you throwing eggs at his house again, I'm not letting you off easy with community service with the new math teacher that has all the ladies in town fanning themselves."

Nick's eyebrows rise. "Excuse me?"

I can't help the laugh that tumbles from my throat. "Hank, you think this was letting me off easy? Look what he has me doing. He might be a looker, but he's certainly not easy."

His cheeks go pink. "If everybody else is taking this seriously, I feel like I should take it seriously."

I squeeze Nick's arm and he smiles down at me, one hand still resting on my hip. I step away slowly, heading to the back of the hut and sinking down into the chair across from Hank. "Why do you hate my dad so much?"

He eyes me for a moment before shaking his head. "I think he's a worthless piece of shit who treated your mother like she was secondary for so long that she started to believe it. I think you explained it perfectly, what happened to her. She was treated poorly for so long that she started to think she deserved it. Nobody should have to fight their way out of that."

I nod, my conversation with Christina coming swarming back to the forefront of my mind. Hank doesn't just have a crush on our mom–he's down bad for her.

I warm to him. Hank–as much as he pisses me off–is a good guy at heart. And the fact that he's getting all puffy and angry over how someone treated my mom–one of my favorite people in the world–has the ice I hold in my heart for him thawing.

"I agree," I say. "She deserves a hell of a lot better."

He nods. "She deserves the best ."

For the rest of the day, I eye Hank. He hasn't made any further comments about my mom, but every time I think back on his sputtery outburst that she deserves better, my heart swells.

It has me a little giddy and excited because my mom hasn't really dated since my dad. There's been the occasional online date, when Christina or I have forced the issue, but she hasn't really made an effort to get out there. As much as Hank is Hank , I think he would treat her well.

And that is exciting.

Add to that the way Nick keeps touching me today, and my brain is completely scattered. When I turn around, I think about my mom finally finding love again. And when I turn to Nick, I think about the way he kissed me last night in the dim light of the parking lot.

When the fair dies down, Hank waves us off and promises he can take care of the booth by himself. He tells Nick to mark down an extra hour or two on my timecard before taking my seat behind the table, smiling and waving as people meander by.

As I gather my bag from underneath the folding table in back, Nick's hand falls to my back again. A place it seems drawn to today.

We leave the hut like that, his hand so lightly touching me as we weave through the crowd toward the high school.

When the booths are behind us and the Christmas music slowly blends into the background noise of the night, I slide my arm around his waist. A moment later, his is around my shoulders, tugging me closer.

"So I take it Hank has a soft spot for your mom," Nick says, as we wander along the pavement back to the high school.

I laugh. "Yeah, Christina was saying something about that last week. But it, uh, seems like more than a soft spot."

"Yeah, I think he flat out loves her," Nick says, squeezing me a little tighter into his side. "That's sweet. Cranky old Hank is in love."

"I wonder if my mom knows."

Nick hums. "You don't think he's told her?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I mean, I don't know if she'd even tell me if he did. She hasn't exactly been prioritizing relationships recently. Makes sense, considering how my dad treated her."

He nods, pressing a kiss to the side of my head that has my stomach doing all sorts of somersaults. "I'm really proud of you for standing up for yourself."

I snort, burying my head in his shoulder. "Stop. That was embarrassing. The whole town probably heard me screaming at him."

Nick shakes his head. "You can always look back and wish you had done something another way. But I think sometimes what matters is that you did it. You said the hard thing." He lets out a deep breath. "What matters is that you stay true to yourself and the people you love. And you do that. Religiously."

I shrug. "I spent a lot of my life accepting the way people have treated me. Now that I'm on my own and doing well, it's hard to come back to a place that holds that feeling so strongly. Makes me feel like a caged animal, ready to lash out."

He nods. "Well, you're ticking them off one by one. Louis Prince and Stacy Mann. Your dad. Who else do we have to take down a peg?"

I laugh into his shoulder. "I don't know. They were the big ones." I let out a long breath. "Maybe it's this town, you know? Just the vestiges of having felt less than for so long in exactly this place that it creeps into my bones whenever I'm here."

We cross the asphalt, heading for my car. "Well, maybe it's time you show the town what's what."

I raise an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

He shakes his head as I hit the unlock button on my key fob. "I know you're committed to keeping your life now separate from what your life once was. But maybe showing off a little is exactly what you need to do to cancel out the way this town made you feel."

I purse my lips. "I get the sentiment. I don't think that you're wrong but couldn't it go either way? I can bring this thing that I've worked so hard for into this community–in any way, shape, or form I want, right? And see how it makes me feel. But doesn't it go the opposite way too? I'm not sure I could have built this thing if I hadn't left and started new. And if that's true, isn't it possible that even running web design classes at the local library could, little by little, chip away at all that I've worked for?"

"That's what he wants you to do? Run classes?"

She nods. "Yeah, he's been trying to get me to do that for a while. And I just… I mean, the classes themselves sound fine." I let out a long breath. "Sometimes I feel like the perfect storm had to happen for my life to turn out as well as it did despite the circumstances. And it feels like allowing those circumstances to mix with my new life is a recipe for disaster."

Nick nods, digesting this for a moment. "Isn't it possible that the perfect storm is who you've become? That wherever you are, you'll find success because you've gotten through those circumstances?"

I shrug noncommittally. "I guess you can spin it whatever way you want. It feels dangerous to me. There's no reason for me to be back here other than holidays, so why force it, you know?" I bite my lip, realizing I'm dancing around dangerous territory with whatever new thing is happening between me and Nick. "If there is a reason for me to be back here, of course I'll figure out a way to make it work. But until that time, I don't see any harm in keeping a boundary.”

Nick nods. He doesn't seem upset, so I can only assume I didn't step in shit. In my head, we're lightly exploring something together–and it seems like he's on the same page.

A moment later, he grins. "Well, it sounds like that jerk Hank thinks you're quite an inspiration."

A blush spreads across my cheeks. "Stop! I already feel bad enough."

He shrugs, standing up straight and pulling me against his chest. "For what it's worth, I think I agree with Hank. And I think you could do a lot for this town, if you ever decide you want to. And who knows, that might be an opportunity to tell them once and for all that Noelle deserves better, damnit."

I roll my eyes, pushing away from him for a moment. "You know me too well already if you're trying to convince me into doing something by telling me it's a rebellion."

He grins down at me with his arms still wrapped around my neck, his fingers playing with my hair.

"Despite your best efforts, I've come to find that side of you quite charming."

I press my lips together to dim my smile as I stand on my toes to kiss his jaw. "How charming?"

His arms drift down, wrapping around my waist as he tips his head down to kiss me. "Very charming," he says, one hand squeezing my ass and causing a surprised gasp to jump from my throat. "But not quite charming enough."

He pulls away from me, a grin on his face.

"Oh, come on!"

"Give me your timecard, Criminal."

I roll my eyes, letting out a quick huff as I fumble around in my bag for the card and a pen. I hand them over, watching as he scribbles on the next line and hands it back.

He lets out a long breath as he tugs me into his arms again, and I can't help but notice he pauses there, like he wants to say something more but stops himself.

"You okay?" I ask.

He nods, his eyes darting to the high school behind me. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, Noelle. I'm good."

He runs his hands through my hair, pausing with a hand on each cheek to kiss my forehead, my nose, my lips.

And then he opens my car door and ushers me inside. "Goodnight, Criminal."