Christmas With My Ex (Stuck For the Holidays)

13. Rives

THIRTEEN

Rives

I played my best for Him, ba rum bum bum bum.

3:31 pm

I sit in the courtyard, the fire crackling softly in front of me, but it does nothing to warm the cold swirling in my chest. I prop my leg up on the stone edge of the fire pit, wincing at the dull ache in my knee from storming off earlier.

Storming off. It's my turn with Nicholas to walk before trying to understand. He had the upper hand last time, I'm not going to give in to that again.

The last time Nicholas and I fell apart, he walked away. He didn’t just leave a conversation. He left us .

I bite into the s’more in my hand, but the sweetness is lost on me as memories of our breakup flood in.

The fights had gotten worse, uglier, those last few weeks of our relationship. I’d voiced my frustrations more times than I could count, how I always felt like I wasn’t first in his life, how his job and responsibilities as a new father took up everything, and there was no room for me.

I wasn’t asking him to abandon his son, but I needed to feel like I mattered. Like I wasn’t just a stopgap between the hospital shifts and sleepless nights.

Not that I was ready to quit. I wanted to work it out, figure out a middle ground. He was the one who was done talking.

In the nine months we were together, most of what I wanted took a back seat to his schedule, his job, his son. I wanted to travel, to push the limits, to live without boundaries, and I could feel those dreams fading into oblivion with each fight and each compromise.

And I hated it.

We fought. Brutally. Words thrown like punches, accusations, frustrations bubbling over. But in the end, what hurt the most wasn’t the words. It was when he threw up his hands and walked away.

Like we weren’t worth fighting for.

Like I wasn’t worth fighting for.

This time, I walked away first.

I stare into the fire, the flames dancing and flickering, the heat reaching out but never really touching me. That familiar tightness is back in my chest, the same feeling I had when he left all those years ago. The fear that no matter what happens between us, he’ll never put me first.

But even as the anger simmers, there’s something else creeping in. Guilt. Because he isn’t the only one keeping secrets.

I glance down at my hands, the half-eaten s’more barely holding my attention. The fire pops, sending a shower of sparks into the air, and I pull myself out of my thoughts. I can’t go there, not now.

Still, the thought lingers. Maybe we’re both to blame for the distance between us. I’m not as innocent in all of this as I wish I was.

If I expect him to be completely open and honest, then I should expect nothing less of myself.

How will he feel when he learns he’s not the only one whose been keeping secrets?

The courtyard is lively, people all around laughing and chatting, happiness in the air. I’m alone with my thoughts, alone in a sea of people. Alone with the memories of the man who walked away, and the fear that it’s happening all over again.

I stare into the flames, trying to make sense of it all. The fire flickers, the heat warming my hands, but the cold inside me remains.

The fire is sending little sparks into the cold afternoon air, and I pull my jacket tighter around me, trying to focus on the warmth in front of me instead of the storm still swirling inside.

I sense footsteps crunching behind me, and it feels different somehow, like they are directed toward me. There’s something familiar about the cadence, the way they slow as they get closer. I don’t need to look up to know who it is.

“Nicholas,” I say quietly, barely glancing his way when he sits down beside me.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he moves slowly, putting his feet up on the stone fire pit beside me. The two chairs leave just enough space between us to feel the weight of everything unspoken. The fire reflects off the surrounding snow, the flames dancing in the quiet.

For a long moment, neither of us says anything. The tension between us is palpable, thick and heavy, but I can’t bring myself to break the silence first. Even though I concede this isn't all him, I'm not ready to let it go. The fact that he came looking for me doesn't go unnoticed.

Eventually, it’s him who speaks. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this.”

I glance at him, his face half-shadowed by the flickering light. “How else was it supposed to happen?”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, looking as tired as I feel. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to lie to you, but I didn’t know how to say it without making everything worse.”

I stare into the flames, letting his words hang in the air. The heat of the fire licks at my skin, sufficiently keeping us warm in the chill. “You didn’t think seeing me at my worst was worth mentioning? Or, better yet, comforting me while I was down, letting me know I wasn't alone?”

“Yeah, that was shitty,” he says quickly, turning to face me fully. “All I can say is I made a poor decision on the fly and I regret it. I'm so sorry..”

I clench my jaw. The frustration bubbles back up. “You don’t get it, Nicholas. This isn’t just about the fall. This whole thing brought back everything that happened before. We never had closure before, and it was hard to move past. When you kept that from me, it made me think you would do the same thing again, that you didn't really care about me.”

He’s silent, his gaze dropping to the ground. I can feel his hesitation, like he’s not sure if he should push or stay quiet.

“That's fair,” he finally says, his voice low. “I know I walked away. I'm sorry I stopped returning your calls. I had a new baby, a fairly fresh divorce, and I didn't know how to step up for you. I was stretched thin. And that wasn't fair to you.”

The words hang between us, heavy and real. I take a shaky breath, my heart tightening as I finally give voice to the bitterness I’ve been holding onto for so long. “I didn’t want to give you the chance to do it again.”

I don't let him know, but hearing him saying those words, even if he is just saying what he thinks I need to hear, feels good. I felt disposable before, so knowing he has some regret, however small, is a small victory.

He doesn’t say anything, and for a second, I wonder if he didn't bargain for this to dig up the past. But then he shifts, leaning closer, his voice softer now. “I’m not walking away this time, Rives.”

I glance at him, the firelight catching the edge of his jaw, the seriousness in his expression. For a moment, the tension lifts—just enough for me to let my guard down, to consider what it would mean if he really meant those words.

But I can’t. Not yet.

I turn back to the fire, staring into the flames as the weight of our history settles between us once more. “I'm not asking you to make any promises. We don't even know what is going on between us, but I wanted you to know where my head is. I appreciate you saying it.”

He’s quiet again, but I can feel his gaze on me, the way his presence lingers, heavy but not unwelcome. The fire hisses, and for the first time since I stormed off, I feel like maybe there’s a way forward.

But it’s not going to be easy, because I don't even know where we're headed.

Neither of us speaks. The surrounding courtyard is nearly empty, everyone off to somewhere else as Christmas Eve starts to turn into night.

The snow settles into a soft hush, blanketing everything in quiet. It’s almost peaceful. The silence between us is charged, filled with all the things we might say, but either aren't ready or sure it's appropriate.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” Nicholas says finally, his voice breaking through the stillness. “But I hope you’ll at least let me try to make things right.”

I don’t respond right away. Instead, I stare into the fire, the flames dancing, reaching for the sky. The weight of his words sinks in.

If there’s ever a time to believe in second chances, maybe this is it.

I glance at Nicholas from the corner of my eye, catching the way he’s staring into the flames, lost in thought. There’s something about this moment that feels different.

He made the effort to find me, apologize and address the past. Now it is my turn.

Maybe it’s the quiet of the snow-covered courtyard or the fact that we’ve both aired some of our grievances. Either way, I'm ready to move forward.

Even if it’s just a tiny step.

I clear my throat and shift a little, careful with my knee. “So... I saw this thing earlier,” I say, keeping my tone light, casual. “Apparently, the hotel’s doing some kind of Christmas Eve dinner tonight. You know, for people stuck here during the snowstorm.”

Nicholas raises an eyebrow, looking at me sideways. “Yeah?”

I shrug, trying to play it off like it’s no big deal. “Yeah. Nothing fancy. Just dinner, a little holiday cheer, that kind of thing. You know... if you don’t already have plans.”

He smirks at that, the tension between us easing just a bit. “You mean aside from the other exciting plans I’ve got lined up within a four-hundred square yard area?”

I roll my eyes, grateful for the bit of humor breaking through the awkwardness. “Well, if your calendar isn’t too packed, you could join me. I mean, it’s either that or sit around eating another protein bar.”

“Christmas Eve dinner, huh? I guess that’s a step up from s’mores.”

“Easy on the s'mores,” I tease, feeling a smile tug at the corner of my lips. “I could probably live off s'mores. Was thinking the festive reason to shower and brush my hair might be a good way to honor the holiday and making amends. Plus, we’re stuck here anyway, so why not make the most of it?”

He looks at me for a long moment, and I can see the hesitation flicker in his eyes, like he’s still not sure if this is a good idea. But then he nods, a small smile breaking through. “Well, since you put it that way. I'm sorry you don't have more options, but I'll take advantage of the ask. I’m in.”

I nod back, feeling a strange sense of relief. “Good. We’ll need to make reservations, though. I can stop by the concierge on the way up to clean up. I know I need a shower and I'll try to wear something nicer than my jeans and sweater. We can't show up looking like we just rolled out of a snowbank.”

“Speak for yourself,” Nicholas says, standing up and stretching. “I always look this good.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Sure you do. Does two hours work?”

He nods, his smile lingering for a second longer. “Yeah, that's perfect. I'll swing by and make the reservation.”

As he turns to walk away, I watch his tight ass disappear into the hotel, my pulse quickening and my heart lighter.