Christmas With the Convict (Bringing Home Trouble)

Chapter 5

WENDY

There’s a certain glow people have after a run down the mountain. Skiing makes you infectiously happy. It puts a smile on your face that you can’t wipe off for hours.

That’s nothing compared to the smile I’m wearing right now.

It took Chase and me a while to get back down the village. This time, we avoided any spills into the trees. I stayed close to him, usually just in front in case he needed someone to crash into. He even started to get the hang of turning.

I was ready to return to the trees the moment we got back on the groomed run. Nothing so beautiful and intoxicating has ever happened to me. I wish we were still back there. I wish we could stay in the snow, hidden by the trees, and have secret, perfect sex forever.

Luckily for us, everyone was impatient enough to head back up the lift before we got here. Chase unhooks his boots and sighs, “I think I’ll quit while I’m ahead.”

“For a first day on the slopes,” I say, “you did great .”

It’s good that my parents or anyone else aren’t here to see us walking back toward the cabin. If they saw my face, if they could feel the warmth radiating from my core, they’d know in a heartbeat what’s happening between us.

They’d be fools not to see it.

We take our time on the walk back, playing in the snow or pushing each other on our skis. I plop down and make a snow angel, but Chase messes it up with his boot right away.

“Hey!” I slap his arm.

“Nope,” he says. “There’s only room for one angel on this mountain.”

Nobody is at the house when we arrive.

It’s strange when this big house is empty. Usually, when I’m here alone, I grab a book and sit by the fire.

But with Chase here, I’ve got other plans.

I lead him upstairs once we put our gear away. He walks cautiously behind me as if he’s crossing some forbidden threshold. Still, he follows me into my room, taking in all my pictures and posters and even more books before I urge him into my bathroom with my finger.

With the hot water steaming up the mirrors, I slip out of my last layer of clothes.

“Do you think they’ll be back soon?” Chase asks, watching me undress.

I shrug. “If you’re worried about it, then be quick .”

He smiles and tugs at that tight shirt. I help him get it over his beefy body, and we instantly fall into each other’s arms and lips.

We barely make it into the shower.

How can anything feel this good?

It’s infuriating how badly I need him inside of me now. I’ve been thinking about this for months, and I never came close to imagining the reality of Chase Oliver’s body linked with mine.

He’s a perfect string of words that’s jumped off the page and into my life.

No Christmas present or New Year’s kiss could ever compete.

Nothing will keep me from him.

“ Wendy! WENDY BETTENCOURT! GET DOWN HERE!”

Oh, shit.

My father is home, and his roar shakes the foundations.

Chase nearly slips and cracks his head flying out of the shower. I’m right on his heels. I throw him a towel.

“Get your clothes back on,” I hiss as I run into my room.

I fly through my drawers, not bothering with any underwear and getting into a hoodie and sweats. Chase comes out of the bathroom in his long johns and undershirt. My eyes fall to the beautiful but obvious bulge between his legs.

“Put that thing away!”

Chase throws his hands up. “Stop being so sexy.”

If it weren’t for my father barking downstairs, footfalls fast approaching, I’d kiss this man right now. I sit Chase down on my bed with a pillow in his lap just as my bedroom door flies open.

Dad is still in his ski boots, fuming red and staring right at Chase.

“There you are.” He points a rigid finger at him. “You fucking thief .”

Relief and confusion wash over Chase’s face. “What?”

My dad takes a few steps toward him but I jump in the way.

“Dad? What’s going on?”

“Rick’s wallet is missing . He left it downstairs this morning,” my dad roars. “And low-and-fucking-behold, it’s gone when we get back. He had a thousand in cash in there. Not to mention everything else.”

Chase sort of smiles and shrugs.

I scoff and keep myself between them.

“Dad, Chase has been with me all morning…”

“Wait.” My father’s eyes narrow. “What the fuck is he doing up here? He’s not allowed in this room.”

“It’s my room.”

“It’s my Goddamn house!”

Things quickly go from insane to bat-shit-Christmas crazy.

Because when my dad decides that he’s pissed, he’s not afraid to let everyone know it.

I take Chase by the hand and lead him downstairs, doing my best to keep my father from grabbing him. The accusations keep flying, but at least now there are witnesses.

My father paces the foyer, balling his fists like he’s going to attack Chase at any moment. “He fucking stole it!”

“Dad, you’re acting crazy.”

Chase looks like a cornered animal, and I’m afraid of what he might do if my dad lunges.

“Rich,” my uncle says timidly. “I might have misplaced it.”

“Bullshit . You said you left it on the coffee table. He saw it this morning! We should have known. We have a criminal under our roof. Christ, we should lock up the silverware!”

My mom, as passive as ever, is hiding just out of sight in the kitchen.

Whenever my dad goes on a tirade, she does this.

And I’m starting to hate her for it.

I can feel tears welling up, but I refuse to let them go. I’m not going to let my dad treat him like this.

“You are being so unfair,” I say as calmly as I can. “Jumping to conclusions. Blaming Chase with no evidence. This is ridiculous!”

“It’s the only logical conclusion!”

My dad gets within arm’s reach of Chase but stops short. Chase is standing tall, staring him down, body tense and waiting for the strike. Suddenly, I see the man who spent years in prison. I see the cold and jagged edge that may never leave him.

“You’ve got ten seconds to give that wallet back,” my dad says in a sinister tone. “Ten seconds before I go upstairs and get my gun.”

And just as the tension becomes so thick that it’s suffocating, the front door opens in a rush of cold air. Lillian and the kids barrel in, smiling and carrying gift bags from the village.

“Oh, good. You’re all back for lunch,” Lillian says, laughing and taking off her coat. “What a day. It’s so gorgeous out. How were the slopes? Chase, did you tear it up first try?”

Oh, Lillian. If only you knew.

Finally, she takes a second to read the room.

Everyone is deathly still. Even the kids have huddled together behind their dad.

“Alright,” my sister says. “Who died?”

“This scum ,” my dad growls, “stole Rick’s wallet.”

Lillian looks at Chase, then Uncle Rick, then my dad. “No, he didn’t.”

The storm in my father pauses. “ What? ”

From her own purse, Lillian pulls out a thick leather wallet. She waves it dramatically. “Duke yanked this off the coffee table this morning. I found it in his jacket about an hour ago. He told me Uncle Rick said he could borrow it.”

I knew Chase was innocent, but I still can’t help but feel relieved. Now, my father has no excuse to treat him like an animal.

My uncle sighs and smiles. “I said you could borrow a dollar two days ago, Buddy.”

My nephew is already crying. “I’m sorry…”

Suddenly, all that rage has left through the open door.

My dad nods a few times and shrugs. He gets down on one knee and speaks with a soft, coddling tone, “Well, honest mistake, Dukie. It happens. That’s what we call a misunderstanding. Happens all the time!”

Everyone seems perfectly content to leave it at that.

My dad ruffles Duke’s hair and laughs about his sticky fingers .

Uncle Rick laughs awkwardly then pretends to count his money, hollering about a missing dollar.

My sister laughs it all off. Her husband and my cousin don’t say a word.

Even Chase looks fine just moving on.

And I know my mom is back there nodding to herself, maybe pouring her and my aunt a drink and pretending like nothing happened. But I won’t stand for this.

“Dad,” I say, arms crossed. “You owe Chase an apology. Now. ”

“What?” He glances at Chase as if he forgot he existed. “Apologize?”

“You threatened him. You accused him of stealing. You said you were going to shoot him!”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Dad scoffs, “I said I was going to get my gun. Not the same.”

“ Apologize! ”

“It was the only logical conclusion,” he insists, smiling like it was all a joke. “What do you expect when you bring an ex-con home for Christmas, Honey? You can’t blame me for starting with the most obvious suspect.”

“Wendy,” Chase says with a half-smile. “It’s fine.”

“See?” My dad slaps Chase’s arm. “No harm. No foul.”

There’s so much that my rage demands I say. I can feel words waiting to be screamed until my throat swells and shuts.

But Chase locks eyes with me and subtly shakes his head.

Everyone disperses.

I hear my dad ask about lunch and a cold beer in the kitchen.

Uncle Rick rubs my shoulders and sighs like he wants to say something, but trails after my dad instead.

“How can you stand for that?” I ask Chase, lip quivering to keep the tears back. “How can you let people treat you like that?”

In the kitchen, everyone is laughing. They’re right back into their perfect holiday.

Chase takes a deep breath, eyes closed as if each bout of laughter is a paper cut between his fingers.

“No man with a badge ever treated me right, Wendy. Not before, not inside, and not now.”

“It’s not fair,” I sniff and wipe my cheeks.

Chase nods.

“Nothing is.”

Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, but I’ve lost my holiday spirit.

Everything feels tainted. The lights don’t shine as brightly. The giant tree in our huge living room feels imposing, like it’s about to collapse and destroy us all.

My family is undeterred.

They eat and drink and act merry, completely forgetting about today’s incident. Dinner is as noisy as ever, but I find myself floating in a fog. Only when I meet Chase’s eyes do I feel any relief. In his stoic face, set hard and defensive since this afternoon, I find solace and comfort.

I find all those things I used to feel in this house…

When I look across to the head of the table, at my father sitting in his chair like a king on his throne, I burn with rage. He laughs and smiles like he owns the world. He shoots filthy, split-second glances at Chase, narrowing his eyes suspiciously as if the man could snatch all the money from his bank account if he doesn’t keep an eye on him.

I read once that, at a certain point in life, all children must realize that their parents are not the people they knew. They are not the ideas we created, the Gods we relied on when we were young and confused.

I didn’t believe that when I read it.

Looking at my father now, I feel like I’m seeing him for the first time.

He’s not the man I knew.

For the rest of the night, Chase doesn’t say a word. No one speaks to him. Even the kids, who’ve been practically obsessed with him since he arrived, won’t look in his direction. My father’s accusation, even though it was baseless and proven wrong, has reminded everyone that their house guest is not one of them. Even in that borrowed cardigan, even without his leather vest and most of his tattoos concealed, all they see is the dregs of society.

They look at Chase and they’re afraid.

Do they even know that they are the ones that scare me now?

The drinks flow as the night gets colder. Less logs are thrown on the fire as my family slowly disappears off to bed. Chase heads to the basement early, and I wait impatiently until, finally, my drunk uncle heads upstairs, leaving me in the big, empty living room.

I set down the glass I haven’t touched for hours and creep into the basement.

Chase is on the couch writing in his journal.

He looks up at me with relief.

“Just me,” I say. It’s become our little password. “Everyone is passed out.”

He nods and continues writing.

My heels clack on the steps, Chase’s eyes dart between my legs and the page. “I had a hard time not staring at you in that outfit.”

“You’ve got a thing for tight skirts and heels, huh?”

“I’ve got a thing for you. ”

I lean against the stairs in front of the couch, watching his pen scratch the page. His handwriting is messy like a doctor’s. He seems to be taking his time, writing slowly and purposefully, peeking at me to make sure I’m not reading it upside down.

“I never wrote anything before I met you,” he says, finally closing his journal. “Now, I write every day.”

“What do you write about?”

Chase smiles up at me.

“Sorry.” I shrug, hugging myself. “I’ve been curious.”

He holds his journal like he’s considering handing it over before he sets it down on the end table. “Someday, I’d like you to read it… Not yet.”

The quiet yawns.

It feels different down here. This was my safe haven for so long. Now, it feels exposed, connected to that gaudy mess upstairs and the people in it.

“Chase, where would you have gone if you hadn’t got in my car?” He looks away. “And don’t say Pueblo . Where? Really?”

Chase leans forward, examining me for a moment before reaching under the sofa. He pulls out his ratty, folded leather vest. In his other hand, one of the chef’s knives from the kitchen gleams.

He looks up at me as if to give me a chance to run or scream for my father. I unfold my arms and sit down on the couch next to him. By the look on his face, you’d think I just performed the most gracious gesture anyone has ever seen.

“Before I got arrested.” He clears his throat. “I was in a gang. They called it a motorcycle club, but it is what it is. It was a gang. We… we did bad shit. Like I said, my dad took off when I was fifteen. These guys with their choppers and their vests and their guns and knives felt like a better option than being alone, starving, freezing in the fucking winter because the gas got turned off.”

Chase holds up a patch from his vest. It’s an emblem of an ugly, narrow-faced goat with green eyes. It’s been roughly cut from the chest of the vest.

“The Goats. They said they’d take care of me. And, for a while, they did. But once I got locked up, I didn’t hear a word from them. No visit. No help inside. No one there when I got released.” Chase smiles, shakes his head, and hands the patch to me. “You know, when I walked out that gate, I still had hope that someone might show up. One of them. My dad…”

The patch seems to beat in my hands like his heart. He’s just handed me a piece of him, a chunk of his past that he’s ashamed of. A part of the man I’m dying to know.

“If it weren’t for you, Wendy, I might have gone back to them as if nothing had ever happened. I might have pretended that they didn’t leave me out to dry. Anything to just feel like I belong somewhere, even if it wasn’t real.”

When I look up, trails are streaked down Chase’s cheeks into his growing beard. He’s not sobbing or even crying, really. He’s releasing, holding his head high in spite of the pain he’s felt.

I reach out and run my thumb over each track.

Chase closes his eyes and sighs like a soothed beast.

“You belong somewhere.”

I hop up, pull my thin Bradbury novel from the bookshelf, and slide the patch between the pages.

“You belong with me .”

Slowly, with my back to him, I undo the buttons on my blouse. It falls as silently as the first snow of winter, followed by the light snap of my bra.

When I turn around, Chase once again looks like a cornered animal.

This time, I want to see what he’ll do when he’s pressed.

“I don’t care about any of that insanity upstairs.” I unzip my pencil skirt, sliding it down my hips. “Because I don’t feel like I belong there anymore.”

His chest heaves.

I can see his fingers twitching, begging his mind to be commanded to touch me.

“Wendy…”

“No,” I huff, stepping between his legs in just my white panties and heels. “I don’t care. I don’t care if we get caught. I don’t care if my family clutches their Goddamn pearls.”

I slide into his lap, gasping as his hands finally take what’s theirs.

“All I care about is this,” I whisper, teasing a kiss. “All I care about is you —“

There’s nothing left to say as Chase seals his lips with mine, his short chin hairs tickle my chin and I rip his cardigan off.

I strip him down to the man he is.

To the tattoos and scars.

The rough hands and bulging arms.

Here in the quiet basement, the place where I found solitude all those years, I moan his name and do things on this sofa I never thought I’d do.

I stay down here under the blankets with him, soaked in sweat, panting until our heartbeats match step. With my face buried in his fuzzy chest, I fall into a sleep so peaceful that I know I’ll never spend another night away from him again.

I’ve found a new home in his arms, a new nook to lose myself in.

A safe place where nothing can touch us.