Fake It ‘Til You Sleigh It

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Ethan

‘Tis the season to wear a candy cane sock on your junk.

I’m sprawled out on my bed in a, let’s say strategic position. I’ve been looking forward to getting my favorite director back in the sheets all day, hoping she’s down for some holiday fun. The door flies open, and Chase barges in. Her eyes are frenzied, distress all over her face. My playful demeanor vanishes, and I’m fully alert.

“Where are the fucking keys?” she demands, her voice tight with desperation. “I need to get out of here.”

She’s trashing my room faster than a reality TV show makeover.

I sit up, totally confused. “Whoa, whoa. You need me to drive you somewhere?”

“No! I just need to be gone.”

I give my candy cane one last sorrowful glance then quickly throw on some pants and a shirt. She’s going through my things like a whirlwind, and I’m totally lost, but I join her anyway.

Whatever her reasons, I need to help her.

I start riffling through my pockets as Chase spots the keys on my desk. “There!”

She lunges and accidentally knocks over the challenge jar of dare slips. Red and green papers scatter everywhere, exploding across the floor like confetti. Her eyes dart from paper to paper, and she freezes. Uh-oh.

I watch her face change—her eyes widen as the pieces fall into place. Confusion overtakes the panic, followed by a moment of realization, and then, finally, pure rage.

“Kiss an alligator, kiss an alligator… These all say the same thing.” Her eyes snap to mine, blazing. “You set me up. You LIED to me. You knew!”

I hold up my hands, trying to calm her. “Of course I knew. It was my idea.”

“I thought Nolan wrote them!”

“What’s the big deal?” I ask, genuinely confused. “You’re not an actor, Chase. We needed an authentic reaction. You, more than anyone, should understand.”

I reach for her, needing to console, to explain, but she pulls away like my touch is fire.

“Chase, it was about the fans. Nothing more.”

“Oh my God,” she whispers, and I see tears forming in her eyes. “Of course, the fans. I’m such an idiot. I thought—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head and wiping away tears.

Then she bolts out of the room.

“Wait. I’m coming with you!” I yell, grabbing my shoes and chasing after her.

The front door slams, the sound echoing through the house like a gunshot. My heart’s racing—a wild drumbeat in my chest.

I rush outside just as Chase flings open the driver’s side door of the Mustang. She’s a tornado in human form, all wild energy and chaos. I jump into the passenger side, my hand still clutching my shoes.

“Chase, what the—”

The rest of my sentence is lost as she guns the engine. The force slams me back against the seat. We peel out of the driveway with a screech that wakes up the entire neighborhood.

“Jesus Christ!” I yelp, scrambling for the seat belt. My fingers feel clumsy, useless. We’re already hitting forty in a twenty-five zone, the speedometer climbing like it’s trying to reach orbit.

“Chase, slow down! What’s going on?”

“I can’t breathe,” she gasps. Her eyes are manic, pinballing between the road and the dashboard. “How do you get this damn top down?”

My pulse is racing, matching the car’s insane acceleration, but I force myself to focus. “Here,” I say, reaching for the console. My hands are shaking so badly that I almost hit the wrong button. “I’ve got it. Just… Just watch the road, okay?”

I’m a mess of jangled nerves, my eyes darting between her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and the blur of houses whipping past us. Sixty-five mph.

The convertible top starts to retract, painfully slow. Wind blasts through the car, messing up my hair and drowning out my ragged breaths. But Chase doesn’t calm down. If anything, she looks even more frantic, like a caged animal desperate to escape.

She turns sharply onto a road, taking the corner too fast. I swear I feel the car lift onto two wheels. My stomach lurches, and I dig my fingers into the leather seat hard enough to leave permanent indentations. Gravel sprays from beneath the tires, pinging against the undercarriage like gunfire.

Please, don’t let us die tonight.

“Why does your family have to be so nice?” she demands suddenly.

I blink, thrown by the question. “I… What? What does my family have to do with this?”

But Chase isn’t listening. She’s muttering under her breath, words I can barely catch over the roar of the wind and the engine. “Can’t do this… not real… don’t belong…”

“Chase,” I say calmly, despite the fact that we’re now doing ninety down this treacherous gravel road. “Whatever it is, we can figure it out. Just… please, slow down.”

“I was okay with my childhood of shitty Christmases because I convinced myself that it was normal,” she says, her words sharp and bitter. “That no one has a real Christmas. That everyone was as disappointed as me.”

I’m trying to listen, I really am, but my attention is split between her words and the haze of the world outside. With every sentence, Chase presses harder on the gas. It’s like her foot is synced to her mouth—the faster she talks, the faster we go.

My stomach does a backflip as we hit 100 mph.

“But not your family,” she continues. “No, they’re so into fucking Christmas, you’re the goddamn Griswolds. And your mom, she’s so loving, like really loving. She’s not pretending one fucking bit. And when I told her that I wanted to help plan next year’s family Christmas photo, she hugged me. She was so fucking happy.”

My brain struggles to keep up. “Why did you tell her you were coming for Christmas next year?”

“I have no idea!” Chase yells. “We’re fuck buddies! We’re not a real couple.”

Her words sting, but the fear coursing through me pushes the pain aside. “I think we’re both real enough to die if you don’t ease up,” I say, watching the speedometer climb to 115.

Chase doesn’t ease up. She punches it to a heart-stopping 145 mph, and the outside world becomes a dizzying blur. Palm trees morph into green smears, road signs are unreadable blips, and beachfront condos grow into focus at an alarming rate. The Marco Island Bridge, once looming in the distance, is now a concrete monster charging towards us.

The car swerves slightly, and my heart lodges in my throat. My mouth is dry, and I can hear my pulse pounding in my ears. A terrifying thought crosses my mind.

“You’re not going to drive us off that bridge, are you?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, Chase erupts into a full-blown rant, her words spilling out so fast I can’t process them.

“Of course you had the picture-perfect Christmas growing up! Try losing your mom at eight. Merry fucking Christmas, right? Santa brought me grief and a dad who became a shitty alcoholic. And me? I was the kid stuck loving a ghost. Because that’s what he was—looked like my dad, but hollow inside. Just… fucking empty.”

I want to reach out, to comfort her, but one wrong move and we’re roadkill.

She’s hysterical now, screaming. “But you? Your life’s a Goddamn movie on the Cherish Channel. Family that actually gives a shit, parents who adore you. You get to live in fairytale land, Mr. King of Fucking Christmas.”

Shit. Maybe the truth will make her hit the brakes.

“You don’t have a clue about my life,” I shout through the howling wind. “This whole King of Christmas shtick? I don’t do it for the shits and giggles. It’s a fucking lifeline.”

Chase’s foot eases off the gas slightly. But it’s enough to let me breathe.

“You want to know why I agreed to this insane fake dating plan? It’s not just about my job, it’s for my mom’s store. The pandemic nearly destroyed everything. My parents were on the verge of losing their house. You mock all the merch, but my career is what saved my family from financial ruin.”

At last, the car slows to a mere eighty-five mph.

I swallow hard. “The truth is… I’m stuck being the King of Christmas… whether I want to be or not.”

“Ethan, I-I had no idea.” Her death grip finally eases as she blinks at the speedometer. “Christ, I’m driving like a damn lunatic. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Can you stop the car?” I ask, desperate to hold her. “Please, Chase. Let’s figure this out together.”

Too late.

Red and blue lights explode in the rearview mirror.

The siren screams to life.

Busted.

“Fuck,” Chase breathes, pulling over.

The car rolls to a stop, and I’m caught between relief that we’re alive and dread at what comes next. I extend my hand instinctively, but she flinches away.

“Let me handle the talking,” I say, hoping to use my hometown hero status to clear things up.

A middle-aged officer with a balding head and a beer belly approaches the driver’s side. “Evening, folks,” he drawls. “Care to explain the rush?”

Before I can open my mouth, Chase jumps in. “Officer, I apologize for the speed, but we’re in the middle of a code-red PR crisis. Hollywood emergency, not your typical swamp stuff.”

Insulting the officer. Great plan.

“Sorry, Officer. She’s from California. One of those yoga-pants-wearing, green-juice-sipping, paper-straw-drinking, eco-warrior types who doesn’t know any better,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “The holidays have her a little high-strung.”

Chase whips her head around to glare at me. If looks could crush, I’d be dust.

“High-strung? You mean you think I’m crazy. I open up, share my feelings. I tell you how suffocated I feel by your family, and you’re—”

“Are you serious?” I snap, my patience running thin. “You almost killed us. That’s a whole new level of crazy—and yes, I’m comparing this to the crazy you give me on set every day.”

The officer flashes his light into our faces, and his eyes widen. “Well I’ll be, it’s Chathan! Your mom sold me a shirt for Christmas. My wife’s a huge fan. That’s so neat how you come up with those movie ideas together.”

Chase bristles at his words. “Give him all the credit for that atrocious shirt, but those are my movies. I’m his boss. He works for me.”

“Yeah, I’m the guy she orders around nonstop. My reward is getting blamed for all her problems when things don’t work out exactly like she wants.”

“Excuse me?” Chase’s voice rises an octave. “You only get blamed when it’s your fault. Which is all the fucking time!”

That’s it. I open the car door, stepping out into the cool night air. The breeze does nothing to cool the fire in my veins. “I don’t have to listen to this shit,” I growl.

The officer’s voice takes on a warning tone. “Sir, you need to stay in your vehicle.”

But Chase stomps right behind me, meeting me in front of the car. Her voice is now a near-shriek. “I never should have trusted you to take over the subscriber campaign. It was too important. Now look where we are! We missed another goal today.”

Her words set something off in me. All the pent-up frustration I’ve been holding back for years rushes out like a volcano erupting. “Every time something goes wrong, whenever there’s a hiccup or a screw-up, who’s the first person you look at? Me. Every damn time, it’s me. And I’m sick of it. I’m not a punching bag for your fucking failures and frustrations!”

Chase steps closer, her eyes flashing dangerously. “Excuse me?”

I don’t back down. My heart’s pounding, but I can’t hold back anymore. “How about you take a good, hard look in the mirror? Because the problem isn’t just with me. It’s with you too. You don’t trust anyone. You never let people in, and refuse to rely on anyone but yourself. That’s why you’re alone. You push everyone away because you can’t let go of control for even a second.”

“This isn’t about trust. It’s about competence,” Chase spits back. “Something you’re sadly lacking, along with talent.”

Her words twist like a knife in my gut.

“You’re nothing but a talentless fuckboy with a pretty face. I made you the ‘King of Christmas.' So enjoy your fame and the endless parade of one-night stands while it lasts. It’s all you’ll ever be good for.”

Something inside me snaps. “Ice queen to your fucking core,” I snarl. “Or should I call you by your other on-set nickname? Bitch.”

SMACK!

The sharp sound of Chase’s hand meeting my cheek cuts through the night air. The sting radiates across my face, a small twinge compared to the pain in my chest. We stand there, breaths ragged, the weight of our words lingering between us like a toxic mist.

What have we done?

The officer clears his throat. “Right. Chathan, you’re both under arrest. Hands behind your backs.”

***

Jail cell, three days before Christmas? There’s a plot twist I didn’t see coming.

Christmas in the slammer wasn’t on my vision board. Then again, nothing about this trip has gone as planned. I squirm on this rock-hard bench, my ass going numb. The stench in here is a blend of stale sweat and harsh lemon disinfectant, enough to make anyone feel sick. Or maybe it’s the guilt twisting me up inside.

I glance at Chase, perched on the other bench. She’s facing away, arms wrapped tight, her body language screaming, Keep away . I notice the tiny tremor in her shoulders. She’s crying. Silently, but definitely crying.

I’m to blame for this. The words I hurled at her earlier are echoing in my ears, each one feeling like another nail in the coffin of the fragile trust we’d started to establish.

“Ice queen.” “Bitch.”

God, I’m such an asshole.

But then her words cut through my self-loathing, feeling as brutal as when she first said them.

“Talentless fuckboy… Nothing but a pretty face…”

No. I’m not letting myself dive down that rabbit hole of insecurities. Not now. Not when Chase is crumbling right in front of me.

I’m still processing what she said, especially the anguish in her voice when she talked about her mother’s death. After all these years of working together, I never knew Chase was hiding such deep wounds. While I was living in a bubble of unconditional love, she was learning to survive on her own.

Chase built herself up from nothing. She had no safety net or family support when things went wrong. It was just her against the world, fighting for success step by difficult step. I can’t imagine not having the constant encouragement of my family to cushion every fall.

Something primitive stirs in my chest. The need to hold her, to somehow pour twenty years of missed love into one embrace. I want to be her soft landing, her safe harbor, her whatever-the-hell she needs, whenever she needs it.

I want to be everything the world never gave her.

Not because she needs to be saved, but because everyone deserves someone who will catch them when they fall.

If only I knew how to tell her that without making things worse.

Only one way to find out, dumbass.

“Chase, I—”

“Don’t.” Her voice is raw, as if it’s been ripped to shreds by broken glass. “Just… don’t, Ethan.”

She finally turns to face me, and the pain in her eyes nearly knocks me off the bench. There’s anger there, sure, but beneath it… God, there’s so much hurt. Hurt that I caused. Hurt that goes way deeper than our petty squabbles on set. I watch as she discreetly wipes away another tear, and a weight presses down on my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, knowing it’s not enough. Not by a long shot. “I didn’t mean—”

She cuts me off, her gaze piercing. “Yes, you did. You’ve wanted to say those things for a long time.”

She’s not wrong. Yeah, I’ve had those thoughts. I’ve nursed my resentment, fed it with every criticism, every demanding note, every impossibly long filming day with her. But now, seeing the toll it’s taken on both of us, I want…

Christ, I don’t even know what I want. To understand her? To make things right? To be the kind of partner—on screen and off—that she deserves?

But as I see her shrink back, hiding behind her walls I helped strengthen, I’m scared it might be too late.

Have I pushed her too far?

Is there any coming back from this?

I take a deep breath, bracing myself. “Look, we’ve got time to kill in this fancy suite. Might as well lay it all out there.” I lock eyes with her, refusing to look away. “I’ve always wondered. What was it that I did when we first started working together that made you hate me?”

She uncrosses her arms, her shoulders sagging slightly. “I don’t hate you, Ethan,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “You just… You made my job so much harder with all your bullshit on set.”

“I thought I was keeping things fun. Our movies are meant to be lighthearted, you know? A little improv adds to the vibe.”

“It also adds hours to our shoots and increases the budget,” Chase counters weakly, as if the very memory is exhausting. “So then I have to cut back on other scenes and endure constant lectures from the network executives.”

My heart sinks, and shame floods through me. “I’m an idiot. I should have realized how it affected everything,” I mutter, more to myself than to her. “I… I didn’t know. Never saw it that way. I’m sorry, Chase. Really.”

Chase’s expression softens a little. “It’s not your job to know. It’s mine.”

“I bet you’re sorry you ever hired me, huh?” The words come out more vulnerable than I intended.

“No, of course not,” Chase says, surprising me. She pauses, and I can see her carefully choosing her next words. “I might have reconsidered had I known we’d be at each other’s throats every day on set. My stomach has more ulcers than there are freckles on your perfect tushy.”

A laugh bursts out of me, unexpectedly. Chase’s lips curve into a small smile, and for a beat, we’re both at ease.

She sighs. “And I’m sorry too. For the things I said, for pushing you so hard without explaining why. Ethan, you’re more than a pretty face and perfect abs. But let’s be clear, those features are ridiculously and unfairly incredible.”

I flash her a grin at the praise, and then we sit in silence for a moment, letting the significance of our apologies sink in.

“Why do you push me so hard? Why bother?”

Chase looks at me, and the intensity in her gaze takes my breath away.

“Because I see what you could be. There was something in your audition that just… Wow. Raw talent, depth, everything. I’ve been trying to bring back that Ethan ever since. But all I get is the heartthrob, the charmer. You’re so much more than that. You just won’t let yourself be seen.”

I clear my throat, suddenly feeling exposed. “I didn’t think anyone noticed,” I admit quietly. “It’s easier to be the charming goofball. Safer.”

Chase says softly, “I get it. It’s terrifying to let people see the real you. But with me, I want you to know you don’t have to hide.”

Our eyes lock, and for a long moment, neither of us speaks. I stand up to pace the small cell, my nerves suddenly on edge.

“This… This thing between us,” I start, the words feeling clumsy on my tongue. “I don’t know what it is, but—”

“Oh my God, Ethan, it’s nothing,” she interrupts, her voice sharp, her expression hardening. “We slept together. We’re not falling for each other.”

“Why not? Chase, I like you. Really like you. And I think… I think you might like me too.”

She scoffs, but it sounds forced. “You like your fan club and your women of the week. And I’m not judging, but let’s not pretend this is something it’s not.”

I feel a surge of frustration, not at Chase but at the image I’ve cultivated for so long. “That’s just sex,” I say soberly. “You think any of those women made me see a future like my parents have? No way. They want to fuck the King of Christmas. Your creation. Not me.”

She goes quiet. Chase starts to say something then stops. It’s clear she’s torn and doesn’t trust me. And I’m struggling to find a way to get her there.

“Chase,” I say, my voice steady and sure as I step closer. “I’ve given you a million reasons to doubt me. My reputation, the tabloids, the never-ending line of women—I know. But that’s not who I am anymore. That’s not the man I want to be.”

“Ethan, we can’t—”

“Why not?” I interrupt, sitting next to her. “I know you feel it too. This connection between us. It’s not only physical. It’s way more than that.”

She shakes her head, but it’s easy to see she’s wrestling with herself. “It’s complicated. We work together. There’s too much at stake.”

“I know this campaign didn’t hit the mark,” I say, attempting to find common ground. “But it’s not over yet. I understand you’re upset, but—”

“Upset?” Chase’s voice rises. “I’m way more than upset. If we lose our jobs, you’ll be fine. You’ll land another acting gig. You have family, your friends—people who care about you.” Her voice cracks on the last words, and it breaks my heart. “This job, these movies—it’s all I have. I’ve sacrificed everything for it.”

“There are people trying to care for you,” I argue softly. “Let them in.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no? You can’t control how other people feel about you.”

Her eyes flash to mine, sharp enough to draw blood. “The hell I can’t. I’ve spent my whole life controlling exactly who gets close. I don’t let things in that can hurt me. Not disappointment. Not distraction.” Her voice catches. “And especially not you.”

“You don’t mean that.” I lean forward, desperate to get past her defenses. “I know you’re scared, but—”

“This is over.” Her words slice through me like a blade. “I need my life back. Before you made me want things I can’t have. Before you made me feel—” She swallows hard. “Just stop pretending to care. Your fake concern hurts worse than when you hated me.”

I slide closer, my hand hovering over hers. For the first time in my life, I’m fucking terrified of saying the wrong thing. Every script, every smooth line, and every charming response—useless. I want her to direct me in this scene and tell me how to fix this.

Our hands finally connect, and her eyes fill with tears. Before I can think, I pull her into my arms. For one perfect moment, she melts against me, and I think maybe—just maybe—I’ve gotten through to her.

Then she’s gone, retreating to the far corner of our cell and leaving me cold.

“No. I trusted your promises that you had everything under control. You were either lying or delusional. It doesn’t matter which.” She wraps her arms around herself. “I should have known better. Trusting you was a mistake. I’ll fix this myself. I’m done talking.”

She turns away, but not before I see tears spilling down her cheeks. Fuck. She’s right—I failed her. Made promises I didn’t keep, too caught up in my own cockiness to take her fears seriously. Every time she voiced her concerns about the subscribers dwindling, I brushed them off with a smile. I already have other acting opportunities coming in, but Chase stands to lose everything she’s worked for.

Her controlled breathing echoes through our cell, each careful breath a knife to my chest. Watching her pull further away, convincing herself she’s better off alone—knowing I caused it— it’s destroying me. Because this woman, this beautiful, fierce, broken woman, is everything I never knew I needed.

And I’m losing her because I couldn’t deliver on the one promise that mattered.