Merry Little Hate Notes

Chapter Two

brANDON

I SET MY LUGGAGE DOWN, paused on my parents’ wraparound porch, and took a moment to look next door at the St. Jameses’ old house. Snow blanketed the large stone-and-brick home with its signature long flagstone driveway. It hadn’t changed much in the last several years since the St. Jameses had moved out, except the trees had gotten taller and the new owners had replaced the deck out back.

I shoved my hands in the pockets of my long wool coat and blew out a large breath that floated in the blustery night air. I was no longer used to Colorado winters. It had been years since I’d come home to Castle Pine Village, and never during the holidays. I knew it broke my parents’ hearts, and that was the last thing I wanted to do, but my greatest and worst memories lived here in these two houses. I’d done my best over the years to run from them, but somehow, no matter where I lived, they always caught up to me. I was tired of running. Tired of barely being able to say my best friend’s name out loud. It was time to face the memories.

Christian St. James was more than my best friend—he was my brother. We did everything together growing up. There wasn’t a day that went by I didn’t think about him. I was still angry at him for dying. Why couldn’t the idiot stop messing around on the ski slopes that day? Why didn’t I stop him from drinking those beers he’d become too fond of? These were the questions that had haunted me for the last thirteen years. Watching him take his last breaths after hitting that damn tree and having to tell his parents and Holly that he’d died while I was holding his hand were the hardest things I ever had to do. Second to those was watching the St. James family fall apart, feeling like it was my fault.

Other thoughts bombarded me—Holly. Always Holly. The girl who had fascinated me since I was ten years old and I’d thought she was Snow White come to life with her ebony hair, flawless, creamy skin, red-rose lips, and ice-blue eyes. As I’d watched her grow from girl to woman, she only grew lovelier, captivating the hell out of me. But Christian had always warned me she was off-limits. For good reason. It’s not like I was Prince Charming in high school. But neither was he, and that, more than anything, made him overprotective of Holly.

I should have known better and just stayed away from her. But when you want something you can’t have so badly, you do things you regret. Things like kissing the girl you’re in love with on her sweet sixteen and then making her believe it meant nothing. I had no idea Christian had seen us. When he confronted me, he was livid enough to sucker punch me in the gut. I couldn’t breathe for a good thirty seconds. While trying to catch my breath, I thought up the only lie I could to save our friendship. I told him someone had dared me to do it. It was partially true. I’d been daring myself for months to kiss Holly. My excuse didn’t impress Christian, though. He punched me again. I deserved it. But the lie saved our friendship, the most important relationship to me at the time.

I leaned against the porch railing, berating myself for hurting Holly and not having the courage to tell her the truth about that night and for promising Christian I would never look at her again, let alone touch her. Mistakenly, I thought I would go to college, forget about her easily, and move on with my life. But there was no forgetting the girl who wrote me notes, cleverly hateful as they could sometimes be, and set my world on fire with her very first kiss.

I probably should have let that doofus Kyle Morgan kiss her that night, but the thought of him kissing her had me wanting to swing a golf club at his head. Never had I felt that kind of jealousy. I couldn’t let him be Holly’s first kiss.

The front door, already adorned with a Christmas wreath, opened, and Mom peeked her head out. “Hi, honey,” she choked out. “Do you want to come in?” she asked, like she wasn’t sure of my answer.

It killed me she had to wonder. I should have come home sooner. Normally when I came into town, I just stayed in a hotel, but it was time for me to face the music. Some of it was my own composition; some of it Christian had written and left unfinished. It was still hard to believe he’d exited before we even got to the best part of the song. We’d had so many plans that included backpacking through Europe, being the best man at each other’s weddings, and buying houses next door to each other.

“Hey, Mom.” I grabbed my luggage, walked into my childhood home, and deposited my suitcases on the pristine wood floors before wrapping my arms around the best woman in the world. I couldn’t help but smile at Mom, who wore an elegant wrap dress covered in a frilly apron. She styled her blonde hair in a chignon and wore heels, even though I knew she was prepping Thanksgiving dinner for the next day. It was just her way. Dad and I teased her about it, but we loved her just the same. No one had style like Lauren Cassidy.

Mom sank into me, holding on for dear life. “Welcome home,” her voice trembled.

I held on to her as tight as I could while glancing around at the foyer and the sweeping staircase. It looked like Mom had gotten a new wrought-iron chandelier and had replaced the flooring and staircase with maple wood. In the twenty-five years since we’d moved in, she’d probably renovated half a dozen times. “The house looks good,” I commented, but all I could see was Christian, Holly, and me running up and down the stairs, always in a hurry to get into some sort of trouble. The ghosts of our past were ready to haunt me like I knew they would. And whether I was ready or not, I was determined to face them.

She leaned away and patted my cheek. “It looks better now that you’re home.”

I smiled, knowing how much she meant that. “Where’s Dad?” I thought he would have beaten me home from the office since I’d had to take an overseas call with a company I’d been working with.

“He stopped at the store to get some heavy whipping cream for me. I’m not sure I bought enough to make homemade whipped cream for the pies tomorrow,” she fretted. “He’s also grabbing dinner from that Italian place you like.”

I had no doubt my mother had bought plenty of heavy whipping cream. She always bought enough food to feed an army. I was sure Dad knew that too. But I also knew my dad would do anything she asked, even if it meant braving the grocery store the night before Thanksgiving on a fool’s errand.

“That sounds great. Can I help with anything?” I admit to wanting to delay entering my old room. Too many memories of Christian and Holly lived there.

“You’re just in time to help me make orange roll dough.”

Mom was famous for her orange rolls and for her hospitality. She and Dad invited anyone at the office who didn’t have a place to go for Thanksgiving. Which meant tomorrow we would dine with at least a dozen coworkers, along with extended family members.

“I’d love to help.” I shed my coat and placed it on the bench in the foyer.

“Perfect. You can zest the oranges while you tell me what’s new in North Carolina and ... about your new arrangement with Holly.” She gave me a meaningful look.

It figures Dad would have told her about that. My parents told each other everything.

“Your father says you practically begged him to place Holly with you.” She laughed while we walked back to the kitchen.

Begging might be stretching it. It was more like bargaining with a brief moment of pleading, even though I knew it was foolish. Holly clearly hated me. Not that I faulted her—I’m the one who let her believe I was a tool bag. I suppose I was, considering what I had done. Working with her was the only way I could think of to get a chance to change her mind about me, or at the very least, acknowledge my existence. Although I wondered if she was going to work from the ladies’ room until I went back to Charlotte at the end of the year. That seemed to be her hiding place of choice whenever I visited our main office.

I knew I was breaking my promise to Christian, but I’d been trying to work Holly out of my system for years now, to no avail. It was important to me she knew I never intended to hurt her. Never did I think Christian would tell her I kissed her on a dare. I guess he thought he was protecting her. Maybe he was.

Although I could argue that I was the one who needed protection from her, based on the notes she’d sent me right after the kissing disaster. I still had each one memorized. She’d gone Shakespearean on me.

A most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner of no one good quality.

Away, you starveling, you elfskin, you dried neat’s tongue, you bull’s pizzle, you stockfish!

I am sick when I do look on thee.

Aroint thee: go away, rump-fed runnion: slut.

Slut was one of the tamest things she called me in subsequent notes. I bet her parents weren’t aware she knew so many four-letter words. But she knew them all and how to use them to cut me to the bone. What I wouldn’t do for her to tell me off now. Anything for her to talk to me again.

“I’m taking over some of the accounts she’s been working on, so it makes sense for us to work together.” I headed for the kitchen sink in the large square island to wash my hands. The island was a recent addition to the kitchen, along with all the open shelving.

Mom stood next to me and nudged me. “I’m not buying it.”

“You’re a smart woman.”

“You ever going to tell me what happened between you two?”

“What do you mean?” I rubbed my soapy hands under the warm water, not wanting to admit to my mother what a jerk I’d been.

Mom handed me a kitchen towel to dry my hands. “I think you know exactly what I mean.”

Taking the towel, I let out a heavy breath, not able to look Mom in the eye. “I kissed her on her sixteenth birthday,” I mumbled. “Christian ...,” I choked saying his name out loud for the first time in years. “He saw us, and he was furious. So I told him it was a dare and I didn’t care about Holly like that.”

Mom’s face fell in horror. “Oh, Bran, you didn’t.”

I threw the towel on the wood countertop next to a bowl of oranges, feeling like the world’s biggest prick, even after all this time. “I did,” I shamefully admitted.

“No wonder those notes of hers got so vile.”

My head snapped toward Mom. “You knew about the notes?” I thought Holly and I had kept that secret well.

Mom laughed. “I’m your mother. I know everything.”

Please tell me that wasn’t true. There were just some things a guy didn’t want his mom to know. “I deserved her ire.”

“I can’t disagree.” She rested her arms on the counter and gave me a thoughtful glance. “You didn’t really feel that way, did you?”

I shook my head. “No, but Christian was my best friend. He would have never stood for me dating Holly.”

“Did you want to date Holly? Do you want to now?”

“Holly won’t even talk to me.”

“You didn’t answer the question.” Mom grinned.

“Honestly, I don’t know what I want. I’m only hoping I get the chance to apologize.”

“I hope you do too. You know, I always hoped you two would end up together.”

I tilted my head. “You did?”

“What mother wouldn’t want a Holly for her son? She’s one of a kind, that girl. What she’s done for her father is nothing short of incredible. And remember how she would always come over and help me bake cookies or put together gifts for the homeless shelter and group home. Oh, and that babysitting night she would do every December for all the parents on our street so they could go Christmas shopping?”

Holly was amazing like that. So amazing, she gave up her own aspirations to take care of her father. The guilt I felt for it ate at me. I should have never let Christian on the slopes, knowing he’d been drinking.

“It’s so sad what happened to that family,” Mom choked out.

“It’s my fault.” I owned it.

“Oh, honey.” Mom reached for me. “You need to stop blaming yourself for Christian’s death. It was a terrible accident. And it’s not your fault Gloria and Harrison divorced or that Harrison started drinking his life away.”

I took my mother’s hand, feeling like a little boy, needing her to make it better. “He’s stopped drinking, right?”

“I believe so. Holly doesn’t say much when we meet for lunch once a month. She’s protective of her dad, maybe embarrassed about the life they lead now. I try not to press. I’m just glad to spend what little time with her she has to offer. I love that girl.”

We had something in common there. I’d been in love with Holly since before I even liked girls, even though no one had aggravated or tormented me more in my entire life. “I’m happy to hear he’s doing better,” I said, relieved.

Mom squeezed my hand. “So what’s your plan, Bran?” She chuckled at her rhyme.

“My plan for what?”

“Oh, please. I know you didn’t just decide to come home for the holidays on a whim, or even for your father and me.”

“Of course I came home to see you.”

“We all met up in Scotland last month. I don’t think you’ve been pining to see us. Not to say I’m not thrilled you’re home for the holidays,” her voice hitched.

“I know. It’s been too long.”

“I understand why.” She let go of my hand and retrieved a zester and a bowl from two nearby drawers. “So tell me how you plan to win our Holly over.”

I folded my arms and leaned against the island, feeling guilty for breaking my promise to Christian. But I couldn’t stay away from Holly any longer. “I’m not sure that’s possible. My hope is she’ll at least give me the opportunity to apologize.”

Mom set the zester and bowl next to me on the island. “It’s Holly, so you can’t just come out and say it after all this time. She won’t believe you.”

“I know,” I groaned. “I actually left her a sticky note today, thinking if I ticked her off, she would at least acknowledge me.” Then, I hoped we could go from there.

“Hmm. It’s not a bad idea. Those notes seem to be Holly’s love language.” Mom giggled. “It’s obvious she wrote them because she wanted your attention. Boy, could she write some zingers.”

I cringed, thinking about my mom reading any of the notes. While some were just ridiculous, others were quite crude. “How many did you read?” I asked, not really wanting to know.

“Worried?” She wagged her brows.

“A little,” I admitted.

“Not many,” she assured me. “But when you were packing for college, I noticed a box where you kept all her notes. Do you still have it?” she teased.

The answer was yes, but I didn’t need my mother to know that. It was juvenile. But the notes were all I had of Holly. It had been our game. Our thing. I smirked and changed the subject. “She didn’t respond to my note today.” I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation with my mom.

Mom slid the bowl of oranges in front of me. “I assume that means you kept the box. But you can keep your secret. So, what did your note say?”

I grabbed an orange and the zester. “Something dumb I googled.” Holly was always better at the game—wittier and more sarcastic. “It was along the lines of, You’re a gray sprinkle on a rainbow cupcake ,” I murmured, embarrassed.

Mom’s nose wrinkled. “Oh, Bran.”

“I know. It wasn’t my finest. And it’s not like I meant it.” I was just trying to get a rise out of her. See if she’d throw more Shakespeare at me and call me a bull’s pizzle or something like it. If anything, I saw Holly as a shiny sprinkle—too pretty to eat or touch.

“Do you want some help? I could be your wingman.” Mom nudged me.

My chin lowered to my chest, puzzled. I had no idea my mom even knew what that meant. Mom and wingman are not two words usually used together. “I’ve never needed a wingman before. ”

“Yes, I know all the ladies love you, son.” She pinched my cheek. “But Holly isn’t just any woman. She never has been.”

This was true. “Regardless, I don’t need my mommy to be my wingman.”

“All right. But if you change your mind, let me know. I could think of some festive zingers like she used this time of year. I remember when she wrote, You should go elf yourself on the shelf .” Mom busted out laughing. “Or the one where she called you a rebel without a Santa Claus. She was so clever.”

“I thought you said you didn’t read that many notes.”

She shrugged. “Tomayto. Tomahto.”

It was becoming clear my mother knew more than I wanted her to. “Anyway, I don’t think I’ll be writing any more notes. It obviously didn’t work.” I zested the orange with vengeance, feeling frustrated about the situation.

“I don’t know if I’d give up so soon. It’s something that connects the two of you. And honestly, I think both of you could use that connection.”

I dropped the orange. “What do you mean?”

“Well, like you, she hasn’t celebrated Christmas in years. I can’t even get her to come to our annual neighborhood Christmas party or to the house at all.” Mom was obviously distraught about it. “I hate seeing you both like this. You need each other, whether or not it turns into anything romantic. You both lost the person you loved more than anyone in the world. That’s a bond no one can break. Not even you two stubborn kids.”

“I don’t know about that, Mom.” Especially since I was sure Holly blamed me for Christian’s death.

“Well, I do. You help Holly find her Christmas again and I have a feeling that’s where you’ll find yours.”

“How do you help someone find something you’ve also lost?”

Mom’s green eyes lit up like the dozen Christmas trees she would put up on the day after Thanksgiving. “There’s a wonderful magic when you heal someone’s heart. Let that magic guide you. And if you need a wingman, the offer is still on the table.” She laughed.

I grinned, even though there was no way I was going to ask my mom to be my wingman. And I had zero idea how to even begin to heal Holly’s heart— the heart I knew I’d broken. I wasn’t sure there was enough magic in the world for that.