Merry Little Hate Notes

Chapter Twelve

brANDON

I KEPT SNEAKING GLANCES AT Holly curled up under a throw blanket on the opposite end of the couch from me. She was holding her own bowl of popcorn while doing her best to keep her distance. She kept her eyes fixed squarely on the flat screen above the blazing gas fireplace. At least she’d emerged from the bedroom—I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist Josh Duhamel or getting into her pj’s. To her, pj’s and watching movies were synonymous.

I congratulated myself on how perfect that nightshirt looked on her. It showed off her toned, shapely legs and hinted at her curves. Her messy bun only added to the allure. She had no idea how badly I wanted to take her up in my arms. But I knew I had to play it cool.

My mother kept sending me texts, reminding me not to go overboard—said the woman who had not only gone overboard but would set the ship on fire if she thought it were necessary. Mom was sending me conversation starters like, Ask her what book she’s read lately , or Do you listen to podcasts? What’s your favorite one? No doubt she was googling these. At least she wasn’t sending me holiday zingers, as she called them. I hated to admit the conversation starters weren’t terrible. Because the only thing I could think of saying was, Holly, I’ve loved you since I was ten years old . Somehow, I didn’t think that was going to go over too well, considering she thought I was Satan.

So with some shame, I went with my wingman on this. “Have you read any good books lately?” The words fell clumsily from my mouth like I’d never been around a beautiful woman before.

Holly turned her head my way in slow motion, her eyes already narrowed. “Is this how you plan to change my mind about you?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m looking for a good book recommendation. So, what do you have for me?”

Her lips twitched into an almost smile. So maybe I still had some prowess, or perhaps she thought I was an idiot. Probably the latter. Yet she still responded, “I just finished a biography about Queen Elizabeth II.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yes.” She turned away from me and gawked at a half-naked Josh Duhamel. I guess if I was going to be upstaged by someone, he was a decent choice, although if she wanted to see some defined abs, I’d be happy to show mine off. That would probably fall into the going overboard category.

“Listen to any good podcasts lately?” I blurted, not knowing where else to go. Holly had rendered me incompetent.

Holly laughed but didn’t answer.

My saving grace came from a knock on the door. “I’ll get it. It’s probably the pizza.” I stood and walked over to the door, feeling more and more like Will Smith’s character in Hitch . I had zero game when it came to Holly. But maybe that was it—I knew it wasn’t a game. It never had been with her.

“I can’t believe they deliver in this weather,” Holly commented.

“I’m sure they’re used to it.” To prove my point, I opened the door to find a guy in shorts wearing a parka and a beanie. Only in Colorado.

“What’s up, man? Are you Brandon Cassidy?” The delivery guy pulled the pizza out of an insulated food carrier.

“That’s me.”

“Awesome. Just sign the receipt on top.”

I took the pen resting on the pizza box and added a good tip before signing the receipt.

The delivery guy grabbed the pen and receipt and handed me the pizza box that smelled of oregano and homemade bread. “Thank you. Drive safe.”

“Thanks for the tip, man. Have a good night.”

That was the plan. I shut the door and turned to find Holly throwing off her blanket. “Just relax. I’ll grab some plates. What do you want to drink?”

She pressed her lips together, unsure of me.

“I promise not to sabotage your drink. I don’t have any Mentos or Alka-Seltzer with me.”

She offered me a small smile. “I still can’t believe you guys froze Mentos in my ice cubes. You totally ruined my favorite dress.”

“Sorry about that.” I headed for the open kitchen off the living room, holding back my laughter. The surprise on her face when those Mentos hit her Coke was priceless.

“I don’t think you’re that sorry.”

“Maybe not for that,” I conceded. “Christian and I plotted that one for a long time and waited for the perfect moment to enact our plan.” It was odd how easily I could say his name in front of her.

“You guys were such idiots.”

“Yeah, we were,” I sighed. “I miss him.”

“Me too,” her voice cracked. “Sometimes I visit his grave just to yell at him for leaving. I don’t know why I’m telling you that.” She wiped her eyes.

I set the pizza on the counter. “Because I know better than anyone how you feel. I’m still so angry with him, I can’t seem to bring myself to visit his grave. Watching his casket lowered into the ground was the worst day of my life.” I could still feel the punch of it and how surreal it felt while experiencing the most real thing to ever happen to me.

Holly nodded. “Mine too,” she whispered. “You should go there. I know he would want you to. And ... yelling at him is very therapeutic.” She smiled through her tears.

I chuckled. “Maybe I’ll have to try that while I’m in town.”

She tilted her head and studied me for a moment. “Do you like living in North Carolina?”

I opened the pizza box and grabbed some plates. “It’s all right. I own a nice townhome near Strawberry Hill, not too far from the office. I’m just a few hours away from some great beaches. And you can’t beat southern hospitality, but ...”

“It’s not home,” she read my mind.

“No. It’s not.”

“So why don’t you come home?”

I inhaled and exhaled slowly, considering my next words. “Because home haunts me.”

“Oh.” She seemed at a loss for words.

“I only have myself to blame.” I shrugged, throwing a couple of slices on each of our plates.

“So why come home now? Did you miss torturing me?” she teased.

I walked over and handed her a plate, wishing she knew how much she tortured me, but I didn’t want to scare her away. “You got me. I’m sorry for all this cozy torture I’ve made you endure tonight.”

“Ha ha.” She took the plate. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. What can I get you to drink? Or will that be too torturous for you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Just some water, please.”

“You got it.” I grabbed her drink and my plate, then set them on the coffee table. I decided a little mood lighting was appropriate. “Check out this view.” I turned off the lights and opened the curtains to reveal a postcard-worthy sight. The condo had a river view. While the river barely flowed this time of year, the snowy banks and trees adorning it glowed in the dark. The falling snow looked like specks of stardust lighting up the night. It felt like home and the holidays, and I missed it. I missed Holly.

Holly’s breath hitched. “Wow,” she breathed out. “It’s beautiful.”

I took a risk and sat in the middle of the couch. Closer to her, but not too close. The glow of the firelight fell over her, making her appear even lovelier.

Holly eyed me carefully but didn’t ask me to move to the opposite side of the couch. I took the win and grabbed my plate. For several moments we ate, not saying a word to each other while Katherine Heigl and Josh Duhamel battled it out on the TV. But I knew the wheels inside Holly’s pretty head were turning. I both feared and wished to know what she was thinking.

“Do you remember the first time we vacationed up here with your family and I didn’t know how to ski?” Holly gave me a peek into her thoughts.

I nodded, thinking back to the days when life seemed so simple and happy.

“I had to take ski lessons, but Christian didn’t need them. He just naturally seemed to know how to do everything. Sometimes I was so jealous of him,” she seemed ashamed to admit. “I watched you both zip down the slopes while I could barely stay standing on my skis. I thought you would make fun of me, but you didn’t. Instead, you helped me and went down the bunny slope with me a few times.”

The mood shifted, and I liked where this was going.

“I remember.” I smiled at her.

She didn’t return the smile. Instead, she pensively searched my eyes, wrinkling her brow. It was then I realized the mood hadn’t shifted in my favor.

“Brandon, I have at least a hundred memories of you playing my best friend and even my hero. But ...” Her voice seemed to get caught in her throat. “You perfected the part of playing my worst enemy. I felt like your yo-yo. How do you ever trust someone like that?” she begged to know, not out of spite or malice—it was just an honest question.

Damn. I dropped my slice of pizza on my plate and fell back against the couch, feeling as if she’d slapped me. It hit me how much I’d toyed with her emotions. Sure, I’d had some idea. Hell, I ruined her first kiss and ignored her for years. But I hadn’t stopped to think about the entirety of our lives together, how much I really had tortured her. I always focused on how much she tortured me—the girl I wanted but could never have. I knew I was a jerk, but it turns out I was a straight-up bastard.

“I don’t know that you should,” I honestly said, wishing I could give her another answer.

“That’s probably the smart thing to do.” She sighed like a deflated balloon, long and disappointed.

I expected her to get up and head to the bedroom. But she set her plate down on the coffee table and curled more into the blanket, blankly staring at the screen. As the night wore on, she seemed determined not to move. Occasionally, she would glance at me as if waiting for me to say something. I wanted to tell her the truth, but I had given her no reason to trust me. I had no idea how to fix that, even though I wanted to more than anything.

Halfway into our second movie, 27 Dresses —yes, I had a crush on Katherine Heigl, sue me—Holly fell asleep, resting her gorgeous head on a throw pillow. In the flickering of the firelight and the glow of the TV, I watched her even breaths rise and fall. I longed to touch the tendrils of hair framing her heart-shaped face and let my fingers dance across her smooth, creamy skin. More than that, I wanted to let her know I was no longer the boy who felt like he was caught between two worlds, even though I knew Christian would never forgive me.

“Holly,” I whispered. When she didn’t stir, I proceeded, needing to release some of the pressure weighing on my chest. “There are so many things I want to tell you, but I’m not sure I’m ever going to get the chance. First, I’m so sorry I hurt you and confused you. It was never my intention. But you’re right—it was like I had you on a string. I always had to walk a line with you because of Christian. I think he knew how I really felt about you, and he was adamant I never cross that line. But damn, did I want to. And I did when I kissed you ...” I blew out a large breath. “Holly, that kiss set my world on fire. But I should have never kissed you, because I knew we couldn’t be together, no matter how much I wanted us to be. What I didn’t know was that Christian saw us that night. To say he was angry was an understatement. So, I lied and told him I did it on a dare. I never thought he would tell you. It’s not an excuse and it doesn’t make it right, but I didn’t know what else to do at the time.”

I scrubbed a hand over my face, feeling like an idiot talking to a sleeping Holly, but it didn’t stop me.

“You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to tell you the truth, but how could I betray Christian? Honestly, I felt like there was no coming back after my douche move. But there’s been no forgetting you, no matter how hard I’ve tried. That’s why I came home. I’m tired of running from you and the truth, even though I know how much you hate me. I had to do something, though, so I begged my dad to let me work with you. And I wrote the hate notes because they were our thing. Well, that and my mom thought I should keep doing it. Yes, she knows all about our game. Apparently, she found our notes from when we were young. She says it’s your love language.” I chuckled.

“I’m not sure about that. But I thought maybe they would tick you off enough, and you’d write one back. Anything would be better than your silence. I thought for sure you would nail me on the November face note, and at least correct me for botching your beloved Shakespeare. Obviously, it didn’t work, even though my mom thinks I should keep trying. She fancies herself my wingman. She’s the one who gave you those merry little sticky notes. Even saying that out loud sounds ridiculous. But something she said won’t leave me. She told me if I want to find Christmas again, I need to help you find yours. I’d love to do that. But the more I’ve thought about it, the more I know it’s not just Christmas I’ve come searching for. It’s home. And I’ve finally realized there is no home without you. I think that’s why I’ve stayed away for so long. How could I come home knowing I can’t have you?”

I couldn’t help myself. I reached over and let my hand rest on the blanket covering her thigh while admiring her beautiful face. Her breath remained even as she peacefully slept.

“Holly,” I whispered. “Maybe one day I’ll get to tell you this when you’re awake. Just tell me what to do to make you trust me again and I’ll do it,” I pleaded into the night. “Believe me, my wingman isn’t much help—not unless you count holiday team-building exercises meant to bring us closer together. Sorry about that, by the way. My parents just want us to be happy. I want that too. More for you than myself.”

I patted her leg and sighed. “Anyway, thanks for sleeping through my Why Brandon Is an Idiot TED Talk. Good night, Holly-Pops. I love you.”