My Secret Santa Axton (Silver Ridge Christmas)

7. Something Has to Give

Something Has to Give

AXTON

I grip the steering wheel tighter as I pull up to Mel's house, my heart racing like a herd of wild horses. The locket sits heavy in my pocket, a reminder of everything I want but can't have.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I mutter, smacking the steering wheel. Then I kill the engine. " Fuck! I shouldn't stopped at Millie's."

The frosty air bites at my skin as I step out, crunching across the frozen ground. Mel's porch looms before me, warm and inviting. Everything she is, everything I'm not.

I pull out the box with the locket, running my thumb over the delicate heart shape. Inside, a sprig of dried lavender—her favorite. The note feels like it's burning a hole in my hand: "For the one who feels like home."

My feet carry me up the steps before I can think better of it. I place the locket carefully on the welcome mat, arranging the note just so. For a moment, I let myself imagine her finding it, that brilliant smile lighting up her face.

I shouldn't leave it. It's too personal, too revealing. But seeing her with another man seals our fate...

I can't take it anymore. Something has to give.

And part of me hopes she figures it out. Hopes she realizes I'm her Secret Santa.

The urge to stay, to wait and see her reaction, is almost overwhelming. But I force myself to turn away. She deserves better than what I can offer.

Better than a man with too many secrets and not enough courage to face them.

I jump back into my truck and peel away from Mel's house. The sting barely registers through the storm of emotions raging inside me.

I shouldn't have gone to Millie's. Shouldn't have seen them together. But I couldn't stay away, drawn like a moth to a flame. Now the sight of Mel's smile, directed at someone else, haunts me.

It serves me fucking right. To see her with someone else, even if it feels worse than ripping his heart out of his chest with no anesthesia.

" Maybe now I'll get it through my thick-fucking-skull. "

The truck roars down the empty streets as I push the accelerator harder. I need to get to Everett's, need the distraction of work before I do something stupid.

Like go back and tell Mel everything.

That I love her. I've always loved her. And I always will.

But I can't. I'm not the man for her.

I drive to Everett's house on autopilot. Not registering the lights, the people, the season of hope. Instead, I see him.

My dad: William O'Connor.

Bill was a drunk bastard who got off on making everyone in our house miserable.

The O'Connor home was nothing like the Petersons' home.

Miss Steph and Big Bear's home was always warm, filled with laughter and love.

Mine? Was a fucking battlefield.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, trying to block out the memories. But they come anyway, vivid and painful.

I'm twelve again, sitting at the dinner table. The tension's so thick you could cut it with a knife. Mom's hand shakes as she lifts her fork. Dad stumbles in, reeking of booze.

"Dinner's cold," he slurs.

I see the fear in my siblings' eyes. The resignation on Mom's face. And something in me snaps.

"It's not her fault," I say, my voice steadier than I feel.

The backhand comes fast and hard. Pain explodes across my cheek, but I don't cry. I won't give him the satisfaction.

I face him. His eyes clouded with alcohol and rage.

"You're worthless, boy," his voice echoes in my head. "Just like me."

I shake my head, but the memories keep coming.

The crack of my jaw when he hit me with another blow. The sound of glass shattering as he sent a bottle across my head. My mother's quiet sobs from the other room.

I blink, forcing myself back to the present. My hands are shaking on the wheel. I pull over, needing a minute to breathe.

Is this why I can't let myself be with Mel? Am I afraid I'll turn into him?

The thought makes me sick. I've spent my whole life running from that possibility. Keeping people at arm's length, never letting anyone get too close. Because what if I am my father's son?

What if I hurt her the way he hurt Mom?

I lean my head against the steering wheel, feeling the weight of years of fear and doubt crushing down on me. The only peace I ever found was with the Petersons. With Mel. But I don't deserve that peace. I don't deserve her.

I shouldn't have gone to Millie's. Shouldn't have seen them together. But I couldn't stay away, drawn like a moth to a flame. Now the sight of Mel's smile, directed at someone else, haunts me just like her kisses.

The truck roars down the empty streets as I push the accelerator harder. I need to get to Everett's, need the distraction of work before I do something stupid. Like go back and tell Mel everything.

I see her again happy. Carefree. Everything she should be.

Everything she can't be with me.

I start the truck again, my jaw clenched tight. This is for the best. Mel deserves someone whole, someone who isn't broken. Someone who can love her without fear.

The gates to Everett's property loom ahead, and I force myself to take a deep breath. Time to put on the mask. To be Wrecker, the demolitions expert. The man who doesn't let emotions get in the way.

As I drive up Everett's mountain to his house, I force myself to lock it all away—the pain, the longing, the memories.

I'm not the man for Mel. But God, how I wish I could be.

I park, my breathing ragged. I rest my forehead against the steering wheel, fighting for control.

The Petersons' ranch was my only escape back then. The only place I felt safe. Big Bear's steady presence, Miss Steph's warm smile.

And Mel... Her laughter chased away the shadows, made me believe I could be more than my father's son.

But what if I'm not? What if it's in my blood, this anger, this capacity for destruction?

I think of Mel's soft eyes, the trust she places in me despite everything. What if I betray that trust? What if I hurt her the way my father hurt my mother?

The thought makes me sick. No, I can't risk it. Can't risk her.

I climb out, forcing myself to breathe. Everett's waiting. There's work to be done.

It's better this way, keeping my distance.

Every step feels like I'm dragging through quicksand. Like I'm fighting every cell and every strand of DNA.

As my heart pleads, that maybe we could be different. But I'm not different.

I'm Axton O'Connor, son of Charles O'Connor. The man who taught me that love is just another word for pain.

Then I see the rest of the team already gathered on the porch. Everett raises an eyebrow as I climb out of the truck.

"Cutting it close, brother," he says, his tone light but his eyes searching.

I grunt in response, falling into step as we head over to the ACS building. The familiar banter of the team washes over me, but I can't seem to engage. My mind keeps drifting back to Mel, to the locket, to the mess I've made.

"Wrecker," Owen's voice cuts through my thoughts. "You with us?"

I blink, realizing we're already in Everett's high-tech command center. The others are looking at me expectantly.

"Yeah, sorry," I mutter, straightening up. "What were you saying?"

Everett frowns slightly, but launches into the mission briefing. I try to focus, I really do. But Mel's face keeps swimming before my eyes. The way she looked at fucker in Millie's, which was nothing like how she looks at me with confusion and hurt.

"Axton," Everett's sharp tone snaps me back to attention. "You good? Because if you're not all in on this, we need to know now. I'm leaving with five men, I'm returning with five men. Are you with us, soldier?"

"Yes, sir," I growl. "Just didn't sleep well. Won't happen again."

Everett holds my gaze for a long moment before nodding. "Alright. As I was saying, Specter's intel suggests the weapons shipment will be moving through here," he points to a map on the screen. "Axton, you'll be responsible for disabling the convoy. We need those weapons intact for analysis."

I nod, forcing myself to focus on the details of the plan. This is what matters. This is what I'm good at. Not relationships, not feelings. Just the mission.

But as the meeting wraps up and we start to disperse, Everett catches my arm. "Hey," he says quietly. "You know you can talk to me if something's going on, right?"

For a moment, I'm tempted. To unload everything, to ask for advice. But the words stick in my throat. "I'm good," I say instead, shrugging off his hand. "Just need some sleep before the op."

Everett doesn't look convinced, but he lets me go. As I head back to my truck, the weight of everything I'm not saying feels like it's crushing me.

The drive home is a blur. All I can think about is Mel. The locket. The gifts.

I'm playing with fire, and I know it. But I can't seem to stop myself.