Snowed in for Christmas

Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Jett

THE DOOR WAKES US. Ben and I startle up in bed, groaning as we smack our heads against the frame above us. We slept tangled around each other, even though we knew the danger of indulging in that.

It seems that danger has arrived.

“Ben? Jett?”

My mom’s voice rings through the house.

“Shit,” I hiss. “Shit. Fuck.”

Ben evidently agrees. Both of us scramble out of bed, tripping over the sheets wound around our legs. His warmth sticks to my skin. His scent flavors my every breath, even as I claw through the clothes on the floor. I toss everything that’s not mine at him. Ben does likewise with my stuff, and we get dressed as quickly as we can. My shirt ends up on backward, but when shoes thud in the entrance hall, I don’t pause to fix it. There’s no time.

Ben grabs his clothes. He snatches his glasses, but doesn’t put them on. He crouches with me on the floor, staring at me for one long, breathless beat. This would be when he kisses me goodbye. This would be when we say our farewells. But those feet downstairs are moving, and we don’t have time for either.

We jump to our feet. I open the bedroom door so Ben can scurry out. I shut it the moment he’s gone, then fly to the window and open it. Cold or no, I’ve got to air the room out as much as I can before our parents come up here. Fuck it, I might have to do more than air it out.

Thinking quickly, I go into my duffel bag and grab a pre-roll I bought before heading over here. I light it up right in the middle of the room, take a single huge puff and exhale. I set it aside to fix my backward shirt, then take a second hasty puff and blow it at the rumpled bed. With any luck, our parents will smell weed and not sex.

I curse when Mom taps at my door. I snuff out the pre-roll on the dresser, waving my arms around like I’m trying to dispel the scent.

She sighs as she opens the door.

“Jett, come on, this is a rental,” she says. “It reeks in here.”

I glance at the open window. “I was, um, airing it out?”

She rolls her eyes, but the ruse clearly worked. She might think I’m a fuck up, but at least she doesn’t think I’m a fuck up who’s sleeping with her boyfriend’s son.

Paul pokes his head into the room beside her. He scrunches up his nose immediately.

“Jesus, Jett, we’re renting this place,” he says.

“I know, I know. I’m airing it out.”

He sighs heavily.

“I’ll take care of it later,” Mom says, patting Paul’s arm.

“Seems like they survived just fine out here,” Paul says wryly. “Maybe we should have left them to it.”

“Only if you want the cleaning fee doubled,” Mom says. “Anyway, Jett, do you know if Benjamin is up? We need to talk to both of you.”

“Probably,” I say with a shrug I hope looks casual. “He’s usually up before me.”

“Come to think of it, what are you doing up already?” Mom says. “It’s not even noon.”

“I was … bored,” I say. “Not much else to do but sleep while the power was out. I guess I got a little too much rest.”

“Right. Did you have trouble staying warm?”

My mind flashes to that first night Ben and I spent in my bed, snuggling around each other. It was possibly the warmest, most comfortable night of my life.

“No,” I say. I do not elaborate.

“Well, good,” Mom says. “I’m going to make some hot chocolate. I brought the fancy kind that you like. Then we’ll chat when you’re both ready.”

“Sure,” I say, “I’ll go grab Ben and we’ll be right down.”

I realize my mistake a second too late. My mother and Paul both furrow their brows at me. Not only did I call him “Ben,” but I casually suggested fetching him. A week ago, I would have ignored his existence entirely. I probably would have started this conversation with all my grievances against him, but it’s too late for that now.

“My God, did you boys actually learn to cooperate while you were stuck here?” Paul says.

My stomach flips. Cooperate. Yeah. We cooperated a whole lot. I could go for way more cooperating, but even as a tingle tickles my gut at the thought, I know it’s impossible.

“We had to survive,” I say. “Plus, he had all the food.”

Paul chuckles. Placated, they leave me alone. I let out a held breath as they close my door and footsteps creak down the stairs. I may have bungled that a bit, but it was my first brush with my new reality. I’m not prepared to go back to calling him Benjamin and pretending I don’t know what he tastes like. I’m not prepared to go back to pretending I don’t care.

I tidy up the room a little, searching for any other incriminating evidence. We did a good job cleaning up. I’ll just have to make sure I leave with the trash from this room.

I leave the window open after my inspection. Even with the weed, this room could use a dousing of fresh air just in case. Don’t need my mom coming in here later and smelling something that’s not marijuana. The thought would be mortifying enough on its own, but the fact that it’s Ben makes it infinitely worse.

I realize I’m stalling when I catch myself remaking the bed. I don’t usually make it one time, let alone multiple.

I take a deep breath. Delaying won’t deny the inevitable. Our parents are already here. It’s over. I have to man up and make it official.

The march from my room to Ben’s right next door is how I imagine convicted criminals feel marching to the gallows. No, I’m not being dramatic, thank you. I tap softly at his door, and he calls for me to come in. From the way his eyes widen behind his glasses, he must have assumed it was our parents.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey.”

Ben stands stiff and awkward in the middle of his perfectly tidy room. His textbooks sit stacked on his desk. His bed lies unrumpled. His clothes lay folded within his bag. It’s perfect, but when I step closer, the immaculate facade cracks, strain showing around Ben’s eyes and in the tightness of his mouth. I want to kiss away his anxiety, but dare not, stopping before I’m close enough to touch him.

“Our parents want to talk to us,” I say.

“I expect they do.”

“What do we do?”

He’s always been the smart one, the one with all the answers, but he frowns at this question.

“We do nothing,” Ben says. “We do whatever they ask. We have our ‘family’ Christmas like they want.”

“Can you actually live with that?”

His throat works, the only sign he offers that it’s just as tight as mine.

“We have to, Jett,” he says. “We have no choice.”

I give up, stepping into his space. “We aren’t related. They aren’t married. They aren’t even engaged. We’re just random people to each other.”

“They’re dating,” he says.

“So we have to be strangers?”

“Something like that.”

It comes out softened by emotion. I cup his face. He leans into the touch as he has so many times these past days as my thumb strokes his smooth cheek. When he meets my eyes, his waver with uncertainty. Looking into them is like watching his heart crumble right before me. Mine is just as cracked and fragile.

He leans in, kisses me softly, slowly. Ben lingers as long as he dares, setting his forehead against mine when our lips part.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“I am too.”

He slips from my grasp, and the walls slam down immediately. His gaze is cold and distant, his face placid, empty. That kiss fades from his lips, leaving them dry.

I step back. It’s over. Really, truly over. There’s nothing we can do but march downstairs and face reality. We knew this moment was coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier to put my back to him and walk away. Somehow, it feels like crossing that room puts miles of distance between us, and not mere feet.