She looks up at me, and I see a flicker of relief.
“It’s still early,” Mal protests. “We could play another round.”
“And listen to Thing One and Thing Three squabble and draw like preschoolers?” I say, thumbing to my brothers. “Hard pass.”
Finley takes my hand, and I pull her to her feet.
“Good night, everyone,” she says, as I keep hold of her hand and tug her toward the kitchen.
“Good night,” a chorus of voices calls after us. Grant’s is noticeably absent.
I continue to hold her hand until we reach our room, then after I close the door behind us, I pull her into a hug.
That’s something a friend would do, right?
She leans her cheek against my chest and wraps her arms around my back. I hold her like this for nearly a minute, neither of us saying anything. I soak her in, a sadness brewing inside. She was miserable tonight and it’s killing me. She’s supposed to be having a magical Christmas, but my shithead brother pricked it like a balloon.
“Don’t make a decision tonight,” I say softly.
She doesn’t answer.
How do I fix this? Panic claws at my chest. I want to kick Grant’s ass. I want to shove his face into the snow. I want to force him to apologize and treat her with the respect she deserves.
But none of that will solve any of it. The damage has already been done.
Feeling reckless, I lift a hand to her cheek and gently lift her face to look up at me.
There’s sadness in her eyes, but something else too. Something I can’t name.
“Do you want to get ready for bed?” I ask.
“We still have to set out the stockings.”
After all this, she still wants to give everyone stockings. It only makes my frustration worse.
“Yeah,” I say, offhandedly, worried she’ll see my frustration and think it’s aimed at her. “But everyone’s still downstairs. How about we get ready and then put them together and take them down once everyone’s gone to bed?”
“Okay.”
She pulls away from me, and I miss the warmth of her body as she opens her suitcase and pulls out her pajamas and a toiletry bag. When she goes to the door, I follow her to the opening, watching as she slips into the bathroom like I’m her bodyguard.
I have no idea how long she’ll be and standing at the doorway is making me anxious. I’m about to turn back into our room when Mallory comes up the back staircase.
She casts a glance over my shoulder into the empty room that’s currently lit by the Christmas tree.
“She’s in the bathroom,” I say, lowering my voice.
She nods then gives me a sad smile. “I’m sorry about Grant.”
I rake a hand through my hair. “Yeah, me too.” But I’m still kicking myself for not preparing Finley for his anger, but then again, I expected him to turn the brunt of it on me.
“Do you think she’ll go home?” Mal asks, looking distraught.
“Honestly? I don’t know. She hasn’t asked me to get her a plane ticket home tomorrow, but the day after?” I shrug helplessly.
Determination fills her eyes. “We just have to make tomorrow so wonderful she won’t want to leave.”
“I promised her a special Christmas.” My voice breaks. “I’ve disappointed her.”
