I could say I don’t know where I’m going until I’m there, but the pull in my chest drags me across state lines. The internet says it’s a fourteen-hour drive without stops, but it takes closer to seventeen hours to drive through the night.
Just shy of a thousand miles. Deep in the heart of Texas. Where it seems my heart has been abducted to and is currently residing.
Every mile I leave behind feels like I’m shedding the armor my father forced me to wear. The de la Peña armor. All I want is to collapse into Xavier’s arms and not think about the world at all.
So… I drive.
Xavier’s childhood home has a warm glow from the window, the faint outline of his Christmas tree. It’s the ass crack of dawn. I don’t have a gift. I didn’t even tell him I was coming. I just… drove here.
My heart stumbles as I get out of the car. I walk up the steps with numb fingers and toes. The door opens before I can knock, or text him to say I’m here. Xavier’s standing there in soft joggers and a well-worn hoodie. His hair is mussed, and his concerned eyes go wide.
“I didn’t… know where else to go.” My voice breaks on the only words I can manage.
He doesn’t hesitate, not even for a fraction of a second. “Come here.” His voice is soft, so full of emotion I can’t decipher, I’m not even sure I want to.
And when he pulls me inside, when the door clicks shut behind us, when his warmth surrounds me, for the first time in weeks, my chest stops fucking hurting.
CHAPTER 37
Xavier
He’s slept away most of the day, not even upstairs in my childhood bedroom. Nope, this man made it about twelve feet inside my childhood home and slumped on the couch in front of the fire where he’s been an unconscious, snoring lump ever since.
The fire crackles in front of him, throwing gold light over his chiseled cheekbones. The house smells like cinnamon and Mom’s pine-scented candle she buys every December.
It’s hard to deny to my older, mother-hen-brother Roman that this man is important to me when his legs are dangling off the edge of the sofa. His socked foot keeps twitching like he’s dreaming of outrunning something—probably his life, or his fucking father.
He’s scowling at me—Roman, not Artemis. He’s got flour dusted on his shirt. He’s been elbow-deep in the holiday baking he always pretends he doesn’t care about, but he secretly loves and couldn’t live without. This year he couldn’t wait to bake for his partners. “If he wasn’t snoring so loudly, I’d wonder if he was even alive.” His lips twitch.
I flap an arm at him, but he steps out of the way before Ican get him. “Shhhh.” The word hisses out of my clenched teeth.
Roman snorts. “What? You’re afraid I’m going to wake the dead? A Cat five hurricane could pass through the middle of that couch, and he still wouldn’t wake up. Dude is out cold.”
He’s not wrong. Christmas music is blaring from the kitchen—Mom insists on the classics—but somehow Artemis is out-sleeping Mariah Carey at full volume.
Mom appears behind me and gives me a squeeze. She quietly claps her palms together, glee glistening in her eyes. Her giant, holiday earrings jingle every time she moves; silver bells shaped like stars because she goes hard for Christmas. “I’m so glad you finally brought someone home, Mijo.” She’s whispering, but it’s loud enough for my younger siblings in the next room to giggle at her declaration.
In the kitchen, the twins are arguing about whose turn it is to put icing on the buñuelos.
“You wanna tell the class why there’s a rich hockey player on our couch on Christmas Eve, Xavi?” Roman’s voice holds judgment. You’d think given the fact he’s in a relationship with two other rich, hockey players at that, that he’d be a little cooler about the whole fucking thing. Since Dad died a couple years back, he’s been taking the role of family patriarch incredibly seriously.
Sofia might be the oldest of our siblings, but it’s the oldest son, Roman, who’s taken on the role of biggest pain in the ass.
As if sensing my discomfort at what’s bound to be a long, and painfully extensive question time, Sofia comes up beside me and shoves Roman’s shoulder. “Leave him alone, Hermano. The first guy he brings home, and you’re gonna squeeze his balls like a Cabrón?”
A snort comes from the sofa, and without missing a beat, or opening his eyes, my boyfriend smirks. “Due respect, if anyone’s squeezing Xavi’s balls it’s going to be me.”
Roman groans. Mom and Sofia share the biggest, most mischievous grin which tells me they’re already picking out wedding outfits, and the twins—still in the other room—make ‘ew’ and gagging sounds.
Artemis sits up, his hair is dishevelled in a hot, runway kind of way, and he stretches both arms above his head, making his shirt ride up enough to tease me with a sliver of his delicious skin.
“Sorry for crashing out on your couch,Duende.” He yawns, and I swear, it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. “The drive took it out of me.”
Mom snorts, and Sofia smothers a giggle.
“What?” I don’t take my eyes off Artemis, because he’s rubbing his face and clearly trying really hard to wake up. He blinks slowly, like he’s adjusting to the glow of Christmas lights draped over… everything.
“Duende,” Mom repeats.
