Page 90 of One Midnight Kiss

35

FOX

Waking up felt like surfacing from the depths of hell. It was so bad, I would actually welcome a trip back through the gates of hell to escape what was waiting for me when I fully embraced consciousness. My head pounded, my eyes felt glued shut, and my mouth was as dry as the Sahara. I cracked one eyelid open, only to be met with a black snout and two warm, wet noses pressing into my cheek.

“Frank, Harriet, bad dogs,” I groaned, nudging the two slobbering, snorting dogs away. They refused to budge, tongues lolling, practically vibrating with energy. They were looking at me like I was a milk bone. “Yeah, yeah, I missed you too.”

Harriet yelped in response.

I rolled out of the bed in Christa and Wilder’s guest room and stood, swaying a little. The dogs were circling my ankles. I did not have the strength or willpower to keep my balance with them trying to trip me. The room spun and I clutched the edge of the nightstand for balance.

How the hell did I end up here?

I steadied myself, dragging a hand over my face. Wilder’s house. Of course. It smelled like pine and the holiday candles Christa always had burning this time of year. The thick smell of cinnamon, clove, and something sweet, maybe vanilla, surrounded me. It took me a few seconds to collect my thoughts. It was a bit like a scavenger hunt trying to piece everything together.

I grabbed my phone and saw the day. Christmas. Shit.

How in the hell had I gotten here?

The hangover hinted at the answer. I managed to shuffle into the hallway bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, hoping to clear the cobwebs. Memories from last night flooded back in fragmented pieces.

Natalia storming out of my apartment like she’d seen a ghost. The expression on her face—shocked, almost betrayed—played on a loop behind my eyelids. I had said everything but that I loved her. And she’d run. She might have jumped out the window if I had told her I loved her. I was glad I didn’t go full truth on her.

I expected her to be surprised but not repulsed. Talk about a blow to the ego. But worse than that, it shredded my heart like cole slaw. I knew the risk of putting myself out there, but I never actually thought it would happen. I thought she felt something for me. I sure as hell didn’t expect her to outright flee in horror.

I sighed, gripping the sink, trying to push away the wave of nausea churning in my gut. Feeling sick on Christmas morning was like getting coal in my stocking. Not cool.

I trudged downstairs, flanked by two eager furballs trying to trip me. Together, we followed the muffled sound of voices and clinking mugs. The living room came into view, all cozy and warm with the Christmas tree lit up. The little nativity Christa put up every year was glowing. It was all very Norman Rockwell. And it all made me feel even more nauseated.

Bah, humbug.

Wilder and Christa were snuggling on the couch wearing goofy matching pajamas with pictures of the Grinch, which matched my own mood. But they were laughing over their eggnog-laced coffee. They both turned when they saw me.

“Well, look who’s finally up,” Wilder said, eyebrows raised. “The dogs guarded you all night. I think they were worried about you.”

“Or they were hoping he would puke so they could eat it.” Christa flashed me a tight smile. “I’ll go start breakfast,” she said and quickly excused herself. She disappeared into the kitchen like she couldn’t get away fast enough. I couldn’t blame her. If it weren’t for her meddling, Natalia wouldn’t have been in my life at all—and maybe we wouldn’t have been in this mess.

I couldn’t remember much about last night. I wasn’t sure if Christa was mad at me or upset with her own role in this disaster. I dropped onto the couch across from Wilder, slumping into the cushions. “How did I get here?”

“You don’t remember?” Wilder asked with an amused smile.

I shook my head, immediately regretting it as pain sliced through my skull. “Not really.”

Wilder sighed, setting his coffee down. “I picked you up from a bar downtown at one in the morning. You were wasted, rambling about how you had ruined everything. You weren’t making any sense. I brought you here just in case it was going to be one of those nights with your head in the toilet.”

I winced, rubbing a hand over my eyes. That tracked. I remembered bits and pieces now—stumbling out of the bar, calling Wilder in a moment of desperation. Natalia’s face, pale and stricken, haunted me.

Christa reappeared with a mug of black coffee, putting it down in front of me without a word.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, reaching for it like a lifeline.

Christa perched on the arm of the couch, looking anywhere but at me. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. “The breakfast casserole is in the oven,” she said, her tone cold.

Whatever was said last night had clearly pissed her off. She was never this chilly toward me.

“Do you remember anything else?” Wilder asked.

I took a sip of the coffee, letting the hot liquid burn down my throat. The memory of last night came rushing back—Wilder helping me inside, me leaning heavily on him as I tried to explain the situation. I remembered going to the bar right after she left. I couldn’t stand to stay in the apartment. She ran and then I ran.