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“Did you tell her we got married?”
That had me snickering. “Remember that day we went to your lawyer’s office and you’d answered her call? She was calling because someone had told her; they recognized my name.” The next snicker that came out of me was even angrier. “When I called her back, the first thing she asked was when I was going to get her tickets to one of your games. I told her never to ask me that again and she got so defensive… I swear to God, even now, I think about how I never, ever want to be anything like her.”
My hands had started clenching and I forced them to relax. I made myself calm down, trying to let go of that anger that seemed to pop up every so often.
“Like I said. I don’t know your mom and I really don’t want to ever know her, but you’re doing all right, Van. Better than all right most of the time.”
All right. Most of the time. The word choice had me smiling up at the ceiling as I calmed down even more. “Thanks, big guy.”
“Uh-huh,” he replied before going right for it. “I’d say all the time, but I know how much money you owe in student loans.”
I rolled onto my side to look at him. Finally. “I was wondering if you were ever going to bring that up,” I mumbled.
The big guy rolled over to face me as well, his expression wiped clean of any residual anger at his memories. “What the hell were you thinking?”
I sighed. “Not everyone gets a scholarship, hot shot.”
“There’s cheaper schools you could have gone to.”
Ugh. “Yeah, but I didn’t want to go to any of them.” I said it and realized how stupid that sounded. “And yeah, I regret it a little now, but what can I do? It’s done. I was just stubborn and stupid. And I’d never gotten to do what I wanted to do, I guess, you know? I just wanted to get away.”
Aiden seemed to consider that a moment before propping his head up on his fist. “Does anyone know about them?”
“Are you kidding me? No way. If anyone asked, I told them I got a scholarship,” I finally admitted to someone. “You’re the first person I’ve ever admitted that to.”
“You haven’t even told Zac?”
I gave him a weird look. “No. I don’t like telling everyone that I’m an idiot.”
“Just me?”
I stuck my tongue out. “Shut up.”
It didn’t matter how old I got, the first thing that came to mind every morning on December twenty-fifth was: It’s Christmas. There hadn’t always been presents under the tree, but after I’d learned not to expect anything, it hadn’t taken away from the magic of it.
The fact I woke up the next morning in a room that wasn’t mine, didn’t curb my excitement. The sheets were up to my neck and I was on my side. In front of me was Aiden. The only thing visible other than the top of his head were sleepy brown eyes. I gave him a little smile.
“Merry Christmas,” I whispered, making sure my morning breath wasn’t blowing directly into his face.
Tugging the sheet and comforter down from where he had it up to his nose, his mouth opened in a deep yawn. “Merry Christmas.”
I was going to ask when he’d woken up, but it was obvious it hadn’t been long. He brought up a hand to scrub at his eyes before making another soundless yawn. He punched his hands up toward the headboard in a long stretch. Those miles of tan, taut skin reached up passed the headboard, his biceps elongating as his fingers stretched far, like a big, lazy cat.
And I couldn’t stop myself from taking it all in, at least until he caught me.
Then we stared at each other, and I knew we were both thinking about the same exact thing: the night before. Not the long talk we’d had about our families—and that raw honesty we’d given each other—but about what happened after that.
The movie. The damn movie.
I didn’t know what the hell I’d been thinking, fully fucking aware I was already mopey, when I asked if he wanted to watch my favorite movie as a kid. I’d watched it hundreds of times. Hundreds of times. It felt like love and hope.
And I was an idiot.
And Aiden, being a nice person who apparently let me get away with most of the things I wanted, said, “Sure. I might fall asleep during it.”
He hadn’t fallen asleep.
If there was one thing I learned that night was that no one was impervious to Little Foot losing his mom. Nobody. He’d only slightly rolled his eyes when the cartoon started, but when I glanced over at him, he’d been watching faithfully.
When that awful, terrible, why-would-you-do-that-to-children-and-to-humanity-in-general part came on The Land Before Time, my heart still hadn’t learned how to cope and I was feeling so low, the hiccups coming out were worse than usual. My vision got cloudy. I got choked up. Tears were coming out of my eyes like the powerful Mississippi. Time and dozens of viewings hadn’t toughened me up at all.
And as I’d wiped at my face and tried to remind myself it was just a movie and a young dinosaur hadn’t lost his beloved mom, I heard a sniffle. A sniffle that wasn’t my own. I turned not-so-discreetly and saw him.
I saw the starry eyes and the way his throat bobbed with a gulp. Then I saw the sideways look he shot me as I sat there dealing with my own emotions, and we stared at each other. In silence.
The big guy wasn’t handling it, and if there were ever a time in any universe, watching any movie, this would be the cause of it.
