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With one last vicious glance, he hisses, “Fuck you, Cash.Fuck you,” and storms out the door.
As my head throbs and my jaw aches, I sit at my desk in silence, rubbing my temples and wondering how everything with Brett went so wrong.
Enough of this. I push up from my chair and head for the door. Pausing at my assistant’s desk, I say, “Please make sure security knows he is not allowed on the premises. And inform HR that he’s fired.”
“Okay, Cash.” Her gaze is sympathetic. “I will. Right away.”
“Thanks, Angela.”
I’ll have to get her an extra nice Christmas gift after all this shit with Brett.
“I’m heading home,” I add unnecessarily, considering I’m holding my coat. “After you call security and HR, why don’t you head home early. Okay?”
I barely hear her answer as I wave a little goodbye to her. I’m already thinking about Ari.
It’sdarkbythetime I get to Ari’s school to pick her up.
I always forget how quickly the sun goes down once we head into the winter months. Before I know it, it’ll be December, which means coming home in the dark and bitterly cold mornings and the long, depressing stretch of winter in New York.
Except maybe not so depressing this year.
Now that I have Ari, there’s no way she’s not going to want to celebrate Christmas.
I always have the token decorations at the office, but nothing at home. There never seemed to be a point. I volunteer to cover the holidays at the station so the guys with families don’t have to, and a few times I’ve gone to one of their houses for Thanksgiving. But celebrating all by myself? No thanks.
But this year, Ari is insisting on Thanksgiving at home. “It’s okay if you want to volunteer at the station on Thanksgiving,” she told me. “I’ll make dinner for you to bring for all the guys there. And the next day, we can have our own dinner at home.”
How can I say no to that? Why would I wantto?
Pulling up in front of the high school, I park the car and send Ari a quick text to let her know I’m here. Before she can respond, I’m out and heading toward the building—there’s no way I’m letting her walk from the entrance to my car alone, andin the dark.
As soon as I get to the large stone steps, one of the glass doors opens and Ari slips out. All bundled up in a North Face puffer coat and a fluffy hat, she looks fully ready for winter. And she looks adorable.
She darts down the steps and slams into me, her arms wrapping around my waist. Her face is pressed into my chest, so she’s barely audible as she says, “I missed you.”
“Hey, hun.” I cup one hand around her nape, the other resting at the middle of her back. “I missed you, too.” Just holding her makes my headache recede.
I don’t realize something is wrong until we get into the car; the interior light illuminating Ari’s strained expression. But she could just be tired—she had to stay two hours later than normal for an after-school program, so it’s been a long day for both of us.
But halfway home, she’s barely said anything, focused more on fiddling with her hat, her tote, and messing with the heat settings. At a red light, I glance over and her jaw is clenched tight, her lips pressed into a thin line.
“Ari.” I reach over and put my hand on her leg. “Is everything okay?”
She looks over at me, her brows pulling together, hesitating. And now I knowsomething is wrong.
The light changes, and she gestures at it. “I’ll tell you when we get home.”
What? My headache resurges. Working to keep the tension out of my voice, I say, “Tell me now, please. If something’s wrong, I need to know.”
Ari sighs. “Nothing’s wrong, exactly. But,” she sighs again, more heavily. “I don’t want you being distracted while you’re driving.”
Shit. Now that she’s putting me off, I’m pretty sure I’m going to be verydistracted by whatever she tells me. But I grit my teeth—again, I’m going to need to visit the dentist soon, at this rate—and we make the rest of the drive to my house in silence.
I can feel the tension coming off her in waves. As we walk from the garage into the house, Ari’s frowning down at the floor, her shoulders slumping. And that same instinctive sense is hitting me, shouting at me, telling me I’m not going to like what she’s about to tell me.
Once we get to the living room, I catch Ari’s hand, gently pulling her to a stop. “Okay, we’re home. Nowtell me.”
She slips off her coat and tugs off her hat, leaving her hair all messy. Sinking onto the couch, she waits for me to join her, then says, “Kyle came to the school today.”
