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Dropping to my knees, I grab it instantly, hoping the damage isn’t as bad as it sounded.
“Ouch,” I exclaim when a sharp edge slices into my palm. Lifting my hand, I see blood welling from the torn flesh. Tears well in my eyes, and I blink rapidly, trying my best to keep them from falling, and failing miserably as they glide down my cheeks.
“Oh shit, Sloane. Why did you grab that stupid broken tree?” Cole admonishes me, lifting me from the floor and bringing me over to the sink to clean the wound.
“It’s not stupid,” I hiccup, trying to hold back the sobs that want to erupt from my throat. “My Nan gave it to me when I was little.”
The water stings as it sluices over my hand, washing the blood away.
“No decoration is worth cutting yourself open over,” he grumps, giving me some paper towel to cover it with. “Put some pressure on it to stop the bleeding. I’m going to grab a Band-Aid.”
I do as he says, but my gaze is fixed on the broken pieces of my Christmas Tree. Hopping off the counter, I go toward it, reaching down to turn it over so that I can see the damage… maybe I can still fix it.
“Sloane, what the hell,” he shouts, yanking me away from the shards again. “Sit on the couch so I can clean the damn thing up.”
He lifts me effortlessly into his powerful arms, dropping me down on the cozy couch, where Winnie jumps up beside me to nuzzle my face.
“Wait, Cole, don’t throw it out. I need to fix it,” I panic, reaching for his hand; my tears flowing freely now.
“It’s shattered,” he replies harshly. “I just need to get all the pieces off the floor. Why is it so important anyway?”
“Our family rarely ever got to enjoy the holidays together. My parents always had Slater off doing things for his skiing and I started modeling really young, even though I hated it.” I wince as Cole cleans the trickle of blood off my hand, probing it to see if there are any shards lodged within.
His tongue sticks out in concentration as he unwraps the Band-Aid and secures it over the minor cut. I’m sure it will heal quickly, but his caring gesture hits me straight in the heart, and I can’t remember the last time someone looked after me like this. Once he’s sure it’s on correctly, Cole goes over to clean up the remnants of the tree.
Voice shaky with emotion, I continue, “My favorite years were when we could spend Christmas with my Nan. She had that little Christmas tree, along with a huge real one, but I was always drawn to it. Whenever we couldn’t celebrate together, she would ship it to me, so I always had a part of her with me.”
Cole finishes cleaning my tree into a big white garbage bag, coming to stand before me, grasping it in his fist. His head hangs low, and he mumbles something so quietly that I can’t make out the words.
“What?” I sniffle.
“I’m really sorry,” he apologizes, shocking me to my core. My nose is still stuffy from the tears, my eyes rimmed red, but I hold out my arms, beckoning him forward.
He gently places the bag on the floor before falling to his knees in front of the couch and pulling me into his embrace. He hugs me so hard that it’s like he’s trying to comfort me with his whole body.
“It’s okay, it was just an accident,” I murmur, reaching up to stroke the fine hairs at the back of his head. They’re soft under my fingertips as I do my best to soothe him. I’m sad about it, but there isn’t any way to go back and change it. Our hug goes on for what feels like an eternity, yet when he pulls back, it still manages to be over too soon.
“Even after all those shit Christmas’ you still like the holidays?” he asks, and I sense that there is something deeper behind his words.
“I guess,” I answer, shrugging. “Do you not like this time of year?”
As soon as the question comes out of my mouth, I wish I could take it back. Cole’s jaw flexes and his eyes shutter, and the room feels instantly colder as he pulls away, walls going up again.
“Holidays pretty much suck when you grow up in the system,” he snaps. “No fancy trees with gifts under them, or loving parents. Just another fucking day, but the rest of the world is puking joy all over your misery.”
“Cole… I…” I begin to speak, but he cuts me off with a sharp shake of his head.
“Let’s not, I think the water’s boiling,” he says, changing the subject and striding back into the kitchen. “Time for dinner.”
“It smells good,” I say, still wanting to find the elusive right words.
“Are you up for a little skiing tomorrow? I want to take you to a special place,” he tells me.
“Haven’t you already shown me your special place?” I joke, and his bark of laughter is all we need to lighten the mood back up.
Chapter Thirteen
Cole
