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He doesn’t move a fucking muscle, and I swear my teeth are chattering at the temperature.
“Anyway, I best...” I leave my sentence open and wave my hand toward the driveway.
“Yeah,” he responds before lifting his arm to allow me by. I rush past him, not giving him a chance to question me further, and when I do, I’m convinced he sniffs me, but I refuse to think more about it.
I peek my head around the corner to make sure the coast is clear and no guests are arriving. Creeping into the house, I head for the stairs, careful not to slip again, desperate to get warmed up before the chaotic world of the O’Connell brothers and their families arrive.
ChapterSix
Lily
“Iwant a Santa workshop at my house. Why does Keen have one at his house? Why don’t I have one at my house?” Chloe whines from the backseat, and irritation claws inside me at how precocious she’s acting. I swear she gets it all from Cal; her dramatics and tantrums are a mirror image.
Turning my head to Cal, the tic in his jaw is evidence of his pissed-off attitude. I move my hand to rest it on his thigh, hoping to dissipate the tension and enjoy our Christmas together despite significant family members missing.
“Santa has lots of workshops, Chloe. He has so many elves too. So maybe next year he might need a workshop at our house?” I smile back at our daughter, trying desperately to turn the mood around.
“Fucking ridiculous,” Cal grumbles. “He did this to spite me, you realize that, don’t you?” He turns to face me.
Blowing out a breath, I sigh and try to rein in the giggle about to escape my lips. “You know what Con’s like, and you can be just as bad, Cal.” I shrug at the implications toward their childish antics.
His head rears back, as though shocked at my words, which is just ridiculous, given the recent designs for the extension of our outdoor pool to rival Con’s tropical paradise.
“I wouldn’t say I’m competitive, Lily.” He balks, and I choke on air at the seriousness in his tone.
He turns into the driveway, and my eyebrows furrow at something missing. “Mommy, why aren’t Santa’s elves working in the workshop?” I turn in to face Chloe; her arms are pressed against the window with her face smushed up against it. “I want my blue-haired Barbie.”
I don’t miss the grinding Cal’s teeth make at our daughter’s demands.
“Looks like Santa’s elves finished early for the night. They’re all ready for tonight, Chlo.” I summarize as Cal places the car into park.
She unlatches her seatbelt, opens the door, and jumps out when she sees her nana opening the front door with Peppa tucked under her arm.
Cal turns to me. “Don’t tell him the lights are out. Dipshit probably tripped the fuse.” His tone is full of childish jest, and I shake my head and roll my eyes but follow Cal when he gets out of the car. The snowflakes thicken as we quicken our pace toward the light illuminating the porch.
Something tells me even though it’s dark and cold on the outside, it will be so much warmer and full of life inside. I smile to myself as I step inside Con’s mega mansion prepared to have the best Christmas we can without Reece and his little family.
Finn
I shove the door to Con’s house open. How come every fucker gets a greeting but me? I have two kids, two tots, a shit ton of presents, along with multiple bags for one goddamn night, and no meet-and-greet service I know all my brothers will get.
Stepping over the threshold, I drop the bags to the floor in the foyer and bend to place the twins down on the sparkling marble floor. This place looks like a goddamn palace, not a home. “Go make some mess, boys.” I smirk to my messy-haired twins who have chocolate-covered fingers and mouths. They scoot off on their butts in different directions while Prince pushes past me and darts toward the kitchen.
“Prince! Don’t break anything,” Angel bellows from behind me, making me chuckle.
Charlie rushes straight to my ma, and my heart swells with love when ma embraces her and Angel.
“Your kids are filthy.” Con’s voice snaps me out of my daze, and I roll my head to face my younger brother, who stands with his hands on his hips glaring toward the twins trying to stuff baubles from a bowl in their mouths.
“Yeah.” I shrug. “They ate chocolate in the car.”
“You fed them chocolate knowing they were going to be eating a meal this evening?” Oscar questions from over my shoulder, so I turn to him entering the house.
“Fucking shoot me for being a good parent and feeding my kids.” I shrug, unable to see the issue.
Ignoring his grumbling about healthy eating and being irresponsible, I make my way toward the bar in the living room and hope Bren is here already. Putting up with the parent patrol is not my idea of fun. Con used to be the exciting brother, now he’s become all domesticated and shit; he’s losing his carefree edge, that’s for sure.
A crash echoes off the wall, and I know it’s something to do with one of my boys before anyone voices it. So I flick the cap off the brandy, throw myself into a leather chair, and kick my feet up onto a table.
