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“Really, I’m okay, Taylor. I'm tired.”
“If you want forever, I'm going to need you to open up to me, okay?”
He sighs and rolls over. “I’m just…ashamed. My dad wasn’t who I thought he was, and I guess it still fucks with my subconscious.”
“Who was he?”
“A drug dealer. Coke.”
I hold in my breath, staring up at the dark ceiling. How did I not know about this sooner? “You don't need to be ashamed of your father’s actions.”
“I’m afraid I'll somehow end up like him.”
“Elijah…no. You’re perfect, honestly. You have nothing to worry about.”
“I’ve done more than Xanax,” he whispers. “I think it was ecstasy, or something else.”
“Oh. you don't know what it was?” I ask, my curiosity piqued. No wonder he was so secretive about his prescription. Now I know what it’s for, too.
“It was Samantha’s concoction. That's why I wanted you to stay far away from her. She's not a good person. I went there freshman year for Halloween and didn’t know the punch was laced.”
“That’s shitty, I’m sorry. But it's also not your fault, either, though. You realize that, right?”
“Maybe not. But I made a lot of stupid decisions that night. Just promise you won't ever go back there, please.”
“Of course, I promise.” I think of him being drunk and high inside Elizabeth’s house and suddenly get furious. Thinking of him partying and getting drugged, thinking of the ways she might have used him. I shake my head. I can’t imagine that. I don't want to.
Lying in bed beside him makes sense, like everything has fallen into place perfectly. Our pasts might be imperfect, but our future can be bright. I'll do everything I can not to let him down again, to not take him away from hockey, from everything he loves most. I'll make sure of that.
40
TAYLOR CROMWELL
We wake to flakes of snow fluttering down lazily from the sky. The watery light outside filters in through my thin curtains onto our tired bodies. Elijah sits up, rubbing his eyes. He looks a bit more rested than yesterday as he reaches over to rub my back.
“Good morning,” he yawns. “And Merry Christmas.”
My body feels surprisingly okay. It doesn’t ache quite as much as it did yesterday. Maybe I’m just excited to go downstairs and sit by the fireplace with Elijah. I slide out of bed and brush my hair in the bathroom before meeting him downstairs by the twinkling lights of the oversized Christmas tree.
Although I wish I was a bigger part of making the home festive this year, I think Jessica did a beautiful job turning the giant modern home into a place of comfort. Our stockings hang from the oversized wooden mantel, dangling above the fireplace just like I’d always pictured to be the perfect Christmas image. Dad sits in his flannel pajamas, his legs crossed sipping on coffee. I meet Jessica in the kitchen and wish her a Merry Christmas before pouring myself a cup. This is probably the first time I’ve felt normal here; comfortable, even. It feels like more than living with three roommates. It feels like it could actually be some sort of family. Even though I’ve never considered Jessica a mother-figure, doesn’t mean I’m not fond of her.
I sit down beside Dad with my coffee when Elijah comes down the stairs wearing baggy sweats and a sweatshirt. It definitely doesn’t matter what he’s wearing, he exudes godliness with his figure.
“Good morning,” Jessica says to him from the kitchen and Dad pats my knee. Barnacle runs up to Dad to sit on his lap.
“How ya feeling, kiddo?” he asks with his typical dad coffee breath. He pets Barnacle, pulling back the dogs small ears as he does.
“Pretty good. I’m glad to be home. I just wish my gifts for you guys were here. They were in the Jeep.”
Elijah walks in with a cup of coffee and sits cross-legged by the roaring embers of the contained fire.
“She won’t shut up about those gifts,” he mutters, making Dad laugh. Half of me wants to jump him for giving such an attitude, especially around my dad. The other half of me wants to jump him because I know damn well that he smells like cologne and coffee, and something about that is twisting up my insides in a good way.
“Don’t worry. We got plenty to go around,” Jessica says with a toothy smile, taking a seat on a recliner next to the tree. It takes all I have in me to redirect my gaze from Elijah to her, to make my devastating attraction to him less obvious than it already is.
“Go ahead, Elijah. Let’s start passing out the gifts before my coffee gets cold,” she adds and leans forward. “We usually do stockings last. Hope that’s okay, Taylor.”
“Of course. You guys have done more than enough,” I respond with a forced smile.
