Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Four Christmases by Nell Iris-2

I untangle a hand from my pocket and wipe off a couple stray snowflakes from my face, my gaze flickering between the path leading back to the warmth and safety of my parents’ home, and Porter Eldin. I nibble my lower lip and bounce on my toes. “If you’re sure…”

His smile grows warmer and his posture relaxes. There’s nothing threatening about him; he holds his hands by his side, showing me his palms, but he doesn’t come any closer. “I am,” he says.

I nod and take a tentative step forward. Why the heck not? It’s not my battle anyway—I can’t fight what I don’t know—and if he’s serious…

As I approach, he brushes off the hood with his hand, revealing his face, and I stutter a breath. Dang, he’s grown up nice. When he’s not hunched over, he’s tall—an inch or two over my own six-feet-one—and muscular and broad all over. His hair is buzzed completely off, his ears sticking out a little too much, and a neatly trimmed beard frames and draws attention to pink, thin lips. His eyes are dark, almost black, and suck me into his gaze.

Gawd, I don’t remember him being this hot. I curl my hands into fists so I won’t fan myself or do something really stupid like grabbing and licking him.

I stop by the creek, and smile, hoping I look friendly and not like I want to jump and devour him here in the frosty forest. “Family Christmases, eh?” I say and hide my grimace over the lame line in my scarf.

All the answer I get is a snort.

“That bad?” I turn to the water to stop myself from staring.

“Dad and Dale are drunk, spouting bigoted s**t about everyone and everything. Marshall is trying to make them stop, but they talk over him like they always do. The only reason I’m even here is Mama. I don’t want her to be alone with all that shit.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what to say, I didn’t expect that much candor from someone I barely ever talked to—not even before the incident—someone who’s the sworn enemy of my family. Most people would have just spouted some shallow trivialities, but I find I like the honesty. His reasons for seeking solitude make my own troubles small and insignificant. If the worst thing about my holidays is a rambunctious family and a Granny with a crass sense of humor, I’m pretty lucky.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he says. “What’s your story?”

“It’s stupid compared to yours.”

“I don’t mind. I could use stupid.”

I nod and burrow deeper into my scarf. “Everyone is so loud and intense. And then there’s Granny. She’s loves Mom’s eggnog, and since she only ever drinks on Christmas, she gets tipsy quickly. After she’s had a few, she loves to sing. Loudly and out of tune.” I draw a deep breath and belt out the lyrics to my granny’s favorite Christmas song, doing my best to do her version justice.

Porter’s eyes widen until I fear they’ll roll right out of his head, and when I’m done, he starts laughing. It’s loud and boisterous and awesome. “f*****g hell, that’s hilarious.”

His laughter warms my belly and makes me forget I came here for some quiet time. “Sure. The first ten times.”

“Your granny sounds like an awesome lady. Feisty.”

“She is.”

My teeth chatter. I try to relax—the cold always gets worse when I tense up—not wanting to go back inside just yet. Spending a few minutes here by the creek, breathing the crisp air and talking to someone other than a family member is nice. It doesn’t hurt that my companion is hotter than a volcano.

“Thanks,” he mumbles after a couple minutes spent in silence.

“For what?”

“Making me laugh. I needed it.”

“You’re welcome.”

We grow silent again, but it’s not uncomfortable, and I don’t mind. The birds who haven’t flown south for the winter keep us entertained with their chirping and tweeting, and the huge snowflakes landing in the water—melting immediately—hypnotize me. I’ve always loved this place, especially in winter when the forest seems quieter and more peaceful than during the other seasons.

“Maybe I should head back,” he mumbles after a while.

I hum. I should probably go, too, but I’m not ready. Too bad I didn’t bring my sketchbook; I could have entertained myself for hours out here if I had, unless my fingers were too frozen to curl around the pencil.

Porter fidgets beside me as though he knows he’s supposed to go but doesn’t want to, so I try to think of something to say. My problem is that I’ve never been good at small talk; unless I know someone well, my brain freezes, and I grow awkward. I chew my lower lip and flutter my fingers inside my pockets, then I blurt, “How come you’re not yelling at me and giving me the evil eye? Aren’t we supposed to be enemies?”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I groan and shake my head. Good job on alienating the man, Auden! This is the definite proof it’s time to start working on that brain-to-mouth filter my brother and sister tell me I desperately need.

He snorts. “That was direct.”

I pull up the scarf until it covers my burning ears. “Yes,” I mutter. “It’s a well-known defect of mine. Just ignore me.”

“Nah, I like it. I don’t like playing games or putting on airs.”

“I noticed.”

He turns toward me, and I shift, too. “To be honest, I’ve always thought this feud has been blown out of proportion,” he says, looking like he’s regretting the words the minute they’re out of his mouth. His dark eyes search mine as though he’s trying to see if I’m upset.

I bob my head. “Yes! Thank you!”

He frowns. “You agree?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I? I mean, I don’t even know what it’s about.”

“You don’t?” His mouth falls open.

I shake my head. “Not really. No one will tell me, and I was at camp when it happened.”

Porter closes his eyes and turns his face to the sky, and I allow myself to watch him. Snowflakes land on his olive skin, in his black eyebrows, in the corners of his mouth. I want to lean in and lick them away, taste his skin and mouth, kiss the pale lips, and snake my cold hands underneath his hoodie and warm them on his skin.

“Crap,” he groans.

I lower my gaze so he won’t catch me ogling. “I assume you know what it’s about.”

“Yeah.” He opens his eyes and rubs his face with a huge, broad hand, making the sleeve ride up and reveal the tail end of a tattoo—black abstract bands twisting and twirling around each other—and I wonder if they cover his entire arm. He blows out a breath through a closed mouth, making his lips sputter. “And now I’m the one who has to tell you. Shit.”

It’s obvious that he doesn’t want to, and even though I’d finally like to know the story, I’m not about to force someone to do something they don’t want. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“Trust me. I really do.” He looks at me, gaze unwavering and steady, and I realize his eyes aren’t brown like I first thought; no, they’re a deep midnight blue and the opposite of my icy eyes that look almost white sometimes.

I make myself look away. “Why?”

“Because it concerns you.”

“Oh.” My stomach twists at his words. I’m not surprised, but hearing it put so bluntly makes me nauseous. “You still don’t have to. You look so uncomfortable, and I don’t want to do that to you.”

He shakes his head and steps closer, brushes a finger down my cheek. He shows it to me, and I see the snowflake he caught before it melts into a drop of water. His finger leaves a small trace of heat behind and I shiver, but not from the cold this time.

“You’re too nice. Just like Mama always insists,” Porter says.

“Your mom thinks I’m nice?”

“She does. She’s nothing like the others.”

I nod as though I know what he’s talking about, but I don’t. I haven’t spoken to Mrs. Eldin in years, only smiled or waved at her on the rare occasion I’ve seen her outside her house. She’s never shown me any animosity: not that I’ve noticed any from the others, either, but Mrs. Eldin has always seemed warmer than the rest of them.

He sighs. “Anyway. What happened was that Dale called you the ‘F’ word. Your brother took offense.”

I knit my eyebrows together. “The ‘F’ word?”

“Yeah. The really offensive word for ‘gay.’”

“Oh.” That word! Just the thought of having it hurled in my direction again stings and prickles my heart.

“Yeah. I wasn’t there, but Mama told me that your brother tried to make Dale take it back, but he refused, so your brother punched Dale in the face.”

I groan. “Of course, he did.”

“In his defense, he couldn’t have known there’s no reasoning with Dale.”

“And Dale punched back, too.” Dylan’s face was still littered with a rainbow of bruises when I got back from camp a week later.

“Yes. No one ever accused Dale of being smart. Or knowing when to quit.”

“I still don’t understand how this escalated into full on war between our families.” None of the other fights Dylan had been in to protect me had this kind of outcome.

“Because Marshall told Dad. I think he meant for Dad to stop Dale, but instead, Dad used the ‘F’ word, too, and other derogatory words I don’t want to tell you. By then, your father had shown up, and he didn’t take kindly to an adult man arguing with one of his sons while simultaneously being nasty to the other.”

“Oh, my God,” I whisper, my hand flying to my mouth. It makes perfect sense now. Dad may have some understanding for kids using hateful language because he believes it’s the parent’s fault for not raising them right, but an adult standing by as his son called me names, and calling me names himself? That would never fly with Dad. Or Mom for that matter.

“I was bullied in school.” The words crack, and I clear my throat before I continue. “My parents were furious at the teachers for just letting things slide and not interfering. So they went all the way to the top, and raised hell until the school enforced the anti-bullying protocol they had in place but didn’t follow. They’ve been super protective ever since and won’t stand for any kind of bullying or bigotry.”

“Wow. I wish more parents were like yours.”

“Yeah.” My heart swells at the thought of them always having my back, and I blink away tears threatening to spill from my eyes. Knowing they love and care for me that much overshadows the hurt I felt over what Porter told me. Yes, there will always be uneducated or hateful people who’ll make life miserable for people like me, but I have a bunch of fierce—maybe too fierce sometimes, and overprotective—love warriors in my corner, and I’ll survive anything with their help.

“Thanks for telling me,” I say.

He meets my gaze, steady and open. “You have the right to know. And I’m not trying to diminish what happened when I say I think the feud is blown out of proportion. I just meant that if Dale and Dad had any sense at all, we could’ve avoided this whole thing.”

“Yeah.” I sigh. Raised voices, anger, and fighting always makes me uncomfortable, and I don’t understand hostility and intolerance. I know I’m naïve, but I wish everyone would just get along.

The chill is starting to make me feel sluggish and I bounce on my toes and shake out my hands in an attempt to warm up. “How are you not freezing to death?” I ask, gesturing at his hoodie. “You’re not even wearing a hat and you don’t have any hair.”

He chuckles and waggles his eyebrows. “I’m warm-blooded.”

“Mhm.” I sweep my gaze over him, from head to toe. One upside to what he’s wearing is that his clothing doesn’t hide much, and I like what I see. Wide shoulders. A broad chest. Narrow hips, beefy, drool-worthy thighs, and muscular calves. I lick my lips before I come to my senses and quickly look away.

He bursts out laughing again. The sudden sound echoes between the trees and scares the birds into silence.

Crap. That was incredibly stupid, gawking at him like that. Especially considering what he just told me. I curl in on myself and hide my face in my scarf. “Sorry,” I mutter. “I didn’t mean to…”

He finishes the sentence for me. “…Check me out?”

“Yes. That.” I scowl at my own stupidity.

He takes a step closer. “Relax, honey. I’m nothing like them.” He lets his gaze fall to my lips.

“Honey?” The word is an embarrassing squeak.

“We have more in common than you think.”

My mouth falls open, but he shuts it carefully with a finger under my chin. He doesn’t remove his hand immediately; instead, he runs his finger through my soft beard, sending shivers down my neck.

He’s a little taller than me, and I like that. He’s broader, too, and rugged, all muscles and power. He makes me feel small next to him, but he’s not threatening. He holds himself in a way that tells me he’s aware of his strength, knows he can be intimidating, and doing his best not to scare me. His laughter is disarming, there’s something sensitive about his mouth, and his eyes are kind.