Page 36 of Candy Cane Chains

"We couldn't afford proper treatment. The free clinic did what they could, but-" My jaw clenches. "I watched her waste away in our one-bedroom apartment. Worked three jobs after school, trying to scrape together enough for pain meds. Somenights I'd come home and find her curled up on the bathroom floor, too weak to make it back to bed."

Ivy's hand tightens around mine. The pressure grounds me.

"She held on through my sixteenth birthday. Made me this awful cake - could barely stand long enough to mix the batter. But she was determined." I swallow hard. "Found her unresponsive the next morning. Never even got to say goodbye."

"And your father?" Ivy's voice is soft, careful.

"Never met him. Mom wouldn't talk about him much. Just said he wasn't worth knowing." I let out a harsh laugh. "Found out later he was some rich asshole who threw money at her to disappear when she got pregnant. Guess a bastard kid would've ruined his perfect family image."

The memory of finding those old checks while clearing out Mom's things still burns. Ten thousand dollars to erase me from existence before I was even born. She never cashed them.

But I fucking took his money and made something of myself.

"She worked herself to death keeping me fed and clothed. Never complained once." My voice deepens a little, and I tilt my head to look at Ivy. "I guess this time of year makes me think of her."

The softening in Ivy's eyes hits me like a physical blow. I didn't even think when I shared with her but if there is one thing I hate it's being pitied. My control snaps.

I grab her arm and back her against the storefront window, my fingers digging into the soft flesh beneath my coat she's still wearing. The hot chocolate cups clatter to the sidewalk, dark liquid seeping into the snow. Holiday lights cast shadows across her face as she stares up at me, those amber eyes wide.

"Don't." The word comes out as a growl. "I don't need your fucking pity. I'm not some broken thing you can fix with sweet words and soft touches."

My grip tightens, and I lean in close enough to catch the vanilla scent of her skin mixing with the winter air. "You think you understand me now? Think knowing about my past makes me less of a monster?"

I press my free hand against the window beside her head, caging me in. The anger in me is visceral because if there is one person that I ever wanted to know the truth about me and not look at me differently, it was her. "Every person I've hurt, every life I've ruined - those weren't things that happened to me. They were choices. My choices."

Her pulse races beneath my fingers, but she doesn't look away. Doesn't shrink back.

"I've watched men beg for their lives and pulled the trigger anyway. I've destroyed families for profit. And you know what?" I bare my teeth in something that's not quite a smile. "I don't regret a single fucking moment of it."

My voice drops lower, ice coating each word. "So don't look at me like that. Like I'm something that needs to be saved. You can't fix what isn't broken, sweetheart. And I'm exactly what I choose to be."

Ivy doesn't flinch from my grip. Her chin lifts, those amber eyes locked on mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch.

"I was twenty." Her voice carries no tremor, no weakness. "Finals week, junior year. The call came at 3 AM - black ice on Lake Shore Drive. A semi couldn't stop in time."

My fingers loosen on her arm, but she doesn't move away.

"The police said it was quick. The car spun out, hit the guardrail." She speaks with a detachment that cuts deeper than tears ever could. "Mom died on impact. Dad held on for six hours in the ICU. I sat there watching his vitals drop, one by one, until there was nothing left but flat lines and silence."

The Christmas lights paint shadows across her face, highlighting the steel in her expression.

"So no, Julian. I don't pity you." Her hand comes up, pressing against my chest. Not pushing away, just resting there. "I understand what it means to walk past empty chairs at holiday dinners. To catch yourself picking up the phone to share news with someone who'll never answer again."

The heat of her palm burns through my shirt, searing into skin.

"You had sixteen years of hot chocolate and Christmas windows. I had twenty years of family dinners and weekend phone calls." Her lips curve in a smile that holds more pain than joy. "We both know exactly how much we lost. How it feels when December comes around and the memories hit harder than any physical blow."

The hollow ache in her voice mirrors something in my chest - a resonance I can't ignore.

"So save the intimidation tactics for someone who doesn't understand the weight of empty spaces at the table." Her fingers brush my jaw, feather-light against the stubble. "But don't mistake my understanding for pity. I don't want to fix you, Julian." The words ghost across my skin. "You're not broken."

Something shifts in my chest - a tectonic plate moving after centuries of stillness. Her touch breaks through years of carefully constructed walls, crumbling my defenses like they're made of sand.

I crash into her, claiming her mouth with mine. She tastes like chocolate and winter air, like understanding and acceptance. My hands frame her face, thumbs stroking over those high cheekbones as I press her against the frosted window. The glass must be cold through my coat, but she arches into me, fingers tangling in my hair.

Shoppers hurry past, their shadows dancing across us. Somewhere, a brass band plays Christmas music, the notes drifting through the evening air. But all I can focus on is the soft sound she makes when I deepen the kiss, the way her body fits against mine like she was made for this moment.

Her lips part beneath mine, and I taste more of that sweetness, that heat. My hands slide down to her waist, pulling her closer until there's no space left between us. Just shared breath and racing hearts and the understanding that we're both a little broken, both a little lost, but maybe that's what makes this feel so right.

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