Page 27 of A More Than Mayhem Christmas

“Cam’s doing it now,” Little Logan says, tapping at his phone. Then he notices my plate. “Ooh, brownie!” He’s quick to grab it, and I’m just as quick to knock it out of his hand. It falls to the ground unceremoniously.

“No.” It’s all I say.

And all he needs to know.

We all turn toward the house, wait for our cue. A few seconds later, “Jingle Bells” blasts through the speakers loud enough it rattles the windows.

“Go!” I urge, flicking my wrist.

Lucas and Little Logan run toward Dylan’s truck, quickly hopping in and bringing the engine to life. They drive away quickly, not turning on the headlights until they’re a good distance away.

Inside the cabin, everyone is yelling for Cam to switch off or turn down the music.

I watch until the taillights disappear completely, and the music cuts out. Then I start back toward Heidi, who waits until I’m close enough to whisper, “Mayhem?”

I nod, confirm. Then offer my hand to her. “Come on,” I say, motioning toward the door. “Let’s go be lonely, only singles together.”

11

Amanda

Trying to maneuver a two-hundred-pound man-child is tough on any day. Trying to maneuver a two-hundred-pounddrunkman-child is almost impossible.

“I can walk,” Logan slurs.

“I know, baby.” Hecanwalk, just not necessarily in a straight line.

I throw the towel over my shoulder and guide him toward the door with my arm around his waist.

“Why do you have a towel?” he asks.

“You’ll see.”

I open the door, and come face to face with Heidi and Roman, who are holding hands.

Logan chuckles. “Nice,” he says, hand up to high-five Roman.

I push his arm down at the same time Heidi and Roman release each other. “Excuse him,” I say, moving us to the side so they can step in. The cool air hits my cheeks the moment we step out, closing the door behind us. Then I “help” Logan down the steps and toward the side of the house.

“It’s fucking cold,” he mumbles.

“Yeah?” I pick up the hose, aim right for his face. “You’re about to get a hell of a lot colder.” Then I pull the trigger.

“What the fuck, Amanda!” he grunts, his hands out, trying to block the stream.

I release the trigger, tell him, “I’m cleaning you up!” Physically, sure, but hopefully a little emotionally, too. It’s obvious he’s been deep in his feelings tonight, and I can’t blame him. I’ve been the same way. The difference? He’s trying to heal through alcohol. Each new beer is like applying another internal Band-Aid. Soon, that’s all he’ll be—a man made of Band-Aids who never actually heals. “Just stay still, okay?” I tell him, my tone much more soothing. I guide his head lower so I can get a better look at the mess in his hair.

Logan doesn’t argue. He just does as I ask, wincing from the icy temperature of the water. His teeth chatter, his entire body overcome with shivers. I work as quickly as possible, then drop the hose and cover his head with the towel to keep him warm. After taking his hand, I lead him toward our car. “Get in the back.”

Logan faces me, his smile wide, even when his eyes droop. He unzips his fly.

“No, baby.”

“Oh.”

Again, he does as I ask while I bring the car to life, put the heat on full blast. Then I get in the back, climb over him and straddle his lap.

He starts to unzip again. “Fuck yeah.”

---