Page 7 of A More Than Mayhem Christmas

Thatwasthe plan.

Turns out, Bill’s a great guy. Even Dad thinks so. In fact, I’m pretty sure Bill spends more time hanging with my dad than he does with Holly. Which is fine, it seems, because Sydney spends a lot of time at Holly’s, especially since Tanner was born. Sydney claims there are far too many penises at her house, so she likes the reprieve, and Holly absolutely adores her (and Tanner). So, it’s a win-win-win for everyone.

As for me and Riley…don’t get me wrong; we love our family and love spending time with them, but we also love our little bubble we’ve created. She works the front desk at Mayhem Motors, and by “work”, I mean she gets off her phone or Kindle when the phone rings or a client enters the shop. She doesn’t even have to do that, and I’d still want her there. So… we live together, work together, and play together. Personally, I can’t get enough of her.

Holly clears her throat now, switching my attention from my wife and nephew to her. She’s watching Riley withthatlook in her eyes, and I know what she’s thinking before she says the words. “No pressure, but any plans for your own?—”

“Mom,” Riley cuts in.

I lean back in my chair, ready to take on the world.

Or just Holly.

Kind of the same.

“We already have three dogs,” I say, hoping to take the spotlight off Riley.

“Four,” Riley corrects.

“Four?” Dad asks, eyebrows drawn in confusion.

“Right,” I say, nodding. “Riley brought one home from the pound last night. She says it’s my Christmas present.”

Dad chuckles.

“I let you name him!” Riley defends.

“What’s his name?” Tanner asks.

“Carbo.”

“Short for carburetor,” explains Riley.

“So, wait,” Bill says. “You have Bacon, Cupcake, Wishes, and now… Carbo?”

“That’s what she gets for letting me name him,” I say, shrugging as I pretend to check my watch. “We should go. We have plans, and we’re going to be late.”

The goodbyes are fast, with a quick promise to come back tomorrow to raid Holly’s fridge for leftovers. Then we start the short walk home. I can tell from the moment we’re alone that Riley’s mood has dampened. It always does when anyone questions us about having kids, but it seems to be worse when it comes from Holly.

It’s not until we’re halfway home that either of us speaks. “We’re not going to be late,” Riley says, and I turn to her. Her cheeks are red, so is her nose, and her lips are darker than they should be. It wasn’t as cold out when we left home, and I forgot to remind her to bring a coat. I slow my steps until I’ve stopped completely, then strip out of mine.

“You don’t have to—” she starts, but I’m already wrapping it around her shoulders. I wait as she pushes her arms through the sleeves before taking my time to do up each button.

“I know we’re not going to be late,” I finally say once I’m done. “I just panicked, I guess.”

She nods, taking my arm and holding it to her chest as she resumes our slow pace.

I hesitate to ask, but I know I need to. “I take it you haven’t told your mom yet?”

Eyes downcast, Riley shakes her head. “I can’t. I don’t want to hurt her,” she says, her voice shaking with emotion.

I’m not exactly sure which part of our recent experiences she’s referring to or what will hurt Holly the most. Either way, I know she’s right. So, I don’t respond with words. Just actions. I stop in my tracks, forcing her to do the same. And then I just hold her.

“I’m so sorry, Dylan,” she cries.

I can barely get the words out through the knot in my throat. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

The moment we get home, I tell Riley, “I’m going to take the dogs for a quick walk, then we’ll leave.” It’s not that I want to get away from herspecifically. I just need some time alone. As selfish as it is, I need to get lost in my own thoughts, my own feelings, and not have to worry about hers.

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