Page 12 of Christmas With The Kings
She didn’t push for more, didn’t demand an explanation. She looked down, nudging a scrap of glittery wrapping paper away with her pointed socked toes.
My gaze followed the motion, dropping to the chaos on the floor. Markers. Ribbon. Scissors. Tiny hand-lettered tags and matching scraps of colored cardstock. Crafts. Decorations. Pieces of my sweet little kitten’s heart.
All of it spread out in a world we hadn’t really noticed. I crossed my arms tightly across my chest, a slow prickle crawling over my skin. And for the first time, it occurred to me that maybe we’d missed something. Scratch the maybe. We’dabsolutelymissed something very important.
“Kitten. Don’t be mad. You won’t even miss us. You and Isabella can do a week-long slumber party, and it will give you time to finish your projects.”
Her lips pressed together. “Right,” she murmured.
Without another word, she knelt down, her fingers trembling as she gathered the scattered supplies. Each movement was slow, deliberate, as if she was trying to hold it together. A pang of guilt twisted in my chest. We hadn’t done enough for her. She deserved more than this.
Before I left, I crouched beside her, needing to touch her one more time. I reached out and tugged on a loose strand of her hair, curling it around my finger like it was delicate silk.
“Hey,” I said. “Could you do me a favor?”
She didn’t lift her head. Didn’t meet my eyes. But she gave the faintest nod, the movement so small it hurt to witness.
“Make a list,” I said. “Of what you want most for Christmas, okay?”
“Sure,” she whispered, her voice catching as if it got tangled on something sharp on the way out.
Fucking bloody hell.
My chest tightened. I stood before I could say anything stupid—anything that would make it worse. I didn’t trust myself to touch her again, not when she looked so breakable and silent and more like the sad little girl I’d hold when she was feeling broken.
I pulled out my phone as I walked away, fingers flying across the screen.
REAPER:
She took it way worse than we could have ever thought. We are going to need to regroup.
CROW:
What do you mean?
BLADE:
Shit. That bad?
REAPER:
The lot of us fucked up royally unless one of you has something up your sleeve for Christmas. Because I sure as hell don’t.
CROW:
Fuck. I didn’t even think about it.
BLADE:
Well, damn.
Kinsley
I sat on Ivan’s enormous bed, tucked into the center of it, as if the size of the mattress might help fill the space hollowing out inside me. Newsflash. It didn’t. I’d never felt more alone. The silence stretched long, broken only by the soft hum of the radiator.
Christmas was coming. That should’ve meant something. But the closer it got, the less it seemed to matter. The decorations I’d carefully placed around the house felt heavy now, almost burdensome in their cheer.
The glittered ribbons, hand-painted ornaments, and garlands I’d woven with dried oranges and cinnamon sticks weren’t enough to carry the weight of disappointment pressing in from all sides. I had given so much of myself to this season—to this family.
