Page 34 of The Twelve Days of Christian
If Ollie had any idea of Haley’s secret ambition and what stands in the way of her achieving it, he’d write the cheque. But letting him in on that information won’t help. Haley’s obviously not one for charity and I can see even living in this house of his doesn’t always sit comfortably. She’d knock him back. Hell, I know I could do the same, but she wouldn’t take money from me either. There’s stubbornness under that agreeable facade.
Silently watching her work, the capable movements of her hands, the quiet murmurings of reassurance to the dog, is a beautiful thing. I might not have the solution to all of this yet, but I’m not letting go of the possibilities—for Haley to do the thing she was born to do, and for me. I should be grateful to have her in my life as a friend; but I’m a greedy bastard where she’s concerned. I want more.
“There, all done,” she says as she drops the last thread onto the cloth on the table. She brushes over the zig-zag line with a wipe and then ruffles the dog’s neck with a playful hand.
Tully springs to her feet and begins a celebration wrestle with Mularkey, who’s been supervising with interest. They roar off upthe hallway and I hear twin thuds as they land on my bed. Playful growls and small yelps drift our way, and Haley and I smile at each other like indulgent parents enjoying their offspring.
“I know. I should have shut the door,” I say. My bed will be a whirlpool of sheets and covers, with pillows tossed around, and I don’t care in the slightest.
A loud howl echoes from the kitchen. When a text comes in on Haley’s phone with that damn bizarre ringtone, you’d swear Mularkey was right there beside you. She leaps to her feet and heads to grab it from the counter.
I follow, seeking a jolt of caffeine to kick start my day. Helping with Tully offered a brief reprieve from my troubles. I tossed and turned all night and through the quiet morning hours, barely sleeping, my mind full of anger and frustration. I lay in the dark, fighting the desire to get up and destroy something. The sum of those hundreds of minutes spent turning it over in my head is the crushing realisation: if I thought I was fucked before—now I’m really fucked.
There’s no escape from what’s about to happen. The ugly rumours about me and Waverley I thought might finally no longer dog my every step are certain to come hurtling back. And hard on their heels, a new rumour—that I did something shady to Loreena Bunt—and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Haley’s frowning down at her phone.
“Everything OK?”
“Yeah,” she says absently, while her fingers tap away.
“Coffee?” I offer.
“Sure.” She’s still in another world.
“Haley,” I say, fearful of the answer but desperate to know. “Are we good? Still? You and me, after last night.” I rush on. “I’m sorry for bashing your remote around like that and all the door slamming. I wasn’t the best version of myself. And I felt like a right prick when I cooled down and found the pictures of Jet. That you’d do that for me…I don’t deserve it.”
“Christian,” she looks at me, eyes soft. “I know you didn’t do anything bad to Loreena. You haven’t got it in you to hurt people like that.”
That’s what I really needed to hear, but was too frightened to ask, and she knew that. It’s dizzying yet scary to be so seen by someone. To have a person sense the very things that are ripping you apart inside, and to know instinctively how to put you back together. I’m humbled by her belief in me. She rests a hand on my forearm, tracing the lines of ink, delicate fingers making the hairs stand on end.
“And I know it doesn’t seem like it right this minute. I know it’s eating you up, Christian.” I shiver as she leans into me, eyes wide and intense. “But wewillfind a way out. I know we will. Especially with Rachel on the case.”
“She’s a bit of a ball-buster, your friend.”
“She is.” Hayley’s face broadens with a grin. “And right now she’s got the balls of a few people atWild For The Winin her sights. They should be very afraid.”
Reading has always been a refuge for me. So I’m pleased to be deep in an imaginary world this morning, a fantasy book—no, a romantasy she called it—that Haley threw at me yesterday. I’m hoping if I give my brain a rest from the relentless search for some solution, it may actually come up with one.
In this chapter, the main character—a High Fae Lord, who has a disturbing physical resemblance to me as well as possessing a similar bad reputation—is slowly revealing his obsession for a human woman. I look up from the page when, on quiet footsteps, the woman I’m definitely obsessed with appears in the doorway.
She’s wearing a slim, soft grey skirt that ends just above her dimpled knees, grey tights and black knee-high boots that make her legs look twice their length. There’s no ugly Christmas jumper today. Instead, it’s a luxurious pink sweater, fluffy and soft, like fairground candy-floss. The playful colour only serves to highlight the delicate pink of her cheeks.
The only nod to the season are her earrings, tiny silver snowflakes glittering under the curtain of her silky brown hair. It’s hanging long and loose, and the memory of what it feels like, what it smells like, swamps me with an overwhelming need to touch it.
She’s put on a bit of makeup, only a little. I love that she doesn’t slather herself in it like so many girls. She doesn’t need it. But the flick of eyeliner and the way she’s emphasised her curved brows and dense black lashes magnify those eyes. I marvel at the way they surprise, the exact shade of green unpredictable. Right now they’re bright emerald, sparkling. Perhaps it’s nerves as she prepares to face her exam; or maybe anticipation because she knows she’s going to nail it.
There’s a sweep of pink lipstick that draws my gaze to her soft mouth, lips glistening, inviting. I remember the warmth of them against mine. It may have been impulsive on her part, the glow of the alcohol making her bold, but I’m hopeful it won’t be the last time I get to feel the press of her mouth. Surely she can see how fucking beautiful she is, reflected in my eyes.
“Pretty nice outfit for an exam. And makeup too. You look great. Extra points for presentation?” I tease.
She colours a little.
“Just something to give me a bit of confidence,” she says.
Her voice is anything but. It quavers with uncertainty. She breathes in and I see the small shudder as she huffs it out, as if she’s preparing to step in the ring for a fight.
“You’ve got this Haley. You’ll smash it.”
