Page 13 of Holiday Star
“I figured Uncle Seth would be here for Christmas.” His shoulders droop. “Hoped we could spend it together.” There’s something young and wistful, almost boyish, about how he says the last part.
“Well,” I tell him. “Sorry to disappoint, but the only Christmas gift you’re getting in this house is me.”
I ease the pressure on his head, and his hand drops from my wrist. Peeling the paper towel away slowly, I examine the cut. The bleeding has slowed enough to see the wound now. It’s a deep, jagged laceration in the hair above his forehead, about three inches long, still oozing slightly.
“How’s it feeling?” I ask, more quietly. “Does it hurt?”
“It feels like you hit me with a wrench.” He pouts, sullen.
Okay. I deserve that.
One more peek at his wound. “I have good news, and I have bad news. The good news is that the bleeding has almost stopped. The bad news is that you need stitches.”
Caleb lunges backward, shaking his head from side to side. “No. No. I’m not going to the hospital. Absolutelynot.”
I raise my hands, placating. “I’m sorry, but you have to. The cut is too deep. It won’t close on its own.”
He is adamant. “Nope. No. Nopity-nope.”
“Nopity-nope.” I laugh. “Is that even a word?”
“I don’t care if it’s a word or not. All words mean the same thing. The answer is no.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s why I’m here. I’m hiding.” Shadows flit over his face. A haunted look, or maybe hunted.
“Hiding?” I repeat as I take the bloody paper towels, stand up, and throw them in the trash. “Hiding from what?”
“Not from what. From who.”
“From whom, you mean,” I correct before I can stop myself.
Great, I’m the grammar police now. Way to go, Gwen.
Caleb raises a single eyebrow at me, a gesture that I’ve seen him do in movies and on magazine covers. He’s known for that quirk of his right eyebrow. It’s so famous that a cast member on Saturday Night Live has mastered it, mimicking it perfectly so he can spoof Caleb on the show. Now, he’s using that single eyebrow against me while he sits blood stained on my mother’s kitchen floor.
The absurdity of our situation hits me, but not enough for my eyes to stop tracing the arch of that stupidly perfect brow.
“Sorry.” With effort, I pull my gaze away. “Who are you hiding from?”
“Everyone. The fans. The paparazzi.” He sighs, eyes downcast. “They’ve been all over me recently. It’s suffocating.”
I wonder if he’s referring to those tabloids Jenny was telling me about. The ones reporting on his recent breakup. His car crash.
Caleb continues, “This house is perfect, don’t you see? With Seth gone. They’ll never look for me here. Even my parents and PR team won’t know where I’m at.”
I lean against the kitchen counter, gazing down at him. The corner of the cool granite digs into my hip. “I thought you people loved that? All the adoration from the fans. The flashing cameras of the paparazzi. Any publicity is good publicity. That kind of thing.”
“You people?” His mouth turns down, hard. I’ve offended him.
“You people, like famous movie star people. That’s what I mean.” I thought my explanation might help, but it doesn’t. His frown deepens, and I almost feel bad about it.
I hate making anyone unhappy.
To make up for it, I offer him something precious. Something I usually reserve only for my immediate family and Jenny.
I offer him free medical treatment.
