Page 51 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
It was the guy I’d been with—barely more than a fling, someone I’d trusted enough to bring home—who dragged me free. He threw himself between us, hauling me up, shoving me toward the door. My dad came after us, but we made it down the hall, down the stairs, and out into the night before his rage could swallow me whole.
The last thing I saw before we got into his car was my mom standing on the front porch. Frozen. Silent. Not stopping him. Not saying a word as he barreled out of the house toward us.
Back in the present, I sit hunched on my bed, palms pressed to my eyes. My ribs ache with the phantom pain, my jaw tight as if the bruises never really faded. My throat feels raw, the memory of his grip so real, it’s like I can still feel his thumb pressing into the hollow of my throat as he tried to squeeze the life out of me.
I drag in a breath, shaky and brittle. It doesn’t help. The past won’t let go. Tears fall freely down my cheeks at everything I’ve lost in my life. Of everything I’m refusing myself now.
And I think about Eli. Bright, unguarded Eli, offering me family as if it’s as easy as sharing a cookie. I want to believe him. God, I want to. But the scars under my skin won’t let me.
Because if my own family can do that to me for one mistake, how the hell can I trust anyone else not to do the same?
Thanksgiving morning hitsgray and quiet. The storm’s still heavy outside, snow packed high against the windows, but the dorm is dead silent. Everyone who could leave is already gone.
I wake up bleary-eyed, head pounding with everything I dragged through the night. I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was my dad beating me or my mom just standing silently, watching it all happen. Then thoughts of Eli were there, haunting me in a different way. His grin, his ridiculous Christmas cheer, the way his voice softened when he talked about his family.
Hisfamily.
The warmth he was supposed to go home to. Pancakes, pies, turkey hats. Laughter and light. The kind of holiday I haven’t had in years. The kind of holiday he deserves.
And instead, he’s here. Alone.
Because of the storm. Because he got stuck. Because fate or bad luck or whatever the hell it is put him in the same building as me.
I drag a hand down my face, guilt twisting in my gut for how I treated him yesterday. He should’ve been home. He should’ve had all of it. And maybe I can’t give him pie or loud chaos or a family that adores him…but I can give him something. We can hang out together and have some sort of holiday. That can’t be against any contract I signed, right?
Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my phone off the nightstand and open his contact. My thumbs hover, heart kicking harder than it should for something so simple.
Finally, I type:
Happy Thanksgiving. You around?
Before I can even set the phone down, it buzzes in my hand.
Eli: Happy Thanksgiving, Grinch. Wanna come over? I’ve got enough Christmas cheer to drown the holiday blues.
Another ping follows almost instantly.
Eli: …and leftover cookies.
I huff out a laugh before I can stop myself, shaking my head.
I stare at his texts for maybe five seconds before I’m on my feet, tugging on sweats and a hoodie. No point pretendingotherwise. I don’t want him alone. And hell, I don’t want to be alone either.
The short walk through the halls feels longer than I remembered, my pulse loud in my ears. When Eli opens his door, the smell hits me first—warm, sweet, unmistakable. Freshly baked cookies.
He’s grinning, cheeks pink from the heat of the ovens downstairs, and behind him on his desk is a plate stacked high with still-steaming cookies.
“You actually baked,” I say, stepping inside.
“Damn right I did.” He holds the plate toward me like an offering. “The communal kitchen was all mine, so I seized the opportunity. Domestic goddess moment.”
I arch a brow. “Where the hell did you get cookie dough? Everything’s closed.”
He smirks, unapologetic. “Had a tub in the freezer. Figured I had to use it or it’d go bad. A totally selfless act, really.”
I shake my head, but the corner of my mouth betrays me. “Of course you did.”
He wiggles the plate closer until I take one, warm enough to sting my fingers. The first bite nearly melts in my mouth, and I have to bite back the groan that wants to escape.
