Page 64 of Beautifully Messy
A humorless laugh escapes him. “But I couldn’t even get the words out. I know how much of an ass this makes me. But sometimes… sometimes we make choices out of fear. Out of the desperate need to avoid pain.”
Understanding his words doesn't make this easier or change how much I stand to lose if this falls apart. I lift Anna, and she wraps her body around me, hiding behind the security of her warm little body.
“It’s not that simple. I can’t walk away from this family when they’re the only ones who’ve ever shown up for me.” I force myself to speak the truth that terrifies me most. “Maybe you’ll tire of me the second I say yes. Maybe this is about the chase. Wanting what you can’t have. And I'll be left in the wreckage alone, again."
Color drains from his tan face as he holds himself rigid, fighting his immediate reaction.
I don’t wait for his response. I’m out the door when I hear “Sydney, wait.” By the time I reach my room, Mason’s gone, and the sobs come in silent, shaking waves. I brush a curl from Anna’s forehead and find the small, worn ladybug tucked in her crib. It has become her most treasured possession. So much so that the nicknameBugis now woven into our day-to-day, spoken with love and a constant reminder of him.
With her settled and playing safely, I step into a searing shower. Maybe this isn’t even about him. Maybe it’s about me admitting I can’t let things go on like this anymore. I have agency. I’m not stuck in this life if I give myself permission to believe in a different future—to let go of the idea that staying is what’s best for Anna and that leaving means I’m selfish. That losing the family is not the worst thing.
I take my time getting ready. Christmas may have started but I need these minutes. I smooth foundation over my skin, each brush stroke a layer of armor. Concealer hides the shadows under my eyes. Powder blurs the turmoil. A hint of blush fakes vitality I don’t feel.
When I reach for lip gloss, a defiant ruby shade falls into my hands.
It’s not soft or delicate.
It’s bold. A statement.
Just not one I know the meaning of yet.
Nineteen
Idescendthestairs,shoulders squared, game face on.
The floor beneath the tree has transformed into a sea of colorful paper, ribbons, and boxes in various stages of destruction. Everyone is gathered. Mason sits perched on the edge of the sectional, dressed in a pressed Oxford and slacks as if Christmas morning calls for business casual. His eyes find mine immediately.
“Merry Christmas. Did you fall asleep in the sunroom?” he asks, patting the spot beside him. He examines me more closely than he has in a long time. “That lipstick is a bit much for Christmas morning, don’t you think?”
My red lips curl into a forced smile, and I sit, careful to leave space. “Merry Christmas. And no. I think it’s exactly right.” I ignore his question about where I’ve been.
Anna wriggles in my arms, impatient to be free, and bolts the second I loosen my grip. She heads straight for Bell, the benevolent guardian among the wrapping paper, climbing her like a personal jungle gym. The dog thumps her tail in lazy approval, and I slide down to the floor, needing to be where the air feels easier to breathe.
Ivy leans against James, her hand resting possessively on his thigh, the diamond catching the light every time she moves. James shifts—subtle, but telling—never reaching for her.
Instead, his gaze finds me. It rakes over the curve of my cheek, the sharp red on my lips, the ugly Christmas sweater that should be ridiculous, but under his gaze, feels sinful. His eyes trace me like a memory, as though he’s tucking it away for later. My pulse thunders, and I'm grateful I'm already sitting, because my knees feel weak.
The questions hang between us. The accusation I threw. The confessions we shared.
My hands clasp together on my lap as I struggle to arrange my features into something resembling a cheerful Christmas morning greeting. Try to pretend my world hasn’t been altered in the early hours by the man not bothering to hide watching me. Pretty sure I'm failing.
“So… are we still into country music today?” Jules whispers, sliding onto the floor beside me.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, please,” she scoffs. “I saw the pool game. I know that meant something.”
I shift, checking who is paying attention. James tilts his head, his attention split between Ivy’s chatter and my whispered conversation with Jules. Mason, thankfully, swipes at his phone, distracted as always.
“Jules,” I warn, under my breath.
“Relax.” Her tone softens; the teasing slips, revealing her sincerity. “We don’t have to talk about it here. But wewill. We’re going to have a long, honest conversation about everything.”
“Can you drop this? Please.”
She lifts her hands in mock surrender. “If you’re trying to convince anyone nothing is going on, you might want to stop looking at him like he’s the last cookie on the plate. Eventually, it won’t only be me noticing.”
My cheeks burn. She’s not wrong. I look again despite myself.
