Page 53 of Perfectly Complicated
I still think this pageant is ridiculous, and Christmas remains my least favorite holiday. But working on this script with Janie, seeing her get excited about a line I wrote? That’ssomething else entirely. Something that has nothing to do with the holiday and everything to do with her.
“You’re not bad at this, considering how much you hate Christmas,” she says when we finish.
My mouth lifts. “I’m full of surprises, Bennett.”
“Where did this come from?” she asks, saving the document. “The writing thing.”
“I used to act out little plays when I was a kid,” I admit. “I’d pretend I was on TV and play all the parts. It started when things got bad at home.”
She tilts her head. “What do you mean?”
I hesitate, unsure why I’m telling her this. I never talk about my dad or the storm cloud we lived under at our house. “My dad was a drunk,” I say with a heavy sigh. “Always angry, but especially around the holidays. Christmas was the worst because he was always worried about money. So I’d hide in my room and imagine stories about families that actually wanted to be together.”
She reaches out without thinking, her fingers brushing mine. “Rourke, I am so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago,” I say, but I don’t shy away from her touch. “They both died in a car accident when I was in college. Dad was driving drunk.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Her voice is pained now. “No words seem like enough.”
“I know it sounds terrible, but part of me was relieved. No more walking on eggshells around him or ruined holidays.” I pause for a moment. “I miss Mom though. She was the one who didn’t deserve this. I tried to talk her into leaving him, but she stayed—always hoped he would get better.”
I turn my hand over under hers, our fingers almost intertwining. “I guess that’s why Christmas seems…complicated.”
“Rourke—” She shakes her head. “A child should never have to hide from a parent, or feel safer when they’re not around.”
I rub my thumb along her hand, memorizing the shape of her fingers againstmine. “At least I don’t have to hide anymore.”
We sit like that for a moment, the laptop screen casting a soft glow over her face. We’re both the walking wounded, two people who’ve had our faith in fundamental things—love, family, trust—systematically dismantled by the people who were supposed to protect those beliefs. She’s rebuilding herself piece by piece, creating a safe little world for her and Aria where disappointment can’t reach them.
I’m still trying to figure out what I’m even rebuilding toward.
The irony isn’t lost on me that Christmas, the holiday that represents everything I never had, is somehow becoming the bridge between us. Working together on this pageant makes me wonder if healing isn’t something you do alone.
My eyes drop to her lips, and her fingers brush my arm, like she wasn’t thinking before she did it. That’s when I know she feels it too—this connection between us. It’s inevitable after what happened that night at the cabin.
I lean toward her, thinking only of how good it would be to kiss that mouth again—to show her how much I want this.
Just then, the baby monitor on the counter crackles with the sound of Aria stirring in her crib.
We spring apart like we’ve been caught doing something we shouldn’t, which I guess we almost were. Janie’s cheeks flush as she slams the laptop shut.
“I should…go.” Her throat bobs nervously. “She probably needs her pacifier.” She’s already heading toward the stairs before I can even respond.
I run a hand through my hair. “Yeah, no problem.”
She’s halfway there when she turns back to look at me. “Thank you, Rourke. For helping with the script. It really means a lot.”
“We make a good team.”
Her mouth softens into a smile. “Yeah, we do.” Then she bolts up the stairs, leaving me to wonder what would have happened if Aria hadn’t interrupted us.
SIXTEEN
Janie
“Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year.” Rourke delivers the line like he’s reading a prescription bottle, then immediately drops the script with visible disgust. “No. This line has got to go.”
It’s the one line I refused to cut from the show because I believe it. And Rourke is completely decimating it. “Um, try again?” I suggest from the front row of the auditorium. “Maybe with a little more enthusiasm this time?”
