Page 50 of A Christmas Maker

“I will.” At some point between walking towards the elevator and getting inside the town car, the realization of peoplecaringsuddenly hits like a tidal wave.

While still skeptical, gone are the majority of uneasy glances and frowns. All the board needed was someone to step up and protest their treatment of me.

If only they cared sooner. A vile thought, but not altogether wrong.

It shouldn’t have taken Dad as long as it did to come around. To have the same faith in me I would expect King’s father to have in him. I shouldn’t have to prove myself to my own blood when I didn’t have to prove my worth to those I consider close friends. Perhaps choosing a family outside of my own is a better alternative than constantly being disappointed in the future.

I want someone to care immediately, not when it suits them.

Someone like Bex.

I immediately discard the treacherous thought. I’m simply checking on her as a friend, that’s all. We’ve grown slightly closer in these past few weeks, we’ve created a precarious friendship. Therefore it’s perfectly reasonable to check on her when she’s feeling ill. Or so I tell myself the entire drive to the address King sent me.

The wrought iron fencing surrounding the estate with lush green grass and thick, aged trees seems like a scene cut from the Hamptons and transplanted to upstate New York. Here the city doesn’t exist.

A giant marble house sits off to the left. Stone furnishings and large plants dot the front pathway. There’s vibrancy in the colors surrounding the windows, softening the iron and marble surrounding it.

As I step out of the vehicle, I notice an elderly woman watching me as she holds a magazine in her lap. She’s tucked in a chair behind one of the trees, almost completely out of view if it weren’t for the stark white linen pants against the colors of the courtyard.

“Hello.” I offer a polite smile as I stand just inside the open car door. “Is this the Hastings residence?”

She closes the magazine slowly. Her poofy white hair billowing slightly in the breeze as she stands. Even from here, it’s easy to see she’s not fond of my arrival. “Depends what you’re here for, boy.”

That’s not a no. Taking my chances, I close the car door and walk towards her at a steady pace. “I heard Bex wasn’t feeling well.”

“Terrible migraine.” The old woman presses her thin lips together as she studies me. “I don’t suppose she’s expecting you?”

“No, she’s not.”

“Figures.” Her eyes narrow slightly as I stop a few feet away. “You look a lot older in person. The weight of the world is a horrible thing to carry on your back.”

A small smile tics the corner of my mouth. “I believe the saying is carrying the weight on your shoulders.”

She gives me a withering look now. “You don’t have the shoulder capacity for the load you’re hauling, boy.”

Well then.

She sighs heavily before saying, “I don’t know what you want with Bex this go around, Thorin, but she’s a good person. If you’re trying to manipulate her some more–”

“I’m not manipulating her.”

“You are,” she states firmly. “You and your boys don’t know any other way. The lot of you ought to be pelted with horse dung for your sins.”

My mouth gapes open becausewhat the fuck do you say to that? Bex’s grandmother looks like a quintessential elderly grandma who offers you baked cookies and a blanket to cuddle. Yet she’s doing a better job busting my balls than King does.

“She deserves better than to have you waltzing into her life to screw it up and waltz back out.”

“I’m trying to be her friend.”

“Well,” she finally says after a long moment of silence, “you’ll probably be better at that than you ever were at being her husband.” She points down the driveway, where a separate, smaller house is situated. “She lives there. Say anything to upset her and I’ll find the horses to do the job myself.”

I’m not sure what I mutter as I step away, giving myself a wide berth from Bex’s grandmother as I make my way down the rest of the driveway, but she doesn’t respond except to huff at me some more.

Suddenly I have no idea why I’m here. But if I turn around now, chicken out of my own desire to care for Bex, then her grandmother might already have some horse shit to douse me in.

14

“There are things better left in the dark.” - Bex

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