Brock was skilled at evading all conversations that started to veer into territory about her, and I wasn’t sure exactly why. Obviously, I had a feeling there was something there he wasn’t fond of discussing. I didn’t like it, but I did like the way heveeredthose conversations. It usually involved those talented hands and mouth.
With each passing day, the wiggle of doubt that this wasn’t going to last, that what we had wasn’t real, faded. It didn’t haunt the time I spent with him or keep me awake like the nightmares used to. Itwasfading, but it lingered like the acidic scent of scorched wood.
The doubt remained the same, lessened and almost gone, but it was still there.
* * *One Monday night, Brock helped me set up and decorate my artificial Christmas tree. We set it up in front of the window that overlooked the parking lot below.
It wasn’t a huge tree, only about six feet tall and not very full, but it had the frosted tips that reminded me of snow and came with twigs and berries already attached.
“How do you keep Rhage from not destroying this?” he asked, untangling the string of golden lights.
“He kind of does his own thing with the tree.” I glanced over at where the cat sat. He was already within a few feet of the tree, his eyes wide and I imagined, full of anticipation. “That’s why I don’t use bulbs. Even the kind that don’t shatter would be pointless. He’d knock them off in seconds.”
“He’ll leave the tinsel and lights alone?”
“Yeah, he kind of only climbs about halfway up the tree and just sits in it, staring at you like some kind of wannabe jungle cat.”
Brock chuckled as he plugged the strand in. I handed him the one I’d been working on.
Watching him wrap the tree with the lights, I couldn’t stop the smile from forming on my lips. We did this a lot growing up, but this was our tree, and there was something incredibly magical about that.
“I’m surprised you didn’t have this up before Thanksgiving,” he commented, readjusting the lights on one of the lower branches.
I laughed. “I’ve calmed down a bit in the decorating department.”
“Still kind of early.”
“It is not early,” I argued, digging out the silver tinsel from the bin. “It’s December.”
“It’s December twelfth,” he replied dryly.
“Whatever.” I looked down as Rhage eyed the dangling tinsel. I grabbed the end so I didn’t tempt him to prove me a liar. “Are you getting a tree?”
One shoulder rose as he picked up the star. “You know, we never did the Christmas tree thing.”
“You . . . you and Kristen?”
He nodded. “We spent the holidays at her family since . . .”
“Since the last time you came to my parents?” It had been the night I’d lost my shit with him.
“Yeah.” He glanced over at me. “Figured it was better that way. Didn’t want to ruin your holidays.”
Half of me felt bad, because Brock was a part of our family, and I felt like I might’ve robbed him of that. The other half didn’t feel bad at all. I wasn’t sure what that said about me.
“Anyway, we never really did a lot of the Christmas stuff at our place or even when we lived separately.” He easily secured the star to the top while it would’ve taken me well over an hour and would’ve involved a lot of F-bombs. “We never did this. Not once.”
“Really?” Surprise flickered through me. “That sounds . . . I don’t even know how that sounds.”
A wry grin appeared on his lips. “Doesn’t matter how it sounds.”
I stood there for a moment and realized he was right. Hanging the tinsel, I was careful not to step on Rhage’s tail.
“You going to miss me when I leave on Wednesday?” he asked, stepping back to allow me to get the tinsel wrapped around the tree.
“Maybe,” I said, tucking the edge of the tinsel back into the branch. Brock was going to be at the Philly branch with some new recruits my father wanted him to look at. He was supposed to come back Saturday afternoon. Straightening, I took a step back and admired the tree—ourtree. “It’s so pretty.”
“I think I’ve found something prettier.” He wrapped his arm around my waist, drawing me back against his chest. “And I’m also kind of offended that you said maybe.”