Page 56 of Hard to Take

“Brooke, I appreciate that you’re less available to help with my campaign this year, but when my team turned up these images, it’s not only your brand that’s affected.”

I open my mouth to respond that I’m not modeling thongs with her campaign slogan on them, but Miles beats me to it.

"With all due respect, Mrs. Ellis," he says, a charming smile softening the firmness in his voice, “Brooke's obviously built an image that people look up to. Hell, my grandmother saw the campaign and wanted to know where she could get leggings like that.” My chest tightens. “I can only imagine the hardest thing for her must be deciding what to do, because she’s talented, resourceful, and creative. There’s only one thing I was ever good at, so it wasn’t much of a question.”

I stare at him, a rush of gratitude washing over me. It's been so long since someone stood up for me like this, especially to my mother.

Mom looks taken aback.

The tension in the room is palpable, and I’m torn between the urge to smooth things over and the desire to let Miles’s words stand.

Finally, Mom asks. “Does your grandmother wear a lot of sports bras?”

Miles laughs first. I join in, cutting a look at Jay, who’s also relieved.

“Not lately. She’s a pretty good dancer but she’s on the injury list right now.”

The rest of the conversion is more relaxed and I catch myself enjoying the evening.

"Thanks for the drink,” Miles says nearly an hour later. “I should get home. Waffles will be thinking Santa abandoned him."

“The roads are terrible." I'm already up out of my chair before I can think better of it. “You should stay.”

Every eye lands on me.

Miles’s mouth hangs open. For once, I’ve caught him off guard.

"I couldn’t. You guys are doing family stuff. The Range Rover will be fine.”

“Nonsense,” Mom cuts in smoothly.

Maybe it’s the holiday spirit, or maybe it simply wouldn’t look good to have a Kodiaks player in a car accident on the way back from her house on Christmas Eve.

"It’ll be great," Jay says, grinning as he rises to clap Miles on the back. "You can borrow pajamas."

16

MILES

It's late when I crack the door and look out into the hallway.

“Stay,” I whisper to Waffles, who doesn’t lift his head from his spot curled up on the floor.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself, and head down the hall. Everyone else seems to be in bed, the house quiet.

I stand in front of Brooke’s room and knock gently on her door.

It’s half a dozen heartbeats before the door cracks. Her face appears on the other side, her makeup from earlier scrubbed off and her hair pulled back.

“Everything okay?” she whispers.

“Can I borrow your phone charger? Want to make sure I don’t miss my alarm for the morning.”

“Oh. Sure thing.”

She glances toward the nightstand and I spot the charger there.

I push the door open. She’s wearing pajamas too, only hers are silky blue shorts and a button-up top that skims her breasts.

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