Page 18 of Christmas With My Ex

What are you doing, Rives?

I turn my head away from him, staring back up at the ceiling. I’ve been here before. I know how this ends. We’re two people who can’t make it work, no matter how good it feels in the moment. We tried once, and it ended in pieces.

Motherfucker, it's Christmas Eve, and I've got a man I simultaneously hate and can't resist sleeping in my bed. How am I going to get myself out of this?

I rub my hands over my face, groaning softly to myself. I can feel the weight of his arm close to me, but I don’t move it. The last thing I need is for him to wake up, for us to actually have to talk about this, because I have no idea what to say.

He’s still Nicholas—handsome, great in bed, complicated, a man with a life too full for me to fit into. He's still a single dad, an ER doc. There’s no room for anything more, not really.

And then, there's my secret I still have.

Even if I have calmed some and his son has gotten older and he doesn't need to be there for the child’s every move, this is big, black, life-altering secret… If he ever finds out, it will surely make him hate me.

I pull the sheet tighter around me, wanting to shrink into it, to disappear. If only we were in his room, then I could sneak out and avoid him for the next few days.

But I'm not. We are here, in my room, and there is no running this time.

Nicholas stirs beside me, his arm brushing against my side, and my breath catches in my throat. But I can already feel myself slipping.

I glance over at him again, the rise and fall of his chest, the peaceful look on his face. The last thing I want is to wake him up, to face whatever awkward conversation comes next, so I lie here, staring at the ceiling, feeling the pull of everything I’ve been trying so hard to resist.

Maybe it’s already too late.

7:20am

I can’t stay herefor another second. The longer I lie in bed, the tighter the knot in my chest grows. The weight of everything from last night—the memories, the tension, the heat, the secret—it’s too much.

If Nicholas wakes up and we’re forced to talk, forced to confront it all, it’ll only make it worse.

My eyes flick to the crutch leaning against the wall, just beyond the bedside table. The reminder of why I’m here in the first place—hurt, alone, and now tangled up in something I shouldn’t be.

I slowly shift to the edge of the bed, careful not to wake him. His breathing is still steady, his body relaxed in sleep. I place the sheet carefully to the side as I slip my feet over the edge, feeling the cool air hit my skin.

Come on, Rives. Move. Quiet but productive.

I push myself up, biting my lip as I quietly reach for the crutch. The room is still dim, the early morning light casting soft shadows around us. I hold my breath as I stand, careful not to let the bed creak under my weight. For a moment, I glance back at him, still asleep and seemingly oblivious.

For a split second, I consider lying back down. Letting things play out, throwing caution to the wind, as I said last night. What a dumb thing to say.

I reach for my clothes, scattered carelessly across the chair and floor from last night. My leggings, my sweater. I pull them on quietly, trying not to make a sound as I dress. My movements are slow, deliberate, but my heart pounds in my chest, half-afraid that he’ll wake up any second and see me standing here like an idiot, trying to sneak out of my own room.

As soon as I’m dressed, I reach for my other crutch and glance at the door. I just need to get out of here. Go downstairs, grab some coffee, and hope that by the time I come back, he’ll be gone. He’ll get the hint, slip out quietly, and we won’t have to do this awkward morning-after talk of shame.

That’s the best outcome, right? An easy exit for both of us. No need to rehash what happened. No need to pretend it meant anything more than it did. No need to reveal any secrets.

I push the door open quietly, wincing at the soft creak. My pulse quickens as I slip into the hallway, crutches in hand, and close the door behind me with a soft click.

It’s Christmas Eve. It's supposed to be a time of joy and celebration, but I've never felt so grim and unsure of myself.

As I make my way toward the elevator, the hotel is still quiet, the early hour wrapping everything in a soft, muted stillness. I glance over my shoulder once, half-expecting to hear the door open, to see Nicholas following me, but it’s quiet. No one’s around.

I press the button for the elevator, my mind racing with a million thoughts. I need to clear my head, to get some distance before he wakes up and everything comes crashing back in. Coffee. I need coffee.

The elevator doors slide open, and I step inside, my fingers trembling slightly as I press the button for the lobby.

Just breathe, Rives. Just breathe.

Silver Pick Coffee

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