Page 37 of Silent Night Temptation

And in that handshake, I feel something different about him. It’s not trust, not yet. But it’s a beginning.

He starts to walk back toward the house, his boots crunching softly in the snow. But then, as if some thought pulls him back,he stops. He turns to face me, and the slight arch of my eyebrow betrays my curiosity before I can hide it.

“So… you and Nyree…”

His words hit me like a gust of cold wind, unexpected and disarming. Surprise surges through me, mingled with a bit of embarrassment. My reaction is almost instinctive. I turn away, trying to shut the conversation down before it even begins. The last thing I want is to have this discussion with Ethan, of all people.

But he doesn't let it drop. “Don’t be too hard on her,” he says, his tone unusually gentle, almost coaxing. “At the end of the day, she was helping her friend. Coco didn’t want you to know yet.”

“She should have told me!” The words leap out of my mouth before I can rein them in, sharp and unguarded. My control snaps, something about Nyree always makes me raw, vulnerable in a way I can’t seem to manage. I hate it, the way she gets to me, how even thinking about her frays the edges of my composure.

But Ethan keeps going, his calm voice a stark contrast to my frustration. “Don’t you think it’s at least commendable that she’s loyal to a friend she’s known for years? That she didn’t betray Coco’s trust, even for you? Even for a man she has feelings for?”

The last part of his sentence hits me harder than I expect. I turn to face him fully now, my focus sharp on his face. He must see the change in my expression because he doesn't hesitate.

“I’ve seen the way she looks at you,” he says, his voice steady, almost matter-of-fact. “The way her face lights up when your name comes up. It’s not that hard to tell.”

The words swirl in my mind, an take root. Hearing it out loud, even from someone like Ethan, warms me in a way I’m not prepared for.

“And it’s not hard to tell how you feel about her, either,” Ethan continues, his voice quieter now, but no less piercing. There’s nojudgment in his tone, just simple observation, as if he’s stating a fact we both know but haven’t said aloud.

I don’t respond. I can’t. His words hang in the cold air between us, and I know they’re true. Every one of them. It’s unfiltered, and in this moment, I know it’s what I needed to hear, even if I won’t admit it.

“I get it, man,” Ethan says, stepping closer. “You think it’s complicated. You’ve been on edge, and yeah, I’ve gotta take some of the blame for that. But you’ve spent so long being protective, you’ve let it turn into distrust. Sometimes, you don’t know how to let your guard down. I’ve spent enough time messing with you to figure that much out.”

There’s a pause, his words sinking deeper than I want them to. He looks me dead in the eye, his voice dropping even lower. “But Nyree’s a good woman. Don’t hold it against her for keeping Coco’s secret. She didn’t betray you, she was protecting her friend. You can’t fault her for that.”

His words swirl in my head, heavy with meaning, laden with truths I’ve avoided confronting. I hate to admit it, but he’s right.

Ethan steps forward, placing a hand on my shoulder. The gesture is unexpected, and yet, it feels genuine. The look in his eyes is softer now, and I see no trace of the smugness I’ve come to associate with him.

“And Coco…” he says, his voice almost warm, “she’ll come around. She’s stubborn, sure, but if you and Nyree are happy together, she’ll understand. Even if she’s upset that you didn’t tell her right away, she’ll get it.”

For a fleeting second, I feel the corners of my own lips tugging upwards.

He turns once again and heads back toward the house, his footsteps fading into the snow. I stand there, the cold air biting at my skin, my mind full of thoughts I didn’t expect to be wrestling with.

***

Nyree

Morning creeps in, casting a cold, pale light over the room. I sit on the floor, my suitcase open and half-packed in front of me. The clothes I’m trying to fold feel wrong under my fingers, the fabric stiff and unyielding. I’ve been at this for what feels like hours, packing, unpacking, folding and refolding, but nothing ever looks right. It’s as if I can’t even trust myself to do something as simple as this anymore.

How did I let myself be so foolish? How could I have thought, even for a second, that this Christmas would be different?The question stays in me. I’ve always hated the holidays, ever since that Christmas, the day my dad died. The memories rush back, uninvited and unwanted, but once they start, there’s no stopping them.

We were driving home from a family dinner. I remember the sound of laughter in the car, my mom turning around from the passenger seat to say something to me. Then there was the sound of screeching tires, a deafening crash, metal againstmetal, and everything went black. When I woke up, I was in the hospital. My body hurt everywhere, but the real pain was in my heart. Dad was gone. I never even got to say goodbye. He died on Christmas Day. The day that used to mean family and warmth, now felt like a cruel joke.

It didn’t end there. Mom… she never recovered. She tried. She smiled, she went through the motions, but she was broken. She withered away, piece by piece, until she was just a shell of herself. Grief consumed her like a slow-burning fire, and one day, it just took her completely. A heart attack, they said. But I knew better. It was the loss, the emptiness left behind. I lost her too, not long after, and the holidays became something I dread. Christmas wasn’t about joy anymore; it was a reminder of everything I’d lost, everything I would never get back.

And yet, for once, I thought… God, how naive I was. I thought it would be different. Marcus made me feel safe in a way I hadn’t felt in years. For the first time, the season didn’t seem like a looming shadow. I thought I could let myself breathe, that I could stop hating this time of year, even just for a moment. But no. It all came crashing down, and now I’m left in this mess, packing my things, trying to get out before I make it worse.

I can’t stop thinking about Coco. The look on her face when she walked in on Marcus and me, seared into my memory. The shock, the anger. And now Marcus… The way he looked at me when he found out I knew about Coco’s pregnancy. His eyes, full of disbelief and hurt, cut deeper than I ever imagined. It feels like I’ve betrayed them both in ways I can’t ever make right.

My hands tremble as I pick up a shirt, trying once again to fold it properly, but I keep messing it up. The edges aren’t lining up right, and the seams look crooked. I pull it apart and start over, but it’s still wrong.Always wrong. I can’t get it right.My chest tightens, and that damned itch on my neck begins. I rub at the spot, but it doesn’t help. The white noise is starting, thatdeafening roar in my head that blocks out everything else, and my hands keep fumbling with the clothes, making them worse, no matter how hard I try.

I want to scream. I want to throw the suitcase across the room, tear the clothes apart, anything to get rid of this overwhelming frustration that’s clawing at my insides. But I can’t. I can’t scream. I can’t break. So I keep folding, and I keep failing.

Then, the door creaks open behind me. I freeze, my hands still gripping a crumpled sweater. My breath catches in my throat, and for a bit, I can’t move. I already know who it is. I don’t need to turn around to know it’s Coco.

---