Page 74 of Hot Chocolate & Hitmen

As I near the end of the hallway, I hear something that stops me in my tracks.

Laughter. Again.

But this time it’s different. It’s softer, more intimate. Low, teasing voices. Grace’s sweet sounds, mixed with the guys’. It’s light, easy, and it’s all centered around her.

I close my eyes, leaning against the wall, my heart sinking lower with every second that passes. She’s in there with them. A thud. A muffled groan. And then the unmistakable sound of Grace’s giggle. It’s different this time–breathy, full of warmth. The kind of noise that sends a chill down my spine, because I know what’s happening.

I feel like my stomach just dropped out of my body. I stand there, frozen in place, my mind spinning, my heart pounding in my chest. The weight of it all crushes me, and I feel like I’m going to be sick.

My hand presses against the wall, and I force myself to take a deep breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions raging inside me. Anger, guilt, frustration, sadness–it’s all tangled up, twisting around my insides until I can’t tell which is which anymore.

But as I stand here, listening to the sounds of her coming undone between them, something else starts to creep in. Something darker. Something that feels a lot like regret.

Because the truth is...I did this to myself.

I didn’t just let her slip away. I pushed her into the arms of these guys. I made her feel small, made her feel like she wasn’t enough, when the truth is, she was too much for me. Too full of life for someone like me to handle. And now...I’m paying the price.

The muffled sounds from the kitchen continue, and I force myself to turn away, my chest tightening with every step I take. I don’t want to hear it anymore. I can’t. But the sound of her moans follows me down the hallway, echoing in my ears like a painful reminder of everything I’ve lost.

I reach the room I’ve been staying in, the place where I’ve spent so much time sulking and wallowing in my own misery, and I sink down onto the bed, my head in my hands. I can’t block it out–the sounds, the images that keep flashing through my mind. Her with them. Happy. Free.

Without me.

And for the first time in a long time, I realize...I deserve this.

I deserve to lose her. After everything I put her through, after all the ways I neglected her, this is exactly what I deserve. She deserves to be happy, and if it’s with them…then maybe that’s just the way it has to be.

Because I was never enough for her. And I think I always knew that.

I lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, my thoughts swirling like a storm I can’t escape. I made my choices, and now I’m living with the consequences. Maybe it’s time to stop fighting it. Maybe it’s time to accept it.

The sounds from the kitchen fade into the background, but the weight in my chest doesn’t.

And for the first time, I don’t try to push it away.

Chapter Twenty-Six

After dinner, I feel a bubbling sense of excitement, even though the kitchen looks like a war zone. It's been through a lot these last few days–first the baking chaos, and now, well...let’s just say the naughty little fantasy that spiraled out of control earlier made things even worse.

Flour and frosting would’ve been easy to clean, but this? The countertops are streaked with everything from melted chocolate to what I can only describe as a syrupy disaster. The memory makes my cheeks burn, but I can’t help the grin that sneaks onto my face.

Key, naturally, is the worst culprit. He managed to get whipped cream everywhere, and I meaneverywhere. I wipe down the one counter I managed to get clean, shaking my head at the thought of him.

“Artistic license,” he’d called it.

Sure, Key. Because dripping honey on my back mid-fellatio was part of the plan, right?

The kitchen has borne witness to some truly wild events over the past few days.

I sigh, shaking my head as I glance around at the mess. The floor is still slick with remnants of our earlier...activities, and the sink is piled high with bowls, spatulas, and other kitchen utensils that didn’t survive the fallout. But as exhausted as I am, I feel a warmth bubbling up inside me–contentment. Despite the madness, or maybe because of it, I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt so alive.

Wiping my hands on a dish towel, I wander over to the piano in the corner of the minibar area of the living room, drawn by the soft glint of its polished surface. Music has always been my refuge, my way of finding peace amidst the chaos of the holidays. I’ve been itching to play ever since I arrived at the cabin, and now, with the storm swirling outside and the warm glow of the fire crackling nearby, it feels like the perfect time to indulge.

I settle onto the bench, my fingers hovering over the keys for a moment. The piano is beautiful, well-kept despite the remote location, and the thought of filling the cabin with something other than mayhem makes me smile. I can already picture the guys making fun of me, rolling their eyes at my need for some holiday cheer, but tough luck for them–they’re about to get a full-on Christmas concert, whether they like it or not.

I press down the first key, a gentle note ringing out through the cabin. I let my gaze sweep across the room. The tree twinkles in the corner, the scent of pine filling the air with nostalgia. I glance over at the guys–Atlas is sitting on the couch with his arms crossed, looking stoic but relaxed, Teddy is leaning against the wall with a drink in his hand, and Key, of course, is juggling a set of knives with alarming skill.

“Okay, boys,” I announce, fingers dancing over the keys. “It’s time for some Christmas carols.”

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