Page 2 of Stuffing His Stocking

“You’re three hours late!” Bruce booms, the back of his neck becoming increasingly red.

“Better late than never, right?” Dylan shrugs with a mocking laugh.

“You’re such?—”

Mom steps between the two men, putting her hand on Bruce’s chest. “Honey, please don’t. Let’s not say things we don’t mean. It’s Christmas. So let’s all enjoy the holiday, hm?” She leans forward, causing Bruce to step back from his son. With a little distance between them now, Dylan’s shoulders slump a fraction of an inch. Even Bruce deflates some at Mom’s interference. She’s always been a great mediator.

Wrapping his arm around her waist, Bruce keeps his glare locked on his son. “You need to grow up and learn someresponsibility. Your family has been waiting for you for hours and you don’t even care. It’s like you’re trying to ruin the holiday for all of us.”

Dylan’s laugh turns almost sinister, but still has a self-deprecating twinge to it that makes my heart ache for him. “My family?What a joke,” he mutters. “My family hasn’t existed since Diane.” He snarls his mother’s name. “She left you and you started fucking anything with a pulse.”

My mother’s eyes widen and I’m offended on her behalf. But I remain hidden, as I’m too stunned to move.

“This isn’t your second or even third marriage,Dad. Just because this one comes with a kid doesn’t make you some fucking spectacular family man. In a few months, we both know you’ll get bored with her and start ass-grabbing your college interns again. That or whatever insipid gold-digger from the country club latches on to you. Tell me how muchfamilywill mean to you then.” Dylan’s handsome features are twisted into a spiteful and cruel expression.

When Mom lets out a quiet sob, we all snap our attention to her. Dylan’s face immediately melts into guilt and remorse and Bruce’s rage begins to boil over.

Before anyone can say anything else, Mom politely whispers, “Excuse me,” and rushes to the kitchen while trying to conceal her tears.

Dylan takes a step forward. “Carol, I’m?—”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Bruce roars, and his son stops dead in his tracks. “I think you’ve done enough for one night. You truly are such a disappointment.” His words are scathing and cut even me to the core.

Dylan flinches, and the fight leeches out of him. “I’ve always been a disappointment to you, Dad. Nothing I ever did was good enough, so why even bother?”

Sudden awareness flickers in Bruce’s eyes, but it’s quickly extinguished before he chases after Mom. My stepbrother, who I’ve only met a handful of times, lowers his head and buttons up his heavy coat. Not even the soothing melody of “Silent Night” can dissipate the tension in the house right now.

Dylan sighs, tilting his head back and roughly rubbing at his eyes. Hurt, anger, and regret all radiate from his body and I find myself wanting to comfort him. But I’m sure he only sees me as some dopey kid. The teenage stepsister he barely knows. He probably doesn’t even remember I exist most of the time.

Yet I can’t tear my eyes away from him.

He’s fascinated and intrigued me ever since I first met him at Mom and Bruce’s engagement party. And right now, he’s so tragically beautiful that I’m trying to sear his image into my brain. That is, until he scares the shit out of me.

“You gonna keep hiding there all night or what?” His voice is surprisingly low and steady, but the fact that he even knows I’m watching startles me. I lose my balance, tripping over a box, and by the time I right myself, he’s staring down at me with hard eyes and a blank expression.

“S-sorry,” I squeak, although I’m not sure what I’m apologizing for. For spying on him? For eavesdropping on their conversation? For crashing into his life when he clearly didn’t want us here?

He continues to stare at me, and after a few seconds, I start to fidget until his gaze falls to my sweater. Then, his face softens and the barest hint of a smile touches his lips. “Nice sweater,” he quips, jutting his chin toward me.

My cheeks flame when I remember I’m wearing a hideous, holiday-themed top with silver and gold tinsel and glittery ornaments hot-glued to it. I silently curse myself for choosing something so… so…childish.

“Oh, um, my mom and I made it. So, you know…” I trail off and cross my arms over my chest as if I can hide the ugly garment.

At the mention of Mom, an invisible mask drops over Dylan’s expression and he shifts toward the door. When I realize he’s going to leave, I lunge forward and instinctively grab the cuff of his coat sleeve.

“Wait!”

He freezes, looking down at his wrist. I release the fabric as though it burns me and hold my hands up in surrender.

“Don’t leave,” I plead, then cringe at how whiny and pathetic I sound.

Dylan lifts his gaze and raises an eyebrow at me. “Well, I’m not exactly feeling the holiday spirit fromDear Old Dad, and I just insulted your mom.”

I wince at his honesty.

“So, yeah, I’d say it’s time for me to go.”

I open my mouth to beg him to stay but I immediately snap it closed before I can say anything else. We may be stepsiblings, but really, we’re just acquaintances by marriage. He doesn’t owe me anything, and I certainly don’t have the right to ask him to suffer through a holiday with me when he doesn’t want to. I’m just a silly schoolgirl, hoping to spend more time with a hot older guy I can’t have.

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