Page 50 of Take Me Home for Christmas

“Who says I want to be cracked?” Everett clapped back.

Lamar chuckled. “I remember when I was like that. Me against the world. I also remember how freaking lonely it was living with only my demons as friends.”

A knock sounded at the door. Xander opened it to reveal Kitty standing there.

The sheriff smiled slyly. “If you’re lucky, you’ll find something—or someone—special to make you want to do the work to drive them away,” he said quietly before moving toward the door. Pausing beside Everett’s chair, he placed a hand on Everett’s shoulder. “I hope you’re not egotistical enough to ignore the luck that comes your way.”

Everett didn’t bother to respond. The door closed again, and he wasn’t surprised when Kitty sat in the chair beside him. She was silent for several heartbeats. Sighing, she took his glass from his hands and downed its contents in one gulp.

“I’m sorry.” He kept his eyes focused on the wooden Santa he’d admired his first night at the inn.

“Me, too,” she replied.

He whipped his head around to face her, thinking she was mocking him. Only to find her expression was one of genuine sorrow.

“What are you sorry for?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry you went through something that still haunts you so deeply.”

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. She was too good for him. He didn’t deserve someone so compassionate. Especially when he would continue to hurt her with his ugly moods and overreactions like today. She’d end up hating him. He didn’t think he could live with himself when it came to that.

“Tonight . . . tonight wasn’t the first time something like that has happened,” he whispered.

“Mm. Hayden had many nights like tonight when he first came home, according to my sister.”

He hated how angry her empathy made him feel. “It’s not the same. He lost a leg, sure. But I lost . . .”

The air in the room seemed to disappear. Everett tugged at the collar of his sweatshirt. Kitty reached over to the desk and poured more whiskey into his glass. She handed it to him. He took a generous swig.

“Tell me about her,” she urged.

He shook his head.

Kitty took his free hand between both of hers. “You’re not being fair to either of us. I’ve told you about my husband. His life. His death. Everything. Ifyoutruly loved her, she must have been wonderful. By keeping her locked inside you, you’re not really honoring her memory. Or letting her go.”

He didn’t want to let her go, dammit. At least he hadn’t until he met this woman. Writing the last few chapters of his memoir was torturous. It meant reliving their short life together. It meant facing up to the fact that the dreams they had made for their future would never come true.

It meant admitting that Keeley chose someone else over me.

His throat burned when he threw back the rest of the drink. It didn’t sting as much as the decision Keeley made that took her away from him. He cleared his throat.

“Keeley was a damn good reporter,” he began. “Her instincts were always spot-on. And she could get anyone to talk. To tell her how things really were. I was in awe watching her work.” He squeezed Kitty’s hand. “She was beautiful. Her mother was a model for BritishVogue. Her father was a member of Parliament. Keeley got both of their best attributes.

“It was nearing Christmas, and we’d been back in the States for several months. She was getting twitchy for an assignment with some meat in it. I did everything I could to try to combat that restlessness. I rented a lovely house in a small town in Vermont for the month. We were going to do all the Christmassy things we always missed out on because we’d spent decades living as globe-trotting reporters.”

His chest grew tight thinking about what came next. As if she sensed what was coming, Kitty reached for the glass in his hand and took a fortifying sip before handing it back.

“She got word that an interpreter who had worked for her was denied a visa to come to the States. And that really made her anxious. She was worried he or his family might be harmed if it was found out that he had aided the Western media. Keeley came up with a plan to get him out of Afghanistan. Of course, it couldn’t wait until after the holidays. The man’s life was in danger.”

He switched out the glass for the Santa from the desk.

“It was only supposed to take three days. They would get in and get out and be back home before Christmas Eve. That’s what she promised me. Then we’d have the Christmas I planned for us. The one I thought we were both dreaming of.”

Kitty wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Everett relaxed at her touch.

“It was a setup. She and the group of veterans turned mercenaries were ambushed. Except every one of those guys managed to get out alive. Only Keeley and her interpreter didn’t make it. They were supposed to protect her, to bring her back to me. They didn’t.”

“That explains a lot,” she told him. “Thank you for telling me.”

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