Page 72 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

“Oh?” she asks. She’s sitting up on the bed, watching me from it, and I feel a pang of regret because minutes ago we were nestled there together, pretending the rest of the world didn’t exist—or that it could go fuck itself. I wish I could rewind the clock, but I know from experience that it’s impossible. Pointless to even think about. I try not to take part in pointless things whenever possible.

“I’ve been trying to get this show canceled since the beginning.” I didn’t mean to say it defensively, but it sounds defensive. “This isn’t good for my family. What Jay told me about my parentage…my mother wanted my grandmother to talk about iton air.And my sisters and me…we’ve gone through enough with our grandmother. We don’t need her to have a platform for her bullshit. No one in this town does. She’s always caused more harm than good.Always.”

Something flickers on her face, but I can’t read it. What I can read is her body language. She’s crossed her arms over her chest. She’s not happy, not that I expected otherwise.

“What have you been doing, exactly?” she asks.

I suck in a breath and rock on my heels. I don’t like the way she’s looking at me, but I probably deserve it. I know this show is important to her, and I was trying to fuck it up. Those are facts. I nudge the floor with my foot. “The radiator malfunction. The power going out. The hole in the fondue pot.”

“The beeping alarm,” she continues. “The leaking sink. The howling noise.”

I shrug self-consciously, because it all sounds pretty stupid when it’s listed out like that. “A dead fish in the back of the toilettank in a bathroom near the guys. I guess Jonah’s complained about the smell.”

One corner of her mouth lifts up, and she gives a little shake of her head. “You lack your grandmother’s killer instinct, you know. She’d have had half the guys holed up in bed by now, nursing injuries.”

“I know,” I say, because she’s right. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but I figured if there were enough annoyances they’d give up. People like them aren’t used to putting up with shit like that. They’re not patient with it.”

“You mean people likeme,” she says, tightening her arms over her chest.

Christ, I really didn’t, but I can see how it sounded like that.

Then she gasps and shoots an accusatory look at me. “Did you turn me orange? The makeup artist said she’d used that tanner before and it had never had that result.”

I swear under my breath but nod, because the truth is out now. Might as well be fully honest.

Her eyes look glassy now, like she’s holding in tears, and I feel like a prize asshole. First, I upset Willow, then Ivy, and now Kennedy. I can’t do anything right.

“Are you really doing this for your family, Rowan, for your town? Or is it because you’re sick of being called Cupid?”

I clench my jaw, because there’s a grain of truth in what she’s accusing me of. Defensiveness rises up within me like toxic sludge. “Don’t you see? My grandmother’s lost her mind. She’s spying on you, poisoning Harry. She needs to be stopped.” Then I remember what Kennedy said after—

Don’t remember what it felt like to be inside her, don’t remember the feeling in your chest when she fell apart around you.

It sounded like she had an idea for stopping my grandmother.

“Didn’t you say you had some thoughts about how to deal with Nana?”

“I did,” she says, her arms still wrapped across her chest like they’re armor. “But I’m not so sure it’s a good idea anymore. You’ve made it clear just what you think of me, Rowan. You should leave.”

But I can’t leave her like this. Ican’t.

“I didn’t do any of that shit after our evening at the pool, Kennedy,” I say, sickened by the note of pleading in my voice. Has it come to this?

Maybe I’m like my father after all, my real father, consumed by a woman.

Maybe I don’t care.

“Okay,” she says.

“Okay?”

“I need to figure out a way to make this work without getting the show canceled,” she says firmly. “Leto’s Hands needs this to work.” She lets her arms drop, and I’m happier about it than I probably should be. There’s still a severe look on her face, one that reminds me of that first day, when she came off as regal and cold. Like she was better than me and knew it. Now, I guess she does know that she’s better than me. “Those kids you help, Rowan. I’m trying to do the same thing on a bigger scale.”

She probably didn’t mean for that to make me feel like shit.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” I say. “You don’t need help from someone with such mediocre ambitions.”

I turn to leave, catching sight of the stupid Christmas tree as I do. Another dumb thing for me to have done, especially when Christmas has always served as a reminder of all the things I don’t have.

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