Page 12 of A Merry Misfit Christmas

“What happened then?” I ask, my hand rubbing up and down her arm to calm her.

“She uh… she died of a drug overdose in our apartment. The landlord gained access after no one had seen us for a week.”

A week? Our mate was alone with a dead body for a week? She didn’t eat or drink anything? A low growl rumbles in my chest, and thankfully, she doesn’t ask me about it because it’s taking all my control to keep from shifting and going on a rampage that even Spike wouldn’t be able to quell.

“I went to live with my mom’s aunt, and she was a hoarder,” Callie continues. “Clutter was everywhere, Kodiak, and I didn’t really know any better since my mom was heading in that direction herself. When social services stepped in, I was placed in foster care, and it was there I learned to appreciate that everything had a place.”

“Did you get adopted out?”

She shakes her head, one lone tear streaking down her cheek. “I was too old by then. Most couples want either babies or toddlers, not an eight-year-old little girl who was still traumatized from her living situation.”

I don’t realize I’m grumbling and holding her tighter until she rests her head on my shoulder.

“It’s okay, Kodiak. I’ve built a good life since then.” She pats me and while my bear is ecstatic that she’s touching us, my anger at what she endured as a child won’t let me enjoy the sensation.

It’s not fucking okay. My sweet mate had a life far too traumatic. “I’m sorry all that happened, Sweetheart, but lifeismessy sometimes.”

“Not if I can help it,” she replies. “Did Spike talk to you or the club yet?”

“About what?”

“I volunteer with Mercy Falls Refuge and am helping gather toys and donations so the children can have a good Christmas. He said he’d have one of you guys play Santa for the kids.”

Yeah, Spike said as much when he told me my mate needed me. I stormed into the clubhouse, ready to throttle him, when I caught Callie’s scent. The reason for her visit has everything to do with kids and Christmas, not Spike. My bear agrees and we decide that maybe we owe Spike an apology when we see him. Maybe. Because hedidtouch her, and regardless of whether or not it was innocent, we don’t like it one bit.

“Santa, huh? What does that entail?” I ask, pushing thoughts of hurting my president for touching my mate aside.

May as well get all the details so I’m prepared. Out of all of us, I’m the best candidate because of my size, not that I will let anyone else this close to my mate. The fact that I’m not fond of sticky fingers is beside the point. I’ll do it because Callie needs me, but there’s another facet to this. Spike tries to involve the club’s members in as many community activities as he can since this is our town. We feel responsible for keeping it safe and helping it prosper.

If it means keeping my mate happy, I’ll do whatever she wants. Even ho-ho-ho.

And maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll get a kiss under the mistletoe.

Or more,my bear whispers.

Callie

This feels a bit surreal. I’m shocked that I so willingly told Kodiak about my abysmal upbringing. Hell, I’ve only shared the tip of the iceberg since I was also born addicted to crack. It’s a miracle that I didn’t have a host of physical issues, all things considered. I had all the shitty makings of following a dark path, but I made sure once I was out on my own, I’d never live like that again. Oh, the foster homes were nice, of course, but still, there were a lot of kids, so it was often chaotic. I valued what little objects I owned and promised myself that when I had the money, I’d keep a tidy, pretty home I could be proud of. I’ve succeeded, even if it’s only a rental. Someday, I’ll own my own place, but for now, this home works for me. While I’d love tohave the whole storybook scenario, with a man who loves and cherishes me, I’m realistic enough to know it might not happen.

I didn’t intend to delve into the darkness of my past, but now that it’s spoken, I feel a little lighter. Like its heaviness doesn’t press down on me as hard and oppressive. Maybe there’s some truth in sharing the darkness with others like a therapist I saw once said. Who knows? I just instinctively trust him, despite our inauspicious meeting.

Kodiak hugs me against his broad, muscular chest. His steady, calm breathing helps to center me. Something is soothing about him. That feeling of safety, warmth, and strength surrounds me as my eyes flutter, and I almost fall asleep. I’ve never felt this way before but am too content to delve into why he seems to be made for me.

“Callie?”

“Mmmm?”

“Look out the window,” he whispers, slightly louder than the crackling of the fire.

“Oh!” I gasp as I turn my head, gazing out at the winter wonderland of white already piling up. There’s a foot of snow outside, and it’s beautiful. The type of snow that packs hard but also swirls over the surface, glistening in the moonlight as the wind carries it over the growing mounds. Soft gusts twirl the flakes as they spin and jump, sparkling like dozens of tiny diamonds.

I love it when the snow gathers like this before anyone has placed a step over it or driven across to dirty its perfection. When it’s pristine and pretty, bright white, and fragile, yet flawless.

“It’s breathtaking,” I observe. “My favorite type of snowfall.”

“Mine too,” he murmurs.

“Thank you,” I say, the warm cocoon of his embrace loosening my lips once again.

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