Page 4 of Flown in for Christmas

“I’ve got your back,” my cousin tells me. “However you want to handle the situation. I know you’re going through a lot with your—”

“Don’t,” I cut him off and stand. I don’t need his pity. Besides, my father is his uncle, he’ll be losing him, same as me.

There is enough shit being taken from me. Over my dead body will I letEric Davistake my father’s company and sell it off piece by piece. And I’m certain that’s what he’d do, he’s voiced it as a ‘money-making strategy’ to me. I doubt that’s changed.

I’d like to think my father isn’tthatnaïve to Eric’s end game, but Dad’s gotten caught up in the aspect of ‘family’ a time or two. When I’ve tried to voice my concerns, the conversation always turns into a speech about familythisand familythat.

Blood might be thicker than water, but not even blood can make everyone family.

I stride toward the door. “I better head out. We’ve got an early flight and I haven’t even packed.”

Rich follows me out. “Leah’s pretty nervous about flying. She’s been so nauseous with the pregnancy. She’s worried she’s going to blow chunks mid-air.”

I chuckle low, shaking my head. “It’s a straight flight, shouldn’t be too bad. But just in case, she’s sitting with you.”

We land at the Green Bay airport right on time. Rich and I pick up our rental SUV to start on the twenty-minute drive north to my parents’ place. The temperature is at record lows according to the rental attendant. Negative fifteen degrees Fahrenheit with four feet of solid, packed snow on the ground.

It’s not long before myself, Rich, and his wife, Leah, turn onto the long, barely plowed drive of my parents’ house. They’ve upgraded quite a bit over the years. Dad was reluctant to sell the home they raised my sister and me in, but Mom sure wasn’t. She loves the sprawling, wooded property with ten thousand square feet of rustic homage sitting on thirty acres.

Plenty of room foreveryone. Unfortunately.

The place is decorated to the nines in Christmas décor as usual. I pull in beside the three-bay garage, sure to park in a way I can get out easily if need be. Before I even have the trunk open to get our luggage, Mom whips the front door open with a cheeryshout, “You made it.” She beams, shuffling over in her slippers and bathrobe through the crunchy, iced-up snow.

“Mom! Get in the house,” I holler. “It’s freezing out here.”

Completely dismissing me, she sidles up and hauls me into one of her tight hugs. “Oh, hush. It’s been too long. I missed you this past Thanksgiving, you know.”

I bite back a sigh. How could I forget?

Rich and I gather the luggage, while Leah ushers Mom into the house. It’s a good bit ofwelcome home,we missed you, andwho’s hungrybefore we finally take our coats off. It’s barely noon, and I’m already beat.

I feel like I’m running on fumes having not slept last night.

After I take my luggage upstairs to my room, I head for the kitchen. Natalie is waiting for me with my newest adopted niece, Izzy. She’s a newborn, barely a month old. You would think holding a tiny baby would tamp down some of the heat in my sister’s glare, but it doesn’t.

“Do I need to kick your ass so you’ll start answering my calls?” she whisper-snaps at me, rocking the sleeping infant in her arms.

I snort. “Quite the mouth in front of your daughter.”

She rolls her eyes. “Did Rich tell you?”

I nod. “It’s fine. I’m here for Dad and the family, not the bullshit. I just want this to be a good Christmas with everyone. It’s what he deserves.”

“It’s what hewants,” she corrects me, moving the blanket out of the way so I can take a look at my niece. Her chubby cheeks and long lashes pull at my heartstrings.

“She’s beautiful, Nat,” I say as Martina comes barreling into the kitchen with my four-year-old nephew, Tucker, hiked up on her shoulders. He looks so much like Natalie, it’s pretty amusing. I’d even venture to say I see myself in the little bruiser.

“Uncle MVP,” he squeals, bouncing on Martina’s shoulders.

Natalie groans as her wife laughs. “I guess he remembered thecool unclenickname you told him to use.”

“Hey, Martina,” I say, giving her a side hug and swapping her shoulders for mine under Tucker. “How ya doing, kiddo? Your mom told me you’re in preschool now.”

“Yeah. I have friends.” Tucker smiles, gripping my neck.

I chuckle. “Is that so?”

“Dad is in the den…with Eric,” my sister tells me, her face turning down in a sour expression. She dislikes him just as much as I do. There’s justsomethingabout the guy that doesn’t sit right with us. Sad to say, my parents don’t see it.

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