Page 71 of Hostile for the Holidays

At the last minute, I reach for her to pull her close so she doesn’t fall on the ground.

We fall into a heap against the snow, my bare back against the frosty ground while Stella’s body crashes against my chest. I should feel the cold against my skin, but nothing matters because all I can think about right now is making this right with Stella.

Her hands, icy from gathering snow, press against my chest so I move to cover them with mine, for warmth and the hope that I can keep her with me long enough to explain things.

“Please, Stell.” I squeeze her hand.

I’ve seen what we could be, the moments where she lets her guard down with me and it’s fucking magic. I want it. I want her. For the rest of our lives.

But what if she can’t forgive me?

Tears spring to my eyes, the emotion hitting me so intensely that this could be it. She could be done with me but I’ll never get over her.

She takes a shuddering breath, her features softening as she stares down at me in the snow.

“I never wanted to hurt you. I was stupid and immature. I know that doesn’t excuse my behavior, but it’s the truth. I love you, Stella. I always have.”

She shakes her head, huge tears brimming at her lash line.

“I hate you, Jasper,” she whispers, but there’s no anger behind her words, only sadness. “I hate you for making me want you, then hurting me all over again.”

I release her wrists, and she sits back on her heels, putting distance between us.

I sit up, still holding her gaze with mine.

“Please, Stell. I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight with you. I never did.”

Without another word, she sits up and brushes off the snow clinging to her legs. She returns to her porch, gathers up her things and goes inside.

I sit there for a minute longer. I don’t feel the cold anymore. Everything is numb.

Eventually, I stand up, and make my way back across the street to my house.

When Mrs. Peterson from down the street passes me with her Corgi, Wilson, I don’t even have the energy to be embarrassed by my appearance, and she must have the wherewithal to know not to ask.

Back inside the house, Juniper is in the living room watching television.

“What happened to you?” she asks, her eyes catching on the huge red spot where Stella nailed me in the chest with a snowball.

“Stella St. James.”

She gives me a tight smile. Enough said.

TWENTY-FOUR

STELLA

“Jasper’snot coming to your wedding,” I fume the second I walk in the house.

I hold onto my anger, because if I let myself be sad, then I’ll rush back across the street and cry in Jasper’s arms. The way he looked at me. The way he was gutted when I said I hated him.

I’d hoped it would make me feel better, but it did nothing to soothe the ache in my chest.

“Are you serious?” Sadie exclaims, hands waving near her head. “Oh, god. We’re going to have to redo the seating chart.”

I collapse onto the couch.

I’m wet and freezing in Jasper’s t-shirt from our fight in the snow, so I pull a blanket off the back of the couch and wrap it around myself.

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