Page 44 of The Jinglebell War
Usually, it would be both my parents holding court behind my father’s enormous oak desk. Hopefully, since he’s alone, this will be a merry catch-up session.
I snort and stare at the heavy, oaken door. Unlikely.
It’s not too late. I could find my mother and Blue and insist on sticking by my girlfriend’s side. I’m an adult. I’m no longer subject to my parents’ rules.
“I hear you out there, Garrick. Get your derelict ass in here.”
It’s not too late. I could still run.
“Get in here or I’ll show your baby pictures to your new girlfriend. And I’ll start with the one of you in the bathtub.”
Aw, shit.
I open the door, feeling like that kid I used to be, but the man seated at the desk isn’t the father I remember. It’s only been two years, but my father’s coal black hair has gone completely white and his face has new lines etched deep enough to make him look old. When did my father get old?
I’m practically the baby of seven kids. And my father was in his mid-thirties when my parents started having kids. Rationally, I knew he was getting older, but it’s an entirely different experience to see him looking like an old man.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says. “I had pneumonia a few months ago. It put me in the hospital and recovery is a bitch at seventy-three. If you visited more often, it wouldn’t be a shock.”
“I didn’t know you were sick.” What if he’d died, and I hadn’t known? What if I’d missed my chance to say goodbye?
He waves a hand. “I was fine. If it had been serious, someone would have called you. Anything else, you should have called home yourself.”
I’m kicking Hudson’s ass later for not telling me about Dad. He was probably sworn to secrecy. He’s a big believer, like the rest of my siblings, in the family code of honor.
“Stop plotting revenge on your brothers and sit your ass down. I want to talk to you.”
“I’m not moving home.” This is one boundary, at least, I can stand firm on. “I’m not working for the resort.”
“I’ve not yet achieved the kind of wealth that would allow me to force you to work for me without some sort of legal repercussions. Nor do I have the chair in front of my desk rigged up over a shark tank.”
I can’t help smiling at that. “Still haven’t let go of that dream.”
“Thwarted by your mother every time.” His smile is as fond as it always is when he speaks of my mother.
“That, animal rights, physics, and basic human decency.” I take the seat and manage not to check for any trapdoors on the floor.
He laughs. “Damn human limitations.” He sobers just as quickly. He reaches for a file folder on his desk and flips it open. “I’ve been keeping tabs on this little business you have in Yuletide.”
My body tenses, preparing for a fight. “What kind of tabs?”
He keeps flipping pages like whatever he’s got in that folder is fascinating. “I had my doubts, but you’ve made this business of yours quite successful.” He looks up at me. “I underestimated you, Garrick, and I’m sorry.”
I stare at him, sure I’ve misheard. “By underestimated, you mean I’m an even bigger fuck up than you ever imagined?”
He winces. “I’ve never thought you were a fuck up, just misguided. You never took anything seriously. I had no idea you have such a good head for business.”
The truth dawns on me slowly. “Hudson showed you my books when he helped me out last winter.”
My dad looks confused for only a moment before his expression clouds with anger. “Are you accusing your brother of betraying his own blood?”
Shit. I forgot just how seriously my father takes family honor. Or maybe I assumed it no longer stretched to include me. “It’s the only answer that makes any sense. I don’t give just anyone access to my books.”
“But I can go on your website and see all of your bookings,” my father says. “And I have ways of getting more information when I need it. I’d think you’d know that.”
“So when you say you underestimated me…”
My father slaps a hand on his desk. “For God’s sake, Garrick. Are you really this dense, or are you fishing for compliments?”
