Page 3 of Once Upon a December
“Felix.” His sister tried again, but his temper had already sparked and once that was the case there was no going back or listening to reason.
Screw the Christmas spirit. Nobody treated his Mama badly and got away with it. Nobody. Not even some rich asshole that thought the world revolved around him and if Felix had to be the one to call him out on his Grinch behavior, then so be it.
Chapter Two
Gibson Frost had lost his key to Silver Creek Manor. The large family estate on the north side of the city was nearly an hour drive from his own home so doubling back to retrieve the key had ruined his plans for the entire day. He’d been forced to cancel his meeting with a colleague over lunch and would undoubtedly end up working until the wee hours of the morning, not that either of those things was rare in his world. But to think that the reason his day had been blown to hell was because his Uncle had refused to allow him entrance into the home that had become his fortress was infuriating.
His uncle had known he was coming. Gibson made the drive up to the manor to check on Roman at least once a week and at least once a week the bastard attempted to lock him out. He avoided answering his phone and pretended he didn’t hear the doorbell. Hence the key that Gibson always, always, took with him but had somehow misplaced and left behind today.
He fumed even as he tried to figure out how the key had ended up tucked behind a vase on his kitchen counter. He hadn’t put it there, of that he was certain. Considering he didn’t let strangers into his life, let alone his home, the list of possible suspects was short.
Louise, his housekeeper, would have hung it back on the key rack if she’d found it. His personal assistant, Julian, would have held onto it until he could return it to Gibson in person. The only other person that had been in his home recently was his youngest brother, Dawson.
Gibson hated that Dawson was the obvious culprit. He loved his little brother. He loved both of his younger brothers. Even when Branson was being a spoiled, self-indulgent shit, Gibson couldn’t hold it again him. And Dawson, as the baby of the family, the best of them, the only one of them that seemed to have survived the loss of their parents unscathed, could get away with anything.
Not that he was a bad kid. Quite the opposite. He was kind and considerate. He was wise beyond his years, but he knew how to balance laughter with seriousness. Despite being the youngest, Dawson looked out for them all in his own way. He looked after Roman more than any of them, which was how Gibson knew his brother was the one that had hidden his key to their Uncle’s home.
Roman was a recluse. He had been ever since the accident that had taken his brother, Dornan, and his brother’s wife, Gayle, from the world far too soon. Roman had been left scarred, mentally and physically, in the wreck that took their lives and he’d pulled further and further away from the real world, and from the nephews that loved him, each year that had passed.
He’d walked away from the family company. He’d put Gibson, the eldest, in charge of all their lives. Gibson had been struggling to fill the too large shoes of his father and deal with the ghost that was his Uncle ever since.
He worked nonstop to keep the family business at the top of the financial heap. He spent what little free time he had attempting to reign in Branson’s flamboyant antics and attempts at self-destruction. He made sure Dawson stayed on course and had everything he could ever want or need. And he checked on Roman, even when his uncle didn’t want him to.
That was why he’d made the trip back to his house to get the key. That was why he would return to the manor and force his way inside. That was why he would fight with Roman if need be, because that was what he did.
His entire life revolved around keeping what was left of his family intact.
That was also why he was so lost in his thoughts, in his frustrations and the dark thoughts that lurked in the back of his mind, that he almost didn’t see the man coming up his driveway until he was right on top of him.
He didn't recognize the man but there was something familiar about him that Gibson couldn't quite place. He had dark brown skin that somehow looked like it would be warm to the touch despite the chill in the arm. He wasn't a big man, probably an inch or so shy of six foot. He was built though. That was easy to see, even beneath the thickly corded dark green sweater he was wearing. Despite being smaller than Gibson, the man was built solidly and it became clear he was seriously handsome as he came closer, causing Gibson to take a step back.
It was only as he did that he caught the mental slip. Handsome? He blinked and then frowned at the other man that was now just a foot away from him. He didn’t allow himself to have those kinds of thoughts about men anymore and it instantly put him on the defensive.
“Hey. I need to talk to you.” The other man’s voice was soft and melodic in a way that seemed to slide over Gibson’s every nerve ending, which only annoyed him further.
“I’m sorry. I don’t really have time. I’m on my way out so if you have a card, you can leave it in the box and I’ll take a look at your rates when I get back.” He thought his response had been a perfectly polite dismissal but the other man jerked his head back, his dark brows furrowing.
“Rates?”
“For your service.” Gibson explained, his own confusion growing even as he watched it disappear from that handsome face and turn to something hot and angry.
“For my service? Seriously?” He all but growled, “You think I’m here to be your lawn guy? Because I’m brown right? God, you rich assholes are all the same. I’m not here to be of service to you, Richy Rich. I’m here to tell you that if you ever, and I mean ever, set foot on my parent’s property again, the only service you’re going to need is from a doctor.”
Gibson took another step back at the venom in the other man’s voice. Shit. This man wasn’t walking the neighborhood looking for new clients. Gibson hadn’t just been wrong though. He’d been downright insulting which hadn’t been his intention. The man was clearly of Hispanic descent with those beautiful dark eyes rimmed in equally dark, long lashes, and that golden skin. Gibson had insinuated that he could only be here to do yard work, which wasn’t just insulting but at the very least borderline racist and fuck, he hadn’t meant it to sound like that at all.
He was just in a bad mood. It was a bad time of year for him. And he was terrible with people even on the best day, because he was an asshole.
“It wasn’t my intention to imply…” He started but the other man held his hand up and cut him off.
“I really don’t give a shit what your intentions were. I’m only here to make mine clear. Stay away from my mother.”
“Your mother?” Gibson felt like his brain was in a spin cycle.
“Yeah. My mother.” The man all but rolled his eyes as he pointed over his shoulder, “You threatened her and forced her to take down her holiday decorations you condescending asshole.”
“Oh…”
“Yeah. Oh.” The other man sneered.
