Page 22 of Knot what I want for Christmas
“What happened?” he asks.
“Cocktails,” I say. “Cocktails are what happened.”
“Ah,” Tucker says with a lopsided smile. “Travis’s cocktails are pretty lethal. I’m surprised Annie didn’t warn you.”
“I think that’s what Annie was going for,” I say. “Tonight was all about letting my hair down.”
“It’s been a rough year for you,” Nash says sympathetically, as Tucker tucks what is probably a vomit-coated lock of hair behind my ear, and I don’t know why or what’s happening or if it’s the alcohol all over again, but I feel another rumbling inside me and this time it’s not creamy pasta vomit, it’s a sob. It comes bubbling up into my throat and I can’t hold it back, and all of a sudden I’m sobbing into my hands – full-on sobbing, my whole body shaking with it.
“Yes,” I splutter. “It’s been a really really really tough year.”
I’m cold, I’m drunk, I’m far from home. It’s Christmas and I really miss my mom. Really really really miss her. An aching gnawing missing her that burrows right down to my bones. All Iwant is a hug from my mom, but she’s not here anymore. She’s not here to wrap her arms around me and tell me everything’s okay. And that seems truly and brutally unfair.
Except, before I know it, a pair of armsarewrapping themselves around me and I’m being pulled into a hug. A great big warm hug that smells of pine forests, cedar, and the open countryside. I’m enveloped in a strong pair of arms and held against a hard, muscular chest.
“Hey,” a voice says tenderly, rough stubble grazing my ear. It’s Tucker’s. “It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry,” I say as I continue to blubber into his shirt, making a nice wet stain that’s probably black from my mascara.
“It’s alright,” he says. “You go ahead. You go ahead and cry. Let it all out, sweetheart.”
I do just that. Mostly because I can’t help it. Mostly because I haven’t had many hugs since my mom died, and not many chances to cry about it either.
Above my sobbing I hear footsteps crunch in the snow and then Clay’s voice.
“What’s wrong?” he says, with alarm. “What happened?”
“She’s sad,” Nash explains. “She’s had a sad year.”
“More likely to be the alcohol,” Clay mutters. “I think we ought to take her home.”
I tip back my head. All that time and effort I spent on my makeup and my hair, and I’m pretty sure I must look a complete wreck right now. Plus I must smell of vom.
“But what about Annie,” I say, “and Mr. J?”
“I expect Annie will be more than happy to get a ride home with Travis,” Tucker tells me. Clay snorts somewhere behind him. “And Mr. J will appreciate not having to drive out here in the middle of the night.”
I nod. That does sound true. “I’d better check that’s okay with Annie first, though,” I say. I’m not about to disappear on mybest friend, even if she is in the process of hooking up with one seriously hot barman.
Tucker goes to argue, but I shake my head. “It’s girl code,” I explain.
“Okay,” he says. “Can’t go against girl code.”
“It’s absolutely forbidden.”
“Totally.”
All four of us squeeze our way back into the bar. It’s much later now and, although the bar is heaving, it’s not quite as busy as it was a couple of hours ago. We find Annie still sitting by the bar, deep in conversation with Travis.
“We’re taking Hollie home,” Clay tells his sister.
Annie immediately jumps off her seat. “We’re going already?” she says.
I take her hands in mine. “No, I’m going,” I say. “I’m not feeling so hot. I guess I can’t drink like I used to. You stay here.” I do the eyes thing that lets her know I’m more than happy for her to stay with the hot barman.
She grins at me and then wraps me in a hug, immediately jumping straight back. “Geez, Hollie, you smell revolting.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Like I said, the alcohol may not have agreed with me.”
