Page 7 of Daddy's Christmas Obsession
I close my eyes, imagining it—Aaron realizing he made a mistake, the two of us working things out in the setting of a mountain cabin, everything going back to normal.
"You really think he wants to fix this?"
"I think," Victor says carefully, "that both of you deserve the chance to spend Christmas somewhere beautiful, away from all the noise. To remember why you fell for each other in the first place."
The way he says "fell for each other" sends a shiver down my spine. There's something in his voice that makes me think he understands more about falling than a man his age should.
"I don't know if that's a good idea," I say, even as everything in me wants to say yes. "If he really needs space—"
"Space is the last thing either of you need right now." Victor's voice becomes firmer. "What you need is clarity. And sometimes clarity only comes when you remove the distractions and focus on what truly matters."
I find myself nodding though he can't see me. My gaze falls on the scattered papers across my desk—research notes on targeted nanoparticle delivery systems for cancer treatment. The project that had consumed my life before everything fell apart, the one I'd stayed up until 4 AM perfecting just two nights before Aaron walked out. The same project now in jeopardy because my faculty advisor's funding had been cut.
"When would we go?"
"Tomorrow afternoon. I'll send a car for you around two. Pack for a week—warm clothes, comfortable things. The cabin is fully stocked, so you won't need to worry about anything except reconnecting with my son."
Tomorrow. My mind races through the logistics—I'd need to call in sick to work, figure out what to pack. But the possibility of fixing things with Aaron makes all the practical concerns seem insignificant.
More than that, though, there's something about Victor's voice that makes me want to say yes. The way he talks about clarity and focus, like he understands exactly what I need even when I don't. The careful attention he's paying to this situation, to me, like I matter in ways that go beyond being his son's girlfriend.
"Kyra?" Victor's voice pulls me back. "Are you still there?"
"Yes, I'm... I'm here. I'm just thinking."
"Don't think too hard," he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "Sometimes the heart knows what it wants before the mind catches up."
The heart knows what it wants. Something about those words makes my pulse quicken.
"Okay," I whisper, deciding before I can second-guess myself. "Okay, I'll come."
"Excellent." The satisfaction in his voice is unmistakable. "Text me your address, and I'll make sure the car finds you. And Kyra?"
"Yes?"
"Whatever's broken between you and Aaron... it can be fixed. Trust me on that."
The line goes dead, leaving me staring at my phone. Victor Strickland just offered me a chance to win back the man I love, and despite every rational instinct telling me this is too good to be true, I find myself already mentally packing.
I walk to my desk and touch my research proposal. The project had been my ticket to the prestigious Werner Fellowship—a guaranteed position that would have covered my final year of medical school and set me up for the residency of my choice. I'd spent months perfecting the targeted drug delivery system, engineering nanoparticles that could cross the blood-brain barrier and release their payload only when they encountered specific tumor markers.
The photo of my parents sits next to my laptop, their smiles frozen in time. Mom, gone at thirty-four from a treatable infection that went septic because she couldn't afford antibiotics. Dad, two years later, from complications of pneumonia he ignored because he couldn't miss work to see a doctor. Simple things. Preventable things. The reason I'd thrown myself into medicine and research with such intensity. No one should die from treatable conditions.
But yesterday, the email came. Due to university budget cuts, the fellowship program was being suspended indefinitely. And this morning, Professor McQuillan—my research supervisor andstrongest advocate—had called to inform me he'd accepted a sudden position at Stanford. Effective immediately. No warning, no transition plan for his students. Just like that, my future had crumbled. One more loss in a week of devastating losses.
I open my laptop and pull up the project files, clicking through diagrams and data sets that represent hundreds of hours of work. Work that might now be worthless. My finger hovers over the email icon—I could write to Dr. McQuillan again, beg for an extension, for any kind of alternative funding source.
Instead, I close the laptop. Maybe Victor is right. Maybe what I need right now is clarity. Distance from the chaos. A chance to focus on what matters.
I reach for my phone, my thumb hovering over Aaron's contact. Three days of silence. Three days of wondering what went wrong, what I could have done differently, whether any of it was real. I should call him, ask if he knows about his father's invitation, if this reconciliation is something he actually wants.
But what if he says no? What if he confirms that it's really over?
I set the phone down without making the call. Better to hold onto hope a little longer, to believe that Victor knows his son better than I do. That this invitation is exactly what it seems—a chance to repair what's broken.
I pull my suitcase from the closet and begin to pack. Warm sweaters, comfortable jeans, the red dress I wore the night Aaron first told me he loved me. Practical items for a week in the mountains. For a second chance at the future I thought I'd lost.
As I fold clothes, I try to focus on Aaron. On his smile, his laugh, the way he used to look at me when I talked about my research. But another image keeps intruding—Victor standing in his study, powerful and contained, his eyes seeing too much, his fingers gentle against my skin.
