Page 40 of Beneath the Stands (Sugarlake 2)

The truth is, I don’t think there’s a holiday I hate more. Growing up, all my friends spent the time loving on their families and spreading Christmas cheer. Mine was spent listening about our savior, Jesus Christ, and reading scripture. Our tree was set up before I even had a chance to know it was in the house—tucked in the corner, and pristine in its glory.

Sometimes, I’d try to touch it, marveling in the twinkly white lights and crystal ornaments. That was always a quick way to get a wooden spoon on the butt. After all, Christmas isn’t for the children. It’s for celebrating Jesus. No reason to indulge in silly traditions like Santa, or throwing on cheesy Christmas songs while we decorate the tree. No hot chocolate by the fire while we read a story, or cozy cuddles in front of the TV. I had presents, of course. Usually a new Bible or a nice Sunday outfit. Something to honor God, and the fact he sent us his most precious gift—his only son.

My phone vibrates, bringing me out of my thoughts.

Eli: Baby girl, if you stay with me for the holidays, I’ll get you the world.

My stomach flutters, and I bite my cheek to stifle the grin. I know he doesn’t mean it. We can’t even be seen together. But the thought of spending Christmas with him already feels like the best part of any world I’ve ever had.

To say my folks were unhappy with my decision would be an understatement. Not that Papa told me himself, I still haven’t heard from him since my first day in Florida.

Momma, on the other hand, has been screeching in my ear ever since I told her, talking about how bad it will look for me to not come home for the holidays. I let her words roll off my shoulders. I’ve gotten used to the disappointment that comes along with making my own decisions.

Just as I pull into Eli’s driveway, my phone rings. I look down, aching to see my folks’ name flashing across the screen, calling to wish me a Merry Christmas.

I should know better than to hope.

Lee.

I swear that girl has a sixth sense, calling and texting every time I’m sneaking around with her brother.

“Hey, girl!” I cringe at how high-pitched my voice comes across. I pray she doesn’t notice.

“Becca! Merry Christmas! We miss you around here.”

“I miss you too, sister. What ya got planned for tonight?”

“Not much. Just wranglin’ together a Christmas dinner for Daddy and me.”

My brows furrow. “Y’all aren’t gonna go to the service?”

“No, Daddy’s not feelin’ too well, so we’re stayin’ in tonight.”

“That sucks. Just you and your old man then?”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “Just got off the phone with Eli, but it was quick. He’s not here, so I don’t really care to talk.”

The blood ices over in my veins, freezing me in place. I glance at Eli’s house. Guilt slams into my chest, cracking it open and pouring over my insides.

“Anyway, I gotta go check on the ham, just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas and say how much I love you. I wish you were home.”

I blow out a breath, bile climbing my throat because while she’s busy mourning the absence of her brother, I’m about to walk in and revel in his time. “I love you, too. Give your daddy and Jax a kiss from me, alright?”

The line goes silent, and I toss my phone in my bag, banging my head against the steering wheel. I hate myself for the secrets. I look up, staring at Eli’s garage door. I should just start my car, and reverse the hell out of his neighborhood. Go home while I still can.

When I raise my head, the front door is open—Eli resting against the frame, watching me. I take in his dark jeans, black polo, and messy blond hair, a fire striking low in my abdomen. The guilt withers away, perishing in the flames.

I jump out of my car, making my way to him.

“Hi, big head.” I smile.

He grins, gesturing me inside. I walk by him, but before I get far, I’m hauled back against his broad chest. His arms wrap around my waist, every hard inch of his body plastered to mine. I close my eyes, melting into him.

“Merry Christmas, baby girl.” His breath whispers along the wisps of my hair, goose bumps running down my arms.

I look over my shoulder and grin, pushing off him, and walking into his living room. I only make it a few feet before stopping in my tracks. There’s a gigantic tree standing tall, perfectly showcased in front of his floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the ocean. Christmas music floats softly through the air.

My hands brace against my chest.

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