Page 73 of War on Christmas

“The Justice card,” I say, pinning her with a stare. “It was about me. About your regrets with me.”

She nods. “I messed up in the past—a lot—and I take responsibility for that.” She releases a huge breath. “I alsoreallywant the opportunity to make it right.”

I still feel like shit, the pain of losing Jeremy a wide, gaping hole dead center in my black heart. My head hurts from crying (fine,andthe wine), and my stomach has more knots than a rope at a Boy Scout meeting. But, to my surprise, I also feel something ease and relax. One of those knots—one I wasn’t even aware of—releases its hold.

“How—” I clear my throat, spin my teacup in my hands. “How are you going to make it right?”

“Well, for starters, by being here to support you. When you’re hurting.” Mom smiles gently, then adds, “And by pointing out that you’re making a huge fucking mistake.”

Silence descends, all three of us on the couch freezing. Even Hecate, who’s sprawled across the coffee table, goes still. Mom does not swear. Curse words, she’s always insisted, are unladylike. Curse words show a lack of imagination. Curse words show a lack of decorum.

This f-bomb has been decades in the making.

Next to me, Bethany giggles, followed by Sam. I always thought I’dloveto hear my mom let loose, but now that it’s happened, I’m shook.

“Pardon me?” I ask. Theyoung ladyis implied, but my mom just stares back at me, unrepentant.

“I said,” she repeats, “you’re making a hugefuckingmistake.”

Gods help me, she looks downright pleased with herself, her lips curling at the edges like she’s just discovered a new favorite dessert.

“I didn’t, though.” I shake my head, stomach tightening now that the subject has switched to Jeremy. “I can’t do it. I just…”

“Just what?” Bethany asks, squeezing my knee.

I stare into the murky green-brown of my peppermint tea, struggling to put my worst fears into words.

“I don’t know how—”Shit.Here I go again. I shift my gaze to the white plaster ceiling, blinking rapidly, but the tears still spill down my cheeks, hot and wet. “I don’t know how to love him a…a safe amount.” I’m not sure if that makes sense, but three blurry faces nod, so it must. At least a little. “If I go there, and things don’t work out…” I shudder, shaking my head. “It’ll break me. I know you all think I’m super brave, but I’m not. Not when it comes to him. And his life and mine? They’re too different. He needs something else.Someoneelse. Someone who—”

“He doesn’twantsomeone else,” Sam interrupts. “He wants you, Frey.”

Bethany nods. “Do you have any clue what I’d give to have Drew look at me like Jeremy looks at you?” She fans herself. “Girl, you’d be crazy to walk away from—”

“It hurts too much,” I protest. I set my teacup on the coffee table. Wipe my sweaty palms on the blanket. “Even if—for the sake of argument—it works out. What if somethinghappensto him?” I know he’s a big, burly Viking now, but shit happens. Car accidents. Illness. Cruel twists of fate that pop up out of the blue to ravage people’s lives. “I wouldn’tsurviveit. I’d fall apart. Crumble. Completely lose my—”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Mom shakes her head, then amends. “Well, youwould, but not forever. You’re strong, Freya. Trust me, I know.”

“How?” I whisper.

“Because you’re my daughter,” she says simply.

And somehow…I believe her. I don’tfeelstrong. I feel like death warmed over. With a hangover. But there’s a quiet authority in her voice I respond to. She’s known me since my first breath.Beforemy first breath. For crying out loud, she tells ultrasound stories about me putting Thad into headlocks in utero, wrapping my tiny arms around his neck. (Was it a hug? An attempt to kill off my competition? Nobody knows.) She put Band-Aids on my scraped knees and knows how I like an extra pat of butter on top of my mac ‘n' cheese. However complicated our relationship has become, she’s still my mom, and ifsheknows I’m strong enough for this…maybe I am.

“And,” Bethany adds, “if something did—goddess forbid—happen, you wouldn’t be dealing with it alone.”

“I wouldn’t?” I sniff.

“Nope,” Bethany responds. “You’d have us.” She smiles, her dimple popping. “Your coven.”

Even crying, I manage to roll my eyes.

“You’ll have us no matter what happens with Jeremy,” Sam clarifies, slinging an arm over my shoulders. “But Freya…you and Jeremy?” She smiles. “You belong together.”

Three pairs of eyes stare at me, waiting for me to catch up, but I’m already there.

I need to fix things with Jeremy. I remember the frustration in his eyes yesterday morning, the tension that grabbed every muscle in his body. I know how wrong it felt to me, andIwas the one in control, exerting my will.

Jeremy must feel rejected…powerless.

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