Page 60 of War on Christmas

Unfortunately, most people don’t agree. Most people want to breeze over conflict as quickly as possible, even if that means leaving injustice unchallenged.

I lucked out landing at The Sphere. I fit there, where bold truth-telling and daily drama are the norm, not a horrifying fall from grace. With my artsy little Sphere family, I can live authentically, and I don’t have to worry about being punished—aka fired—for being who I am. However, I’m well aware that The Sphere is not the “real world.” And it’s not Jeremy’s world, with golf outings and a company culture of “keep the customer happy.” (Or whatever it is those wealthy capitalists say.)

The worst part? Jeremy gets me. I’m pretty sure Jeremylovesme. But the world he lives in? It does not, and he needs someone who will fit there. Someone who will charm his boss and smile pleasantly when he takes clients out to dinner. And as much hell as I give him for his safe, stable, 401(k) lifestyle, I understand why he craves that security. Especially now that I know about Gary giving him the boot when he left for college.

“So you’re just going to let Ryan and his asshole family convince you to be alone forever?” Thad scoffs, irritated now. Hecate jumps from his lap with a feline huff. “That’s not like you, Frey. Why would you give them that kind of—”

I chuckle, rolling to my side so I can face him. “It’s not just Ryan. It’s a lot of experiences, Good Twin. Experiences that all add up. The Ryan situation just helped me see it all a lot more clearly.” I smile, trying to prove to him I’m ok. Maybe trying to prove it to myself, too. “I like me the way I am. And I’ll take the hits to be her. It’s a price I’m happy to pay, but…” I sigh, “…it makes me a liability to a partner. Eventually, I’ll say or do the wrong thing—because to me it will feel like therightthing—and the cost of being with me won’t be worth it to them anymore. I know you think I’m so brave, but…”Oh, fuck.I bite my bottom lip to stop it from trembling, and I can see Thad’s Adam’s apple bob in response.

Twin emotions are hard. Especially Scorpio twins. Twice the angst.

Because I can’t ignore the revelation I had during my little bathtub chat with Sam. Somehow, I managed to fall for Jeremy. My heels slipped, my arms spun in the air with nothing to grab onto, and I tumbled over the edge, all powered by childhood nostalgia, steamy make-out sessions, and orgasms.

Or maybe, like Sam said, I fell a long time ago.

These feelings, though? They don’t change the outcome. They don’t change the fact that, five days from today, Christmas will be here, and it will be time to go back to the real world. And I don’t want to put myself—or him—through the pain of trying to contort myself into something I’m not. Something I could never be.

I love him too much to put him through that.

Which leaves me hurtling toward the ground, about to splat, and the only move left is to figure out how to land so that I might—might—have a chance of picking up the pieces again someday.

Right now, my game plan is simple: Make these days count. Have the hot sex and the whispered conversations. Reminisce together. Be in the moment. Make memories.

Then, when it’s time, have the wisdom to let go.

“Frey?” Thad asks, and I shake my head, trying to clear my mood. I have the rest of my life to brood and feel sorry for myself. Now isn’t the time.

“It’s ok.” I offer him a wobbly smile. “I’m going to be ok.”

“None of this is ok. You’re making—”

The soft slide of the window interrupts him, and he snaps his mouth shut, making the room silent as Jeremy pulls himself through the open window and closes it behind him. He spots me on my bed right away and takes a step toward me, but as I sit up, I nod toward the corner where Thad is now sitting with a grimace, his hands held over his eyes.

“Oh, um…” Jeremy clears his throat. “Hey…man.”

“I was just leaving,” Thad says, stumbling out of the papasan chair with one hand still over his eyes. As if Jeremy might start stripping down while he’s still in the room. When he makes it to the doorway, feeling along the wall and furniture with his free hand, he mutters a quiet, “Good night,” and clicks the door shut behind him.

“Lock it,” I whisper, and Jeremy immediately obeys. Then I hold out my hand and crook my finger in a “come hither” gesture. He’s been adamant about not letting me boss him around in the bedroom—and I’ve enjoyed the challenge—but tonight his feet follow my commands, like I’m a puppet master with his strings twined around my purple-tipped fingers.

He slides out of his snowy sneakers as he walks across the room, and as he gets close, I spread my knees wide to accommodate him. But instead of pushing me back into the mattress like I expect him to, he lowers himself to his knees in front of me and buries his head in my thigh, his arms wrapping around my hips and pulling me close.

“Freya…” he mumbles into my leg, his voice gravelly, and my heart starts skipping at the sound of his distress. Clearly, he was as upset by the Ryan story as Thad was.

“Asshat,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. My fingertips sift through the silky strands of his hair. “I’m totally fine. I promise. I swear to the gods—every last one of them—that the second that fucker’s fingers touched my skirt, my knee was so far up his groin I probably bruised his spleen.” He laughs, a dry, unhappy sound, and pulls me closer. “Come on,” I urge, hooking my hands under his armpits and pulling up, as if I could possibly budge him on my own. “That was almost a decade ago. I literally never even think of it anymore.”

Except for every Thanksgiving, when I always eat a drumstick in memory of Mr. Taylor’s right nut. May it rest in peace.

“Don’t let that ruin our night,” I whisper. Jeremy is letting me win, following along as I tug him onto the bed with me. I scooch backward on the mattress, and he fits his chest to mine. When I make it up to the pillows, he goes limp, pinning me beneath his considerable weight, and I dip my head into the crook of his shoulder, breathing in his scent of crisp night air and laundry detergent. “I mean, for all we know, old Mrs. Johnson and old Mr. Pasterski will burn down the neighborhood tomorrow over Baby Jesus Gate, and we’ll spend the rest of the holiday in emergency housing.” My hands drift down his back to the round muscles of his ass, and I grab on tight. “We should really take advantage of the privacy while we have it.”

He shakes his head against mine and eases my hands back onto the comforter. I pout, but he slides to the side and rolls me toward him, so we’re face to face, his nose just a couple inches from mine.

“You’re sure you’re ok?” he asks, his fingertips floating along my cheek.

“Yes,” I promise. “Absolutely. Now can we…” My hand trails down his stomach this time, but he catches my wrist and lifts it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss where my pulse jumps.

“Can I—” He clears his throat. “Can I just hold you? Just for tonight?”

My first instinct is to protest. It’s not like I was traumatized by what happened. It was the emotional toll of the breakup that hurt the worst. Mr. Taylor’s right nut was just collateral damage. However, one look into Jeremy’s earnest eyes, and I soften, letting my body go limp against his.

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