Page 94 of Brittle Heart

“I don’t know,” she contemplates, sounding unsure.

“You’ll come,” Xander’s voice comes from the back, leaving no room for argument.

“Okay,” she whispers.

God, I would love to know if she would comply so easily if he told her to come when we were all in bed together.

When?

Fuck.

“So now that this is settled, what do you want Santa to bring you?” I ask.

“Are you serious right now?” She raises her eyebrows at me. I nod, but she huffs out, “Unlike you, I’m not twelve anymore.”

I hear Angela snicker, but I ignore her. “Okay, no Santa, then. But what are your wishes for Christmas? Josh and Sophia were talking about what they could get you, but I want to give you the best present since I’m your best friend. So, I just ask what you want,” I say.

Her eyes go wide. “They want to buy me something for Christmas?”

“We,” I correct her. “We are going to buy you something.”

“Please don’t.” She looks a little panicked.

“Why?” I furrow my brows.

“Just don’t,” she says, her eyes pleading with me.

I search her face, and it’s clear that she’s genuinely asking me not to.

“What’s the problem with Christmas presents?” I ask her.

Her bored mask slips for a moment, and she looks almost vulnerable. But then, she steps back, and her face shows nothing but indifference again.

“Nothing, I am just not a child anymore, and when you don’t know me enough to know what to get me, you don’t know me enough to get me a present in the first place.”

“It’s a beautiful day to get to know each other better.” I smirk at her.

“It’s a beautiful day to leave me alone,” she deadpans.

* * *

Xander

As I’m changing the needles on the tattoo machine, Angela huffs and laughs. “I can’t decide if they love or hate each other. It’s like a verbal foreplay. Aren’t you worried?” she asks teasingly.

“It’s fine. They’re just friends and bickering,” I explain.

“Isn’t that like Clay’s love language?” she asks, her tone filled with humor.

But her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I glance over at Carolina, catching Clay smiling down at her.

“Xander, I’m sorry, I was just joking,” Angela quickly apologizes, “You guys are the perfect couple, and a blind man could see how much Clay loves you. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“You didn’t,” I say, trying to reassure her, but my mind is still spinning with her words. I hadn’t considered the possibility of Clay having real feelings for Carolina, and the thought leaves me feeling strangely unsettled.

Never in my life have I been unsure of Clay’s love. I am still not. What I am unsure about is the pint-size but fierce woman who brings stars to my boy’s eyes.

Clay has a thing for broken souls—Exhibit A, me. It’s like catnip for his hero complex. And Carolina screams broken and in need of a savior with every fiber of her being.

---