Page 63 of Mistletoe Latte

“You let her out of the house looking like that? She’s got enough makeup on to be the town bicycle.”

For the love of…“Maybe if you were here, you could have had some say in how much makeup she has on.” Not that it was bad. All Nick cared was it got her to stop scream-crying, and he’d seen thicker on toddlers. “I’m doing the best I can.”

“And when she gets knocked up at sixteen by some smooth-talking, motorcycle riding brat with a wispy mustache…?”

“You mean how Skylar was created in the first place?” Nick volleyed back.

People didn’t like to talk about how her mom just made it out of high school to give birth. People preferred to pretend it was young love while Nick ran off to the Marines to escape their shouting matches. His pacing led him to the wall with the pictures his parents had put up. In an eight by ten-inch frame, Pete at age nine stood on top of a six-year-old Nick. He looked so proud with a pixie stick clenched between his teeth like a multi-colored cigarette.

Even though his brother had three years on him, it became Nick’s job to keep him in line. He thought he’d escaped that role until the whole family came crashing down. He couldn’t protect his brother, but there was one person he could save.

“Skylar’s got a good head on her shoulders…more or less.” For all her bitching, she put in the work, she got good grades. Better than her father and uncle. All he had to do was guide her past the sea of hormones to college, and he was home free.

“I can’t believe what you’ve done to her. I should take her instead.”

For five years Nick raised her. The sobbing fits shifted from skinned knees to bad selfies. With no one else, he’d had to take her bra shopping and tried to not get beaten to a pulp while standing anywhere near the lady’s underwear. He’d comforted her as best as he could despite barely understanding any of it. And now his brother wanted to swoop back in.

“Maybe you should,” Nick said, strangling the phone. “Get a god damn place of your own. Bring your daughter home. Do literally anything beyond blame me and everyone else for you landing your ass in prison!”

“Uh…”

Ah, shit.Nick lowered the phone to his shoulder and turned. Standing in the living room, Emma looked ready to scamper away. She held up a dish towel and whispered, “They’re ready to be dried.”

How the hell am I going to explain this?Nick put on a smile and nodded, placing the phone to his ear. She took the cue and returned to the kitchen. Nick stared along the photos. They grew crisper as the date increased. Next to one of Nick in his fatigues posing by the grill with Pete and their dad was a baby picture of Skylar tucked inside a milk crate. The wall shifted to nothing but Skylar—pigtails, sidewalk chalk, school plays, Santa Claus. Her whole short life was up there, and Pete had missed a third of it.

“Come home for Christmas,” Nick said.

“What?”

“Come home…or I’m telling Skylar the truth.”

Before his brother could weasel his way out of it, Nick ended the call and set his phone to silent. He pulled in a steadying breath and joined Emma in the kitchen. She was already wiping down the plates she’d put dinner on and cleaned.

“Wait, I can—” Nick called before he slumped his shoulders. “Let me do that.”

“It’s all right. I’ve nearly…”

He slipped in beside her and took over. “Doing things with my hands helps.”

“Oh. Okay.” Emma skittered away, pressing her back to the counter.

Here he’d been hoping for a romantic evening alone with her. Instead, the family hydra reared its heads. “He was caught embezzling.” Nick placed the glass on the drying rack and reached for a second. “From the same damn plant we both worked at. I was ‘let go’ just in case.” It was what had pushed him to the cafe, much to Rachel’s delight.

Emma didn’t respond. She had her arms crossed in a self-hug, but any questions remained locked away so Nick kept talking.

“He didn’t move away for a job. He got two years in the state pen once they caught him. Would have been even worse if they’d found the Oxycontin on him.” It’d started thanks to an accident at the plant that became a full-blown addiction.

“Skylar was just six when he was arrested. Took them two years to get to trial and convict him. At first, it was easier to not tell her what happened. Daddy stole money so he could buy pills wasn’t exactly show-and-tell material.”

Their father had to cash out his pension to afford a lawyer who kept telling Pete to take a plea deal. But Pete admitting he was wrong was like asking the sun to burn cold.

Emma shifted in the fallen silence and asked, “If he was only away for two years…?”

“There were a few cycles of addiction, sobering up, then falling down the rabbit hole. We kept hoping he’d finally kicked it. Once you hit rock bottom you either bounce back up…or go six feet under. He’s in a halfway house now, with some other guys getting off shit. Basically, the worst place for a teenage girl to be. So I’ve kept Skylar fed, clothed, safe to the best of my ability.”

“That’s…”

Nick shook his head hard. “Don’t call me a hero.” He bridled at the word tossed at him like a milk bone to a starving dog whenever people heard about his service. All he’d done was guard over munitions and watched the skin peel off a friend’s face when a car bomb went off. That wasn’t heroic, it was surviving.

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