Chapter 1

Chapter One

Elena

This year Christmas can kiss my lily-white ass.

I have always loved Christmas. You know the girl, the one who blasts Mariah Carey’s album as soon as it hits December 1 st . I screwed up and this year everything has gone to shit. My boyfriend cheated on me, and I’ve spiraled. They tell me day drinking isn’t attractive when you haven’t stopped drinking from the night before, but heartbreak does that to you.

Though that isn’t how I screwed up.

I revenge-fucked my ex-boyfriend Blake’s older brother in a particularly messy drunken moment. It seemed like a great idea at the time.

But when Blake found out—because apparently a big mouth runs in their family—the news spread, and I had to leave before the shit hit the fan.

Blake’s family and mine are spending Christmas together. It’s a tradition we follow every year and have since we were kids. The kicker: Blake has invited his new girlfriend. I’m supposed to accept it and move on with a smile on my face. I can imagine it now, the looks and whispers from both families.

Luckily, my uncle—who isn’t much older than us—thinks the entire situation is hilarious and has my back. He also gave me the keys to his obnoxiously fancy apartment in his gated community with the instruction to wind down for a week and come up with a game plan. Actually, he told me to swipe right on some pretty asshole and pay them to be my date for Christmas dinner. Either gorgeous or a felon because it would make my mom—his older sister—lose her mind. He insists I don’t have to be the good girl my entire life and we only live once. That I should take the bull by the horns, whatever the hell that means, and have some fun.

Fun seems overrated. So far, it’s gotten me boyfriendless and lifted me to whore status among the Turner family, despite Blake cheating on me first. Thanks to wallowing in my heartbreak, I am flunking most of my classes. I never wanted to go to college, but it was expected of me. Now, at almost twenty-one, I still don’t know what I want to do with my life. My best friend Ana is my only saving grace right now.

“So,” Ana says as I answer her call. There’s no hello, no how are you, and that’s why we’re best friends.

“What did you do?” I ask her. Ana is Blake’s twin sister and the only one who hasn’t painted me as the bad guy.

She cackles like a crazy person, and she really is crazy. If it were up to her, we would be out partying, snorting crack, and finding hot guys to get under.

“Why do you always think I did something?”

“Because you always do.”

She laughs because she knows it’s true. “This time I didn’t do anything, but I heard someone robbed the Wells family. I’ve been telling you for years it was going to happen. Who needs that kind of wealth? They stole a painting worth a hundred million dollars. Isn’t that messed up? People are starving, and some rich dick has a painting worth that much.”

“It is, but what’s the point of me knowing this information?”

“Oh, there isn’t one—it was more for me. I had a wake and bake, and I was thinking how cool it would be to be kidnapped and chased by criminals.”

That makes me laugh as I pull onto the road leading to the apartment. “You’re out of your mind. It sounds good in theory, but in real life, they are probably old and gross. I would be down to be chased through the streets by hot masked men, but in reality, that never happens.”

“It could, you know. I use the Wild Steps website for all my fantasies. My friend Tillie recommended it. What do you have to lose? They give you a safe word, and everyone is vetted.”

I snort. “Knowing my luck, I would get the one whack job who somehow got through the security check. I would be on the news as a missing person by the morning.”

“Stop being a big chicken and look at it. I sent you the link. Speaking of whack jobs, my brother was asking about you. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I think he is only with bitchface because he wants to redeem himself with our parents. He screwed up, and you dumped his ass, so the next best thing is to pretend he made the right choice. You should totally find a date for Christmas dinner—your uncle is right. I want to see the smug look on his face drop when you walk in with a muscular, tattooed beefcake.”

“Who even says beefcake? I just pulled in. Let me call you back—the snow is coming down heavy. And I need to unpack.”

“Okay, but think about the website.”

I tell her I will, so she’ll shut up, and we end the call. Then I unload the car, hauling everything inside.

This place is so obnoxious, the entire neighborhood is. He told me no one stays here during the holidays as they’re so wealthy they flee to warmer weather or their holiday houses. My uncle has been staying at his other apartment while he gets renovations done here. The top floor is finished, but the middle level and basement still have plastic sheets up and work tools are discarded in piles.

My phone rings again, and my uncle’s face pops up on the screen. He should be here tonight, and we will spend a few days together talking shit about our family. I wish his boyfriend Morgan could come with us, but he has to work right up until Christmas Eve. So Eliott is going to come and stay with me, just the two of us—I think mostly to make sure I don’t drink myself into a coma.

“Hey, have you left yet?” I ask him, and my smile drops when he shakes his head.

“Have you seen the news? I won’t be able to get there. The storm has gotten worse, and we are advised to stay indoors and ride it out.”

“I need to get back home,” I say in a panic. I can’t be here on my own.

“You can’t. You’re better off staying safe. Start the fire and keep warm. Charge your devices in case the electricity goes out and enjoy some alone time. I will check in once it passes, but stay inside once it hits.”

“Okay, I will.”

“I forgot to tell you?—”

“Eliott? Can you hear me?”

“Len—”

The call drops out, damn it. I sigh as look around. My uncle is wealthy, though my mom hates how he made his money. It was from “selling himself online” as she says, but his content, from what he tells me, is tasteful. Besides, all the zeros speak for themselves. When you think of an apartment in a gated community, you think of something little and cozy. Not this monstrosity. It has three levels, with a porch on every level. The place is a maze when you don’t know where you’re going, and you can run in circles if you take a wrong turn. I swear he’s just a big kid, though—there’s even a slide inside which goes from the top floor to the bottom. But hands down the indoor heated pool is my favorite place to be with its full floor-to-ceiling glass windows that overlook the backyard, which is designed like a magical wonderland, and it’s even prettier covered in snow. The back deck is directly outside, boasting a raised fire pit, and in the warmer months it really looks like an oasis surrounded by small shrubs, plants, and flowers.

Pulling out my laptop and charger, I plug it in and open the lid, making sure I downloaded episodes of every TV series I’m currently watching. Somehow my phone picks up a moment of service, and a message from Ana pops up on my socials. I open the message and see it’s a picture of Blake and his brother on top of each other. Codey has Blake pinned to the floor, and the new girlfriend is off to the side.

Ana

Your name was mentioned, and all hell broke loose. Family game night is off to a good start.

I snort, but the tears flow as my gut twists at the memory of attending those game nights. There was a time I looked forward to them so much. I love the Turners like my own family.

The depression I’ve felt all week after finding out Blake is seeing the woman he cheated on me with hits hard and fast. I know I shouldn’t get drunk again, but I still walk over to the bar just off the kitchen and pour myself a shot. My uncle has expensive taste, and I hope he doesn’t mind me wiping out his whiskey. I grab the crystal decanter and make my way over to his lounge. Sitting down, I pull out my phone, open my album, and scroll through the photos of Blake and me together. We were so happy, and I don’t know how we got here. It’s not like we were too busy for each other. We always had date nights, family game nights, and Sunday dinners with each other’s family. Our sex life was fine. Could we have spiced things up more? Probably. But I don’t think it was bad enough he needed to go elsewhere.

Looking hard at the photo Ana sent me, I wonder what she has that I don’t. She is taller than me, which really isn’t hard. And all around, she has a more womanly figure, unlike me, who, when dressed in an oversized hoodie like I am now, could pass as a teenage boy from behind.

I laugh at myself. Of course, he would leave me for someone like her; she looks like wife material. One of those women who turns up at school pickup not in her pajamas, who has their shit together and uses a planner. I’m a total mess in comparison. I set alarms to remind myself to do anything and live in my pajamas more often than not. Blake used to say he loved my freckles and would kiss my nose, promising me forever.

Ugh, now I’m just torturing myself.

Placing the decanter of whiskey down on the oversized, extravagant marble coffee table in front of me, I throw my phone to the floor. I can’t keep looking at his stupid face. It’s time—I need to move on, and I cannot do it by using his brother Codey. Thankfully, after our drunken one-night stand, he agreed it never should have happened.

The chill in the air has me moving downstairs to the basement on the hunt for wood. My uncle said there is enough down there to last the entire winter. That is, if I can even start a fire—who has wood fires anymore?

I curse him as I head down to the second level—couldn’t he have sprung for an elevator rather than a slide? This level is a mess of clear plastic sheets hanging from the open ceiling beams. I don’t bother snooping around since it’s colder down here, and I stupidly didn’t put on more layers.

The door to the basement is closed, and my heart rate spikes simply thinking about going down there alone. Maybe I watched one too many scary movies over Halloween, but I know bad shit happens in the basement. Though I’m not sure it would happen in this neighborhood.

Opening the door, I look down into the void. It’s so dark I inhale a deep breath and race down the stairs as quickly as possible. I was told the light switch is at the bottom of the stairs, which is a flawed design, if you ask me.

After a few moments of feeling around the wall while my eyes adjust to the darkness, I finally find the switch and flick on the lights. The open space is filled with packing boxes and stacks of furniture covered in sheets. I spy the firewood neatly piled in a corner and then realize my mistake: I should have brought something to carry it up in. After a search, I manage to find an empty box and stack it full.

The floorboards above my head creak, and I freeze as I listen for the sound of footsteps before shaking off the feeling of dread. There is no one here but me, so it must be the old floorboards moving in this weather. The place is being updated, but a lot of the second level still needs work—I bet that’s what it is.

Hearing no more creaking, I load the box into my arms and head back upstairs, all the while hoping like hell I have enough service to Google how to start a fire. I feel stupid not knowing, but we’ve never had a wood fire in my life. I’ve never needed to start one, as I’m not really a camping kind of girl. Bugs and dirt are not my idea of fun.

I head back upstairs with my box of wood, ditching it next to the fireplace and grabbing my phone from the floor. I find Mariah Carey’s Christmas album and the decanter of whiskey. Then I sing at the top of my lungs while I cry and use it as a microphone, momentarily forgetting about the firewood.

Maybe I don’t need a fire after all. Drinking has made my legs feel sweaty, so I take off my pants and kick them across the room. The oversized hoodie of Blake’s falls almost to my knees and will keep me warm enough but not too hot.

Taking another sip of the whiskey, I continue to belt out the Christmas songs, pissed that Blake has ruined them for me this year.