12. On the Radio “Blue Christmas” by Elvis Presley

CHAPTER 12

ON THE RADIO: “BLUE CHRISTMAS” BY ELVIS PRESLEY

“Why this song?” Damien grumbles to himself as he sets Zara’s dining table. “Isn’t it a little early for Christmas tunes?”

“It’s Thanksgiving,” one of his brothers replies, as if that makes it okay.

He places another fork on another snowy napkin and moves on down the line.

“Look, I need you to trade jobs,” his sister says. “The baby is cranky, and I need to get the potatoes in.” She holds up his nephew—Micah, five months old—and pushes the baby against his sternum.

“Cranky, huh?” Damien takes the baby and leans him up against his chest. “And you thought of me?”

“Yup,” she says unapologetically. “He’s fed, but he needs a nap. Dave is on a call. Benito is sharpening my carving knife, and Mom is making gravy. And Alec is…I don’t even know. Probably sexting May in a corner somewhere.”

Micah starts to cry. Uh-oh . “What does Micah enjoy these days?”

“Well, driving. And rocking. Sing him a song. I’ll be right in the kitchen.”

Damien carries the crying baby in a circuit of Zara’s lovely home, while the little guy balls his tiny hands into fists and rubs his eyes.

“ Hush little baby, don’t say a word. Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird ,” he sings. God, it’s an odd song. It starts weird, and then rapidly escalates from birds to diamond rings .

Damien would like a word with the composer.

Micah doesn’t mind, though. He’s gone from full-on crying to merely fussy. And his eyes are drooping.

“You could try putting him in the car seat,” Zara calls as he passes through the kitchen. “Or the crib, but he’s more likely to protest.”

From his pocket his phone lets out a particular ping that means someone wants an Uber. By force of habit, he reaches into his pocket to check on the fare.

Until last year, there were no Uber drivers in this part of Vermont. And now there’s only a few of them. Damien was the very first one. And he isn’t about to drive on Thanksgiving.

But then he sees the address on Old Route 16 and does a double take. The ride is for Nicolette O . And she’s requesting a lift to central Colebury, which is only a couple miles from her house.

Nicolette . Hell. It’s been almost a year since he punched her husband, and two years since he saw her last. But he thinks about her a lot, as always.

He does another lap past Zara’s kitchen fireplace, and the phone chirps again.

“Is that Uber?” Benito asks. “On Thanksgiving?”

“Yeah, I know. But it’s her .”

He doesn’t even name her. But every head in the busy kitchen turns to stare.

“No way,” his mother says.

“What does she want?” Benito asks.

He shrugs.

“Go,” Zara says, making a shooing motion with her wooden spoon. “But take the baby with you. He’ll be out like a light.”

“Really? You all think I should accept this ride on Thanksgiving?”

They all stare.

He looks at the screen again. Her avatar is a picture of her sweet face. She’s smiling.

He hits Accept Fare with his thumb.

Ten minutes later, he turns into the driveway and finds the gates are standing open. That’s a first.

Proceed to the guesthouse in back , the ride order said. So he follows the new driveway around the main house, past a ridiculously large garage, and finds a small home nestled into the pine trees beyond.

It’s beautiful, just like everything else on the Overland property. He puts the car in park and waits.

The door opens, and Damien drinks her in. Her hair is tied up in a messy knot on top of her head. She’s wearing a light blue sweater that looks as soft as a cloud. And her kissable mouth is… well, it’s frowning at him. Then she raises a hand and beckons.

Maybe she has luggage? For a trip into town? He kills the engine and opens the door.

“Hi,” she says, crossing her arms and stepping back.

“Hi,” he echoes. “Is there luggage?”

She meets his gaze, and hers is a guilty one. “No. Um. No luggage. I don’t actually need a ride. My car is right there in the garage.” She points.

“I’m so confused right now,” he admits. “Why am I here?”

Her frown becomes stern. “I’m angry at you. And I heard you’re the only Uber driver in this part of Vermont. Please come in.”

A startled laugh escapes from his chest. “Okay? Sure. But I have to get someone first.”

She gives him a look of pure confusion. “Who?”

But he’s already trotting back to the car and pulling the basket-like car seat out off the backseat.

She takes a gasping breath when he rounds the vehicle with Micah, who’s passed out in the seat. “Oh my God, you have a baby ?”

“This is Micah,” he says quietly. “My nephew. Zara’s second child.”

Her eyes tear up for some reason. “He’s so beautiful.”

“Hey,” he whispers. “Are you okay?”

She looks up to meet his gaze and shakes her head. Then she turns to walk inside, and he follows, baby carrier in hand, closing the door against the cold behind himself.

Inside, he finds himself standing in a tidy little kitchen. Nicolette is filling a teapot with water, but her hands are shaky. She abandons it in the sink. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have called. It’s Thanksgiving. But I’m so…” She sighs, and her shoulders droop. “I’m angry .”

“I’m getting that,” he says, setting the baby down gently, so he doesn’t wake. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

She steps away from the stove and kneels down in front of Micah’s sleeping form. “It’s harder to yell at you now that you brought a sleeping baby out in the cold to drive me somewhere. On a holiday. I feel like a heel.”

“He seems pretty okay with it,” Damien says. “If you talk fast, I might not even miss Thanksgiving dinner.” He reaches down and takes her hand. “Come on, Overland. Let’s have this out.”

When she rises, she looks sadder than he’s ever seen her. The urge to wrap her in a hug is strong. But he leads her by the hand into the living room, where there’s a sofa in front of a fireplace.

They sit down, and she bites her lip. “This felt easier when I was summoning you in a rage.”

“What’s my crime?” he asks simply.

She braces her hands on her knees. “In January, I received an envelope in the mail. In Boston. Photos of my husband hitting on a woman in a bar.”

His stomach twists. “Yeah, I might know something about that.”

She frowns. “I couldn’t tell from the photos where the bar was. And the note only said, Sorry. You seem like a nice person . That’s it. No return address, no signature. No other details.” She gives him an arch look. “So I didn’t mention anything to Cam…”

His heart drops. If anything terrible happened to her this year, he’ll feel terrible.

“But I’m not an idiot. So I hired a private detective to watch my husband. It took the guy six weeks to catch him going to a hotel with a stranger he picked up in a bar.”

He briefly drops his head into his hands. “Fuck.”

“Exactly. And I have the photos to prove it. So I hired a lawyer to start on my divorce. I moved out one day while Cam was at work. I left a copy of some of my favorite photos of him on the table.” She rolls her eyes.

A surge of pride fills his chest. “You’re such a badass, Overland.”

She shrugs. “I was shocked, but also not? That doesn’t sound sensible. But the minute I saw those photos, I got it. I still didn’t know who sent them, but I knew that person went to a lot of trouble. And then it took all year to get divorced.” She pins him with a gaze. “Do you know when I figured out who sent me those photos?”

He shakes his head.

“ Today ,” she snaps. “You dickhead.”

Something is probably wrong with him, but hearing her say “dickhead” actually makes him grin.

“Why are you smiling?” she hisses.

“Because you’re so…” He flails his arms. “So you . So unbroken by all the shit that gets thrown at you. It was my sister, by the way. She sent the photos.”

Her eyes are still angry, but her mouth softens. “Oh.”

“Why today, though?”

She rubs her temples. “I found another set of the same photos. I think Zara must have sent one set to Boston and another here.”

“ Oh . Like she was covering all the bases?”

“Right. And Cam must have found the Vermont set before I did. Today I discovered them torn up at the bottom of a shoebox in our closet.” She jerks a thumb toward the bedroom door.

“Shit,” he says as it dawns on him. “He must have thought he’d gotten away with it.”

She lets out a bark of bitter laughter. “Right. Except that man has never taken out the trash. Not even once in his life. So he couldn’t even destroy the evidence properly. God , Damien. I married him based on a crush from when I was fourteen. And I’d still be married to him if it weren’t for your sister.”

He winces.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Why, indeed. “I felt guilty. I wanted you to know the truth, but I didn’t feel like I could be the one who wrecked your perfect life.”

“My perfect life?” she demands. “Seriously? Did you not hear what I just said? Why didn’t you just tell me? I thought we were friends.” Her lip quivers.

“Oh honey, we are ,” he says forcefully. And somehow, he’s slid across the sofa to pull her into a hug. “I didn’t know what to do. ”

She lets out a sniffle and melts into his chest.

She smells nice, like flowers , his stupid brain offers up. Yeah, real helpful. “See, it was none of my business how your marriage worked. But I was just so fucking mad at him. And I’d already punched him in the face.”

She stiffens. Then she pulls away and looks up at him. “Omigod, really? That was you? ”

He nods. “I was there that night at the Gin Mill, playing pool with Zara. My brother Alec owns that place.”

“ Oh ,” she says heavily.

“Yeah, I’m there a lot. Sometimes I pick up bartending shifts, but that night I was just hanging out. And there was Cam—picking up that woman in the photos. I was a dick about it. I told his date he was married. But I didn’t lay hands on him until he grabbed me by the jacket and cocked a fist.”

Her eyes widen. “God, what an idiot he is. Fighting you over a one-night stand?”

“Yeah. Well.” He sighs. “I punched him. But I couldn’t be the one to tell you.”

“I still don’t understand why not.”

Seriously? He puts his head in his hands. “Isn’t it obvious? I didn’t want to be the guy who blew up your life, Nicolette. Because I’ve been so jealous of Cam. I’ve had it bad for you for fifteen years.”

He expects a gasp. Or maybe laughter. But there’s nothing. She’s silent. Like, really silent. Maybe not even breathing.

He lifts his head to check, and she’s just staring at him. “That’s not true,” she whispers.

“Oh, it is.” He chokes back a nervous laugh. “Maybe this hadn’t occurred to you, but I don’t take most clients Christmas shopping. Or out for pizza. I don’t toss my nephew’s baby seat into the car just for anyone who wants a ride on Thanksgiving. It’s only you, Nicky Nicole.”

She gulps. “You never said anything.”

“Yeah, no kidding. I was the broke guy living in a double-wide. You were the rich girl in the mansion.”

Her eyes bulge. “Do I strike you as someone who judges people by how much money they have? ”

Hell . “No,” he admits. “But it’s not just about money. I was the taxi driver with a high school education. And you were the college girl who’d seen the world. I couldn’t imagine why you’d be interested in me. Not to mention that we were friends. And I valued that friendship a lot, even if I wasn’t very good at showing it.”

She blows out a breath. “None of that should have prevented you from telling me the truth.”

“You’re right, and I’m sorry.” He shrugs. “I was all tied up in knots about it. But Zara was there that night too, so I let her decide. And she thought you needed to know.”

“She’s right.” Her eyes fill. “I did need to know.”

She looks so sad that Damien pulls her in for another hug. And he’s a little bit horrified by the way she starts to cry into his flannel shacket. Because he’s not good at this. He’s been single for much of the last fifteen years, because it’s hard to find love when you’re gone for your favorite taxi client.

“I’m…sorry.” She sniffles.

“It’s okay. This is washable.”

She laughs against his chest, and he kisses her on top of the head.

Mmm flowers , his asshole brain says.

He rests his chin on the spot where he’s just kissed her and pats her back. Maybe he’s not so bad at this. Not really.

Then his phone pings.

“Do you have to get that?” she asks.

He slips it out of his pocket. “It’s my sister, telling me she wants to serve dinner. Come on.” He takes her hand and stands up. “Come with me. It’s Thanksgiving. Have you already eaten turkey?”

“Theoretically,” she says, looking weepy. “But I kind of left in the middle of dinner. My dad is pissed off that I divorced Cam. They have a lot of business together.”

Damien closes his eyes for a brief second and fantasizes about punching Mr. Overland, a man he’s never met. “Your father is putting business in front of your mental wellbeing?”

She cringes. “It’s what he does best. When I told him Cam was a serial cheater, he said, ‘That’s just how some men are.’”

“The terrible ones,” Damien says gruffly. “Jesus. Come with me, okay? You shouldn’t be alone right now, and I have a very loud family. It’s like a TV family, but worse.”

“Are you sure it’s okay if I just show up? On a major holiday?”

“Oh, I’m positive,” he says. “Let’s go.”