15. Alex

Chapter 15

Alex

" Get in loser, we're going tree shopping." Mallory yelled from the passenger window of Grace's truck. My scowl must have been epic because she clarified, "It's from Mean Girls , chill out."

I was in a shitty mood, trying to catch up on work I missed yesterday to sleep, but the clients were jackasses. Why had I agreed to this stupid outing?

I flung open the passenger door. "You. Back seat."

My sister had the gall to look offended. "She's my friend, I get shotgun!"

"Your friend? Where were you when she was making a million pies alone?"

"Working," Mallory tried to stomp her foot, but her short legs grazed the floor. "Where were you when she —"

"Why don't you drive, Alex?" Grace offered loudly, turning down the volume on the Christmas music.

Mallory's mouth fell open. "You'd let him drive Yolanda?"

"I thought that was Yolanda," Grace pointed to that cheap hula dancer, who flicked her grass skirt.

"No, Yolanda is the truck, she's the truck's Patronus," Mallory scoffed. "You never let anybody drive Yolanda."

As I crossed to the driver's side, Grace shifted onto the bench seat — this truck was old enough to have a bench seat — and muttered about a finicky transmission. That's bullshit, the transmission was fine, but Mallory's eyes glazed over.

Grace sat as a buffer between me and the brat. My hand brushed against the denim on her thigh when I shifted gears.

When mariachi music started playing, Mallory squealed and reached across Grace to twist up the volume knob. "Feliz Navidad, Feliz Navidad!" she yelled as she thrashed and flailed. Grace wiggled, a gentle hip shake and shoulder shimmy.

"I want to wish you a merry Christmas," they sang — or more accurately, Grace sang and Mallory screamed. I gripped tighter, wishing for my Mercedes' steering wheel volume controls, and gritted my teeth. After the first chorus, Grace twisted the volume down. When Mallory moaned in protest, Grace elbowed her.

"Sorry about that," Grace said. I grunted. "My mom sang it to me and my brothers. Mal said the song needed a new memory, so now we dance whenever we hear it together, and if we're apart, we call each other to sing it." Her voice lightened. "Well, she mostly calls and yells it at me."

My ears were still ringing from hearing it in such close quarters, but I bit back a smile as Grace directed me to the next exit.

"Too short," I told my sister as we walked down the aisle of Douglas firs. I was surprised at how empty the tree farm was … but all my childhood memories were visits on the day after Thanksgiving, and it was only a week until Christmas. Grace's "bonus tree" suggestion was a good one to lift my mom's spirits, but the selection was meager.

"Nothing wrong with being short," Mallory said, elbowing me in the ribs. Or trying, but landing in my belly.

Grace hummed like she didn't want me to rag on my sister, so I said, "Fine for people, not for trees."

"What about this one?" Grace asked.

"It leans to the right," I said.

"A curve makes things more interesting." Mallory waggled her brows.

I made a grossed out face and shot down trees that were too brown, too asymmetrical, and too dry. When I rejected one for a giant bald spot, my sister teased, "Not sure that you should criticize a little baldness, Lex, you could be heading there any day now." She reached up to ruffle my winter hat, then looked around in concern, "Hey, where's Grace?"

Behind us were only our two footprints on the path, so I backtracked until I found her in a small clearing. The way that she bit her lip with her arms wrapped around her middle stopped me in place. My sister caught up — those little legs take forever — and I held out an arm to block her path.

Grace's head tilted back at a tall, uneven tree with brown patches. Obvious reject, good only for firewood, but I bit back the criticism, trying to figure out why she stopped.

The tree was surrounded by stumps like all its friends had been chopped down. It was tall,imperfect, lonely … and beautiful.

Of course Grace loved this tree.

When I looked at my sister, her blue eyes mirrored how I felt.

I shifted my weight and Grace looked up, sniffled and ran a gloved finger under her eye. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your search. Did you find a good one?"

"We did," I said, voice ragged as I moved boldly towards her tree, carrying the small saw they'd loaned us at the barn. "Mom will love this one."

She gestured towards the rows of desirable trees we'd left. "There are better choices, this one's not full enough."

"This one's perfect," I said in my gruff ‘the decision has been made' tone. "Are you cutting it down to bring it home, or am I?"

She hesitated when I held out the saw. "Cutting down the tree was Isaac's job."

"You or me, Grace," I said. She tentatively took it as I squatted, relieved to see a skinny trunk. She slid her lithe body under the branches and moved like she didn't want to hurt the tree. This was going to take forever. Shit.

After some quick mental calculations, I called over Mallory. "When I say the word, give it a strong shove from right here," she lined up exactly where I told her. "Push it in that direction, so it doesn't fall on Grace."

She nodded, her face serious. If I were alone under the tree, she might have landed it on my face … but I couldn't imagine her messing with Grace.

I squatted again. Grace had made good progress, but it was slow-going.

Lowering behind her, I wrapped my hand around hers to press harder into the trunk. Whenever her arm bent, her back hit my chest.

"Slow and steady," I murmured against her ear, and she released a ragged breath. I shifted my grip on the saw so my fingers were between hers, pressing into the trunk. After a few more strokes, I stilled our hands and whispered, "Ready?"

I covered her head with my arm to protect her from all the dropping pine needles — and possibly Mallory's overzealous assistance — and hollered, "Go ahead, Shrimp."

With a dramatic push, Mallory roared, "Timberrrrrrr!"

The tree fell away, the shadow giving way to the starry sky. Grace released a victorious whoop that resonated through my torso and made my cock twitch.

Mallory traipsed off to find the tree farmer, who'd already agreed to string and carry it to the truck. Grace stood and held out a hand. I let her tug without budging an inch, then smirked and lifted myself.

"Thanks, Alex," she said, eyes sparkling. My gaze dropped to that incredible smile. Her lip was pale, her teeth were chattering, and her gloved hands were cold.

I pulled off my scarf, ignoring her complaints about it being too nice and looping it around her neck. My fingers lingered on the fringes, rubbing her biceps. When she tilted closer, I opened the flaps of my wool coat to share my warmth.

The moon chose that moment to escape the clouds, illuminating her clear, olive skin. Her pupils dilated in reaction to the new light, and her hazel irises reflected all the beauty around us: the tree's moss green, the earth's tawny brown, the twinkling lights' golden shimmer.

"Alex," her voice was a quiet rasp as her eyes scanned my face, her fingertips grazing my waist. "What are we doing?"

"Warming up," I said, pink rising into her cheeks as I bent closer, eyes on that perfect mouth. "I wouldn't want you to — Oh fuck!" I yelped, leaping away as my vulnerable neck was suddenly frigid with snow down my collar. Mallory's malicious cackle rang out as another snowball landed above my cheek.

When Grace stifled a laugh, I asked dryly, "You think this is funny? "

She bit her thumbnail, amusement overriding her politeness. "Hysterical."

"I have snow in my eye," I complained in a bid for sympathy.

"Oh, poor baby," she feigned compassion, tapping my cheek patronizingly.

I scoffed, annoyed. "She's so childish."

"Not childish," Grace corrected, "child- like . Her silliness is one of my favorite things about her, and I think, secretly, you like it too."

She grabbed a handful of snow and tossed it at my chest. Another snowball smacked me above the kidney in a coordinated assault. I spun to my smug sister, then twisted for Grace's reaction, but found only footprints.

"Good news!" A snowball flew past me as Mallory yelled from my left. "I saw a dog today."

"Have you seen a dog?" Grace yelled from my right, voice rough with laughter as her snowball hit Mallory's knee, leaving me totally out of their fun. I should be relieved to be excluded … but I wasn't. "You probably have."

"Do you have any friends?" Mallory asked, hitting Grace in the neck, right on my scarf. Dammit, I'd just warmed her up. "Do you have a best friend?"

"Does he have a big coat too?" Grace tossed one at my chest, smacking over my heart.

They stilled, cheeks flushed and chests panting, faces lit up with hesitant laughter as they gauged my reaction. After a final moment of deliberation …

I pointed at my sister. "You're dead, Shrimp."

"Only if you catch me!"

Grace was right: My sister really was childlike, zig-zagging between trees and yelling "Polo" to lure me into the chase while Grace yelled "Marco" to draw her out. Even the few people around the farm laughed at Mallory's antics.

When I glimpsed her pink hat and blonde ponytail, I lunged to grab her around the waist. She screeched as I tossed her over my shoulder, smacking her fists against my back and pleading dramatically, "Gracie, save me!"

Grace shouted back, "It's every woman for herself!"

I wanted to be annoyed, I really did. I didn't want to encourage my bratty sister to waste my time. But also, catching her and tossing her around? It was a little fun. I bit the inside of my cheek to hide that, well … I was enjoying myself .

I pretended to drop Mallory, setting her down carefully and checking her balance before releasing her. I schooled my face to serious, pointed to the ground and commanded "Stay" like she was a dog. Her mouth curved up mischievously.

I was secretly grateful that Mallory didn't follow directions, yelling Marco Polo to flush Grace out. I found her slinking between the pines, laughing as she padded closer. I crouched until she was close, gripped her wrist and tugged.

She lurched, and my hand steadied her waist. Her cheeks flushed, eyes wide with alarm. She opened her mouth as I bent at the waist and wrapped my arms around her legs, lifting her using the same fireman's carry I'd used on Mallory. A surprised wail escaped as I shouted, "I've got her, Shrimp! Meet by the barn."

But instead of squirming, Grace's body went limp.

Her limbs trembled as her breathing sped into pleading whimpers.

When I tried to place her feet down, her body crumpled. I dropped to my knees, cupped her cheeks and said her name. Her glassy gaze looked through my chest.

I screamed for Mallory, my voice panicked.

My sister tore through the trees at top speed. She froze at the sight of Grace on the ground, arms tight around her knees. "What did you do?"

"I carried her out, same as you."

"Over your shoulder?" I nodded. "Shit."

Mal knelt in the dirt, removed my hands from Grace's face, and murmured in a soothing voice. "You're safe, sweetie. This is your friend Mallory. It's Saturday night. We're at a tree farm in Saratoga."

Panic rose in my chest. "Mal, I didn't — I carried her the same way …"

"I know," she looked at me over her shoulder and said somberly, "but I don't have flashbacks from PTSD."