Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

H utton

Dom was annoying when he was texting or calling every hour on the hour, but when he enlisted my own mama to start blowing up my phone, that's when I knew I needed to put a stop to it. But now isn't the time. Right now, I have a Christmas tree far too large for any normal-sized house strapped to the back of my truck and a beautiful woman in the passenger seat with a smile that hasn't left her face since we started that sleigh ride. Rae might not have celebrated many Christmases in the recent years, but I have a feeling she's due for some festivities.

We pull up to her house and Henry kicks his feet, wanting out immediately so he can go see the tree. Rae's not far behind him, both of them giggling and pointing at the top of the tree that sticks so far out of the back of my truck it's comical. I'm one of those people who want to go big or go home, so it's no surprise our tree looks like it came straight from National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation . Hopefully it'll fit in the house and not have an electrical fire, however.

"This is quite ridiculous," Rae protests when I try to heave it out of the back of the truck.

"Henry! Grab a branch and help your old man!"

Henry jumps into action, probably getting sap and dirt all over himself while not offering any actual help, but that's not the purpose. I came to Snowhaven wanting an escape from my pressure-filled life, but I'm quickly realizing I have two other reasons for wanting to stay. Rae and Henry need a real Christmas, and I'm the guy who's going to give it to them.

"On three! One, two, three!" Everyone heaves and the tree shifts a foot closer to the house. I look back at my helpers, about to offer some encouragement or we won't get this tree inside before dark when Henry shrieks and jumps away from the tree. He dissolves into a fit of giggles. Before I can see what's happening, Rae is shrieking and running around to the other side of the truck.

"What is happening?" I demand, letting go of the tree trunk to investigate.

Henry points, his feet dancing up and down on the pavement like he has to pee. I follow his outstretched hand to find the smallest frog you've ever seen. The poor little guy is shaking, probably wondering why these humans disturbed his home with all this rattling and shouting.

"Guys, it's little-bitty frog."

"Make it go away!" Rae shouts from behind my truck.

I gape in her direction. "Are you seriously scared? Even Henry didn't run away." I fist-bump my son for his bravery in the face of an amphibian. Rae just squeals again, so with a grin splitting my face, I cup the frog in my hand and relocate him to a tree out by the lamppost on the street.

"All good. You can come out now."

Rae sheepishly peeps her head above the truck bed to confirm I'm telling the truth. She walks over slowly, not meeting my gaze. "I hate frogs."

"Clearly," I snicker.

Without further incident but with lots of good-natured ribbing, we manage to get the tree inside the house and into the tree stand we also purchased from Havenkirk Lodge. The top brushes the ten-foot ceiling and takes up about a quarter of the space in Rae's living room. The scent of pine fills the room almost instantly.

All three of us step back to observe. Rae leans her head on my shoulder with a contented sigh and Henry races out of the room. He comes back, holding up the simple ball ornament he painted at Snowmass. It's covered in globs of green and red paint and doesn't resemble a damn thing. It's perfect.

Rae swoops him up and carefully keeps his ornament away from their clothes while it's still drying. "Are you ready to put the first ornament on the tree?"

Henry nods eagerly and I pull out my phone to capture the moment on video. Rae gets him right up to the tree and they whisper over the best location to put the thing. Finally Henry reaches out his little arm and hooks the ribbon loop over a branch high up on the tree and facing the room. He pulls back and the two stare at his ornament like it's made out of Swarovski crystal. A searing heat hits the back of my eyeballs, and I have to blink to clear my vision.

How have I not done these things with my son before now? Why did I put all the parenting on his mother, who clearly doesn't have a warm-and-fuzzy bone in her whole body? I stop the video and step forward to become part of the moment, vowing to not let anything keep me from my son in the future.

Except the phone in my hand rings and it's Dom. Again. I don't answer it, guilt now layering on thick. It stops ringing, but a text hits my screen immediately.

Dom: If you don't call back with proof of life in the next fifteen minutes, I'm calling the police. Don't test me, Calder.

I must make a noise because Rae is looking down at my phone screen and reading the text. She meets me gaze, but quickly turns to Henry.

"Hey, buddy. You want to help me make spaghetti for dinner?"

He wraps his arms around her neck. "I wuv pagetti."

Rae nods her head at me, her meaning for the distraction clear. She bounces Henry in her arms and the two head for the kitchen. I watch them go, wondering how the hell my life got so busy I couldn't see what I was missing. This trip to Snowhaven has been like pulling blinders off my eyes. I'm seeing my life for what it is, probably for the first time since I was a kid.

I hit Dom's contact and put the phone to my ear. He answers on the first ring, voice booming.

"What the fuck, Calder!"

"Whoa, there. What if I'd been on speakerphone?"

He huffs, clearly not happy. "Then Henry would have heard a curse word, which isn't the worst thing. The worst thing was what I thought had happened to you. Did you know I've been scanning the news headlines for murders? Car accidents. Lightning strikes. I thought you were dead."

I wince, hearing the actual panic below the anger in his voice. I turn and face the window, looking out at the hills of snow on either side of Rae's street.

"Look, I'm sorry, Dom. Sincerely sorry for leaving you in the dark like that. I just…I needed some time away."

"I get it, I really do. We could have scheduled in some downtime. In fact, we can do that now if you?—"

"No," I interrupt him. "I don't want scheduled time off next year. I want this whole month off."

There's silence on the other end of the line, and I can imagine he's swallowing down a whole string of curse words. I can hear pans clanking in the kitchen and all I want to do is get in there and be part of the moment.

"Fine," Dom sighs. "Tell me where you are and I'll come to you. I'll take care of cancelling everything while you write your songs. You are writing, right?"

That feeling of spiders crawling all over my skin happens again and I turn my back to the window, staring hard at the first Christmas tree I've had since I was a kid. I want that feeling back when Henry put the ornament on the tree, the one where everything felt warm and calm and happy.

"Hutton?" Dom asks when I don't answer him. "Tell me you're writing or I'll need to call up some of our trusted songwriters to see what they've got."

"Listen, I've gotta go, Dom. I'll check in once a day via text so you don't panic."

"Wait! At least tell me where you are."

"I'll text you," I say again before hanging up the phone on another curse from Dom.

I pocket the phone and try to shake off the stress that just descended on my shoulders like a heavy blanket when he asked about my songwriting. Everything's felt off for a few years now. I hid it by enlisting songs from other writers. Put out hits that were critically acclaimed but didn't come from my own head. Fans gobbled it up, and it seemed they didn't care who wrote the actual words.

It was fine. Until it wasn't.

A soft hand presses between my shoulder blades. I turn and see Rae gazing at me with questions and sympathy in her eyes. "Everything okay?"

I want to say I'm tired. Want to complain about that fire in my gut being missing. Want to dump all my worries on her about my career feeling like it's on a crash course to has-been, my obvious lack of skills when it comes to being a father, or perhaps the guilt I feel for having several homes and more money than one man can know what to do with and yet I still feel dead inside. But then I think about spending the holidays with her and Henry. A few weeks of living a different life, out of the public eye, and I can't ruin all those warm-and-fuzzy feelings with my bullshit. So I put a hand on her hip and flash her a practiced smile.

"I'm fine, darlin'. Did Henry get spaghetti sauce all over your kitchen?"

Her smile falters and I'm not sure what to do to put it back to its normal wattage. She hooks her thumb over her shoulder and soldiers on. "He's actually quite the cook. Dinner's ready if you are."

We all sit down to heaping plates of old-fashioned spaghetti. I clean my plate and Henry does a damn good job on his. Everything in a five-foot radius is in the spaghetti sauce splash zone, however, so as soon as he can't eat another bite, I lift him out of the chair and carry him to the bathtub for a scrub-down.

"Don't touch that kitchen, sugar! I'll clean it as soon as I get him in the tub."

By the time the water is warm and Henry has at least five toys in the bathtub with him, Rae has already cleaned up from dinner. I approach her from behind while she swipes a paper towel around the sink area, the counters already sparkling clean. I wasn't married long, but in those six months I don't recall my ex-wife ever cleaning the kitchen, especially not after a five-year-old destroyed it.

I slide my arms around her waist and nuzzle into her neck. She always smells like sugar cookies. Maybe it's the shampoo or maybe it's her soap. Hell, it might just be Rae.

"Hey, I was going to do all that. You need to go relax."

She puts the towel down but doesn't turn to face me. She doesn't say anything either. I may not be the most astute when it comes to the ladies outside of the bedroom, but even I know silence is bad.

"Hey." I release her to turn her around, cupping her face and making her look at me. "What's wrong? Have we outstayed our welcome? I can take Henry and me back to the lodge tonight. Let you get some rest."

She pulls my hands from her face. "No, it's not that. I, uh, I just heard some of what your agent was saying."

I think back on the conversation, not sure which part she could have heard or why it was making her upset. "Okay?"

She squeezes my hands. "Why haven't you been writing? Am I distracting you from your job? Because I can't have that on my hands. All the women in America would hate me."

I grin despite her appearing serious. "I would never let all the women in America hate you. Impossible. You're far too nice. And pretty." I let me gaze drop down her figure in skintight jeans and another sweater. "And hot."

She frowns. "That's why all the men in America wouldn't hate me."

Now I'm frowning. "Do you want all the men in America to like you?"

Rae closes her eyes and lets go of my hands to flail hers between us. "No! God, what are we even talking about? Why are you so distracting?"

I smirk at that. My hands find their way to her hips again, pulling her in close. I love the way she has to tip her head back to keep eye contact, long blonde hair brushing her lower back. I also decide to tell her the truth. She hasn't gone running to the paparazzi yet.

"I'm just not that excited right now to write a bunch of songs."

Her eyes flick back and forth between mine, trying to understand. Or possibly read between the lines of what I'm not telling her. "Okay. So, what does excite you?"

"Daaa-ddy!" Henry's singsong voice rings out.

From the living room.

I spin around to see my naked, dripping wet son in front of the fireplace with a cheesy grin.

"I'm naked!"

Rae bursts out laughing, and Henry starts racing around the house, shrieking at the top of his lungs. I drop my forehead to Rae's shoulder with a groan.

"Hold that thought, sugar."

And then I chase my son to the background of Rae's laugher, get him dry and into pajamas, and finally tucked into bed. All the while I wonder why staying here in this little house with Rae sounds like a much better time than all the world tours and screaming fans.