room—the room that should be hosting a lovely rehearsal dinner. They were supposed to dance and share stories late into the night, just as her parents had done the night before they wed.
Soren couldn’t have done this on purpose—could he?
“Are you okay, Birdie?” the judge asked.
She nodded, unable to speak.
“Come on, Scooter. I’ll wait in the truck,” the older man said as Dan handed him the keys to the vehicle as the judge walked out the front door.
For what could have been five seconds or five days, she felt Soren’s gaze bore into her. But she couldn’t look up—couldn’t meet his eye. His heavy footfalls reverberated through the hardwood floor—each step a dagger slicing into her heart—before the door slammed shut behind him.
She released a pained breath.
He was gone.
“Birdie, are you okay?” Lori called from the couch.
“I…I’m…” she tried.
But she couldn’t let him go.
Not yet.
“I’ll be right back,” she called over her shoulder as she flung open the door and ran into the swirling snowstorm.
She cupped her hands over her eyes, shielding them from the cold, heavy flakes, then spotted Soren as he walked across the snowy drive, lit only by the truck’s headlights.
“Wait!” she cried, taking the porch steps two at a time.
He stood, expressionless, bathed in the golden beams.
“This has to be a misunderstanding. Don’t go. Let’s figure this out,” she pleaded, her heart in her throat.
But Soren didn’t budge. Instead, he crossed his arms.
“Tom saw the texts. He’s right. I set this up because I didn’t want him to marry your sister.”
Why was he acting like a heartless robot? This wasn’t him! This couldn’t be him!
She shook her head. Maybe he was ready to give up and accept defeat, but she wasn’t. She’d seen the good man in him. There had to be a way to make this right.
“No, you promised me that you were done with that—that you wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize the wedding.”
The light caught the rigid set of his jaw.
“I never said that I promised, Bridget. I just agreed.”
“It’s the same thing,” she threw back.
He leaned in, and the cold tip of his nose brushed against hers. “It’s not the same,” he answered, the words coated in ice.
She reached to touch his cheek, but he took a step away from her, and her heart shattered.
It was like watching a building collapse in on itself.
“Why are you doing this, Soren? Why are you throwing everything away?”
In the space of a breath, he was millimeters away from her. He gripped her elbows, and his eyes, those green cat-like eyes she loved, shone hard and empty in the truck’s headlights. “Because, Birdie, this is who I am. You can’t add a glop of frosting to me and smooth out all the bad parts. I am the bad parts. Selfish and self-serving, I used you like I used the Abbotts.”
His words hit like a punch to the gut, but she stood firm. “I don’t believe that.”
“Believe this. There won’t be any Christmas miracles happening for me. No Christmas fairy wish can change what I am. There’s nothing here for me, and there was never anything more than sex between us.”
“You’re a liar,” she bit out, willing herself not to cry. She would not give him the satisfaction.
A smug expression ripe with contempt and condescension graced his dark features. “You’re a little slow on the uptake, but now you seem to get it, Birdie. I am a liar. Better you learn that now,” he replied. His words, colder than the frigid snow, sliced through the broken pieces of her heart.
Soren left her side and slammed the truck’s door shut.
But she couldn’t move. She couldn’t go back inside. She could only stand there, tears frozen on her cheeks, and watch as the truck disappeared into the darkness.
18
Soren
Soren attempted to bend his neck, but a sharp kink in the muscles had another agenda. He groaned and cracked an eyelid, then immediately shut his eye at the blast of bright light. And it wasn’t just his neck that wasn’t pleased with him. Cottonmouthed, he tried to swallow, and instead, tasted whiskey and gingerbread—a terrible combination. But when the judge brought him to Kringle Acres of all places to crash last night, he’d fallen in with a few retired Santas who were partaking in drinks and cookies while playing poker in the main gathering area.
And at this point in his clusterfuck of a life, he was sure of three things.
One, a contingent of the retired fraternal order of bearded Santas really knew