When I returned, I locked the door and then dropped them beside him. “This needs to stop, Everett.”
His emerald eyes were on my stomach, and I glanced down, noticing my tank had risen. I wasn’t even wearing a bra, being that I had been asleep and all. Normally, I wouldn’t care, but my boobs had grown, and having his eyes on me did something that had my nipples hardening against the cotton.
“Get in bed, Clover.”
I did, but I was still too angry, too worried to simply fall asleep. “I’m serious, Everett.”
A sigh filled the room, the towel scrunching as he moved the ice over his face. “It wasn’t them. Not this time.”
Not this time. “Then who?”
“I got drunk, okay? And then I got into a fight with some asshole. That’s all you need to know.”
I didn’t press for more. Judging by his impatient, more sober sounding voice, he was tired and not drunk enough to humor me any longer.
“The glow worms,” he said. “I know there’s gotta be a reason you still have them up there. Scared of the dark?”
His question wasn’t a barb, just a question, so despite my annoyance, I gazed up at the fading worms and said, “I’m not afraid of the dark. Not at all. But I like what something bright can do to the dark, so they stay.”
A few minutes later, the small thud of the ice brick hitting the floor had my eyes drifting open, and then the sound of his soft snoring had them closing again.
“Look who decided to show up. Not like it’s Christmas or anything,” Hendrix said, ruffling my hair as I poured some orange juice and nabbed a piece of bacon.
“Didn’t sleep well,” I mumbled around the bacon that was exploding on my taste buds.
When I woke, Everett was gone. The blanket had been folded and draped over my chair, the pillows set back on my bed, and the window closed as though he’d never been there at all.
But he had been, and that he’d chosen to come to me in his time of need, instead of Hendrix, sent a flood of warmth filling my chest.
“Merry Christmas, honey,” Dad cooed, squeezing me in a hug and almost spilling my juice.
“Merry Christmas, Daddy.”
Mom placed a kiss on my head, smoothing some of my frizzed blond hair back from my face.
They waited for me to finish eating before we moved into the living room.
The climate in Plume Grove was too warm for snow. But staring at the tree adorned with mismatched decorations from our childhood, I found myself longing for it as slices of light from the sun danced through the window, over the hardwood floor and piles of presents.
Sometime later, with my books, stationery, makeup, new boots with pink hearts on them, and a flat iron piled expertly by the window, a violent silence fell over the room.
Hendrix placed his new electric guitar by the window with his amp and cable leads, his only presents due to how expensive they were, and raked a hand through his finger mussed, dark blond hair.
Mom and Dad shared a look, and finally, after the ticking of Grandpa Angus’s clock became unbearably loud, Mom sent Hendrix over to check on Everett.
I tried to busy myself with my presents and began carting them to my room.
When I returned, Dad was carrying something down the hallway. Not just any something, but a Gibson acoustic guitar with a red and green ribbon looped around its neck.
Hendrix was back a few minutes later, and I retook my seat on the end of the couch, staring at the guitar with tears threatening to cloud my vision.
Mom gasped as soon as Everett stepped into the living room. “What happened to your face?”
Hendrix looked at Dad, who was frowning, his shoulders tense.
“Fight with one of the guys we go to school with.” When my parents said nothing and continued to stare with matching looks of concern, Everett sighed. “It’s okay. He looks way worse than I do.”
That didn’t defuse the tension, but Hendrix forced a laugh, choosing to keep his mouth shut about his whereabouts the night before. A wise move. Mom and Dad knew he went out sometimes, but they didn’t always allow it. Especially on Christmas Eve.
Mom, tucking some of her curls behind her ear, cleared her throat. “Well, Merry Christmas. Come on.” She waved a hand. “Sit.”
Everett did, mumbling, “Merry Christmas,” as he settled beside me.
He smelled like an ashtray, sweat, and stale beer. I was willing to bet