He laughs. “No idea what you think I get up to in my spare time, Rein. But it ain’t carving up bodies, I can promise you that.”
“Why would you even get me a gift? I don’t like you, remember?” I dig, toying with the bow decorating the box.
Unless you’re giving me orgasms in my sleep, seems I’m impartial to that version of you.
Leaning against the door frame, he lifts his right shoulder. “Look, I’m all healed up. No need to scar your delicate morals by being in my presence longer than necessary.” He ignores my statement. “Just open it.”
I scowl in his direction. And he does it back.
Sighing, I rip at the bow, pulling it off with little finesse. Tearing the carefully folded paper, a plain brown box mocks me. Opening it, I half expect it to be empty.
It isn’t, and I stare down at the bright red boxing gloves in titillation. A small card lays atop and picking it up, my eyes fall over Rocco’s severe and heavy scrawl.
Easier to chase away those monsters when you know how to fight.
Merry whatever
The Grinch
I smile in spite of myself.
“Than—” I turn back to the door, but he’s gone, the empty space heavy without his presence.
Dropping the card to the bed, I reach for the gloves, feeling the leather beneath my fingers. Lifting them to my face, I inhale their smell. The rich, earthy smell is both addictive and overwhelming. White laces fall along the inside wrists and dropping one back into the box, I slid my hand inside the other.
I clench my fist, listening to the crackle of the glove at my silent instruction. I force my fingers from their fist, stretching them out to feel the inner padding.
I wouldn’t believe it if I weren’t the one with my hand buried in the leather, but even touching the glove like this, I feel a sense of power filter into my veins. Like the glove has melded to my hand as an added layer of protection against the world. A shield; one I never knew I wanted, never considered I needed, now present. Gifted to me by someone I had decided was lacking a functioning heart.
I hadn’t considered the possibility that Rocco Shay had felt the odd camaraderie that had settled between us. Similarities that scared the fuck out of me, just as confusing for him. An unexpected kinship that has forced us out of the neat, structured lines of our individual lives.
He doesn’t want to understand me, he doesn’t want to feel a connection because we’re both damaged.
And neither do I.
Yet, here we are.
The sides of our boxes have fallen down, leaving us both exposed. And neither one of us knows what to do with that reality.
I could give the gift back.
Tell him I’d rather saw off my own arm before accepting anything from him.
He’d respect that.
I think.
I could grow the fuck up, walk downstairs and thank him for his gift.
But that’d just make us both awkward.
I could just ignore it. Pretend he didn’t give them to me and accept them as a gift from… Santa.
That’s a little too cunty for even me.
I yank my cell from my back pocket.
Camryn: Thank you
He responds almost immediately.
Rocco: For what?
I grin. He would’ve accepted me being extra cunty.
Figures.
A soft knock sounds at my door pulling me from my thoughts.
“Nice gloves,” my dad greets, leaning against my doorway in a similar way Rocco was only moments before.
I nod, not exactly sure what to say.
“From?” he prods.
Tucking them back into their box, I let my shoulders lift slightly. “The Grinch.”
I don’t let myself read into the smirk pulling at the side of my dad’s mouth.
“Seems you’ve already started opening your gifts, but Codi has now granted us permission to the goodies under the tree.”
“How kind of her,” I joke, walking toward my dad.
“It’s her first Christmas with Parker,” he offers, arm moving over my shoulder to bring me into his side. “She wants it to be perfect.”
We shuffle through the house, Dad’s cologne wrapping me in its very own warm embrace. His smell, it’s a balm. Sounds silly, right? That the simplicity of a smell can ease me in a way very few other things can.
He smells like comfort and safety. Of unconditional love and those hugs only he seems to know that I need. On days when I feel as though the world is falling apart around me, his arm around my shoulders keeps me supported until I’m once again ready to stand on my own. I’ve never told him that, likely I would never need to. It seems ingrained, he knows what I need without actually knowing. It’s a special talent, one only a caring parent can truly offer.
Codi smells like sugar and how I imagine rainbows smell. Like fresh rain and sunshine all mixed into one. When clouds descend on my world, when my nightmares shroud me in darkness, she shoos them away like a quick summer shower, letting the sun breakthrough.
I feel oddly calmed by everything that’s packed into the earthy and sugary scent of my family. I know deep down it has nothing to do with how they actually smell and more the association of with them as an actual person. Still, if they were to change their perfume or cologne, I’d feel betrayed. Like they were no longer who they were supposed to be.
I hug Codi as I walk into the sitting room, my silent apology for being a bitch earlier today. She accepts it without issue, hugging me back tightly; her cheek, warmed by the fire, pressed tightly against mine.
I don’t let myself consider that the smell of leather now hints at a sense of power, my power. I also don’t let myself settle on the fact that the very smell will only ever be linked to Rocco Shay.
His presence is impossible to ignore. Even in the large living room. My eyes and nostrils are assaulted on every angle by Christmas, and its pitiful form of distraction. The room could be empty. A plain white space with Rocco at its center.
I work to ignore his overwhelming proximity. His silence that screams at me, begging me to look at him, to see him. That something bigger seems at play, demanding I look deeper to see more of who he is.
Everyone else focused on my dad opening the cufflinks Codi had bought for him, I casually glance Rocco’s way. He stares back for a single blink before turning his attention to his brother and my family. Not in the slightest perturbed by the fact that I caught him staring, or that I felt the need to do the same to him.
Codi and I unwrap our staple can of mace from our father. A gift we receive every year, even though neither of us has necessitated the use of it. “Thanks, Dad,” I smile. “This’ll come in handy for those unwanted guests you keep bestowing upon us.”
I hear Rocco’s chuckle, more elated than I should be at being able to make him laugh.
We open presents and I recognize that deep inside, the morning feels more comfortable and real than it has in years. With Sarah gone, Codi, Dad, and I are at ease. But worse, with Parker and Rocco taking her place, everything feels more.
Gifts opened, I stand, moving around the room to collect the discarded wrapping paper as a way to occupy my hands.
I feel Rocco’s gaze, the lazy and disinterested gleam in his eyes tracking my movements.
“You missed some,” he mocks, lifting his foot to release the tiny piece of ripped paper he’d been holding prisoner.