The Plight Before Christmas(17)

Serena scrutinizes Brenden, the question none of us have voiced yet hanging in the air as she plucks it and fires at him.

“Do you have any family pictures in your office?”

“Just of Erin and the kids.”

“What about at home, in plain sight?”

Erin speaks up. “There’s one in the family room.” She flashes me a grin. “Thanksgiving last year, you look really good in it, too.” Erin winks as Serena turns to me, her eyes morphing into a creepy sort of crazy, like a deranged Sherlock with his first clue, but scarier. “Then he’s got an agenda.”

The darkening look in her eyes has me backpedaling.

“Serena, listen to me, don’t pull your older sister crap. I got freaked out. I’m fine. It took me by surprise is all. It was a long time ago.”

“We’ll see,” she retorts, wetting her lips like a psycho.

“Seriously, let it go. I have already, see?” I show her all my teeth—she fires back with a Finding Nemo shark-toothed smile as I begin to panic.

Oh, shit.

The thing about the Collins family is, we can rip each other to shreds and get over it. It’s par for the course, but if any outsider messes with or hurts any one of us individually, they may have well signed their own death warrant. It’s an unspoken truth—which makes Eli a target. I can only hope he can move as fast as he did in college.

In an odd and gravity-defying move, Serena spins toward the door on one foot, and I charge out of the room behind her, hearing Brenden’s fear-filled whisper to Erin. “This isn’t good.”

“No shit, brother,” I call back toward the room, chasing my rabid sister as she breaks for the stairs. “Maybe I’ll invite crazy, drunk, no eff’s given Tasha for New Year’s.”

I sense the shift in the air in the bedroom above us and dive for Serena on the stairs just as Erin pipes up. “Who’s Tasha?”

Brenden’s voice booms out of the bedroom. “You’re dead, Whit.”

Pulling Serena into a headlock, she fights against me as I clamp her mouth with my hand and call up to him. “Bring it on, brother!”





That went as well as I expected—seventeen years later. From what I can tell beneath the clown makeup—the years have been good to her. Better than good. Evidently, Whitney still gets vocal when she’s pissed, hence the slightly muffled screeches sounding from above.

“Brenden tells me you two work together.” Allen leads me through the bottom floor of the cabin, where I dart my eyes around, taking it all in. Floor-to-ceiling windows provide a continuous view of the surrounding branch-laden trees, giving way to a clear shot of the mountain top just across the street. “Yes, Sir. I moved back to North Carolina from Chicago a few months ago.”

“Oh,” he says, stopping just short of the kitchen. “What made you come back?”

“Honestly, I thought I never would, but as it turns out, I missed North Carolina. Went to college in Chapel Hill.”

“A Tarheel, huh?”

“Yessir.”

“You’re in good company here. And there’s no place quite like home,” he says, leading me into the study.

“Wish I could claim that. I actually grew up in LA,” I correct. “My parents moved us here when I was thirteen. I never missed living there.”

The minute I hit the threshold of the room, I pause and see nothing but…The King. Across from the doorway stands a life-sized cardboard cut-out of a slimmer Vegas Elvis, with a plastic lei around his neck. The rest of the room is hosed down with shelves upon shelves of Elvis memorabilia.

“Hope you like Elvis. You’ll be rooming with him.”

“Who’s the fan?”

Allen lifts his chin with pride. “Not just a fan, he was a family friend. My grandparents lived across the street from his parents in Memphis. They were great friends. My Mom was there the day he moved his parents to Graceland. I was just a baby.”

“That’s awesome.”

I set my duffle down and look around with a mix of fascination and fear. Whitney never mentioned when we dated that her father was an Elvis fanatic. A small stack of trophies—no doubt impersonation prizes—line the top of one of the shelves, a prideful display.

“I see you competed.”

Allen grins, nothing but pride in his eyes. “I did for a while.” He picks one of the trophies up and hands it to me. “When I won first—in Vegas of all places—I figured I should hang it up while I was on top.” I study the golden Elvis, knees bent in one of his signature poses, and appreciate the trophy for an appropriate amount of time before I hand it back. “That’s cool.”

When another shriek sounds from upstairs, it’s all I can do to hide my grin.

“I wonder what she’s going on about,” Allen mumbles. Another shriek has me cloaking my laughter with the clear of my throat.

“Sorry about that,” Allen offers sheepishly. “Must be a full moon coming tonight or something because the women in this family seem to be climbing the walls.”

Whitney’s most definitely got her claws out, no doubt due to my unexpected appearance. Her over-glossed jaw had dropped the second she realized it was me. I didn’t at all expect a warm reception, but I didn’t expect to feel such a hit of nostalgia in those few seconds when our eyes locked over her brother’s shoulder. It’s clear she still harbors ill-feeling towards me due to the way we ended. This week should be interesting. If anything, I’ll give her a long-overdue apology. She has every right to any lingering resentment against me after the way things ended between us. Allen glances down at the blowup mattress. “The bed should be comfortable. Sorry about the bedroom situation, my kids keep multiplying and well,” his smile is full of pride, “I can’t say I don’t love it.”