The Plight Before Christmas(87)

I hear a shift of chairs again before Whitney speaks up.

“Do you know how I know you and Thatch are going to be ok?”

“How?” Serena asks tearfully.

“Because when I think about the prominent people in my life, the impact they have on me, their place, my priority list is very short. You, sister, are my one ride or die in life. I am one of the rare few who found a soulmate in a sister—as annoying as it is sometimes. But you, Serena, you were lucky enough to have found two soulmates, and honestly, I know their order. Thatch is first, and I’m the second.”

A pause.

“I know you love me, but Serena, Thatch is first, as he should be, and I’m okay with that. He deserves to be first. Hold onto him and hold on tight because he’s your sentence finisher. He’d not only bury the body for you, but he would make sure he took the fall. Thatch is that guy for you. Right now, it may be predictable, even a little boring, but you have the whole of the second half of your life to live. Can you even imagine trying to do it without him? Imagine waking up tomorrow, and his pillow is empty.”

“No. God, no. Stop right there.”

“There you go. That’s all the ammo you need to keep trying.”

“I want you to have that,” Serena says softly.

“I just told you I do—with you. And you,” Whitney adds, and I know she’s addressing Erin. “It’s like Charlotte says in Sex and the City—‘Maybe we can be each other’s soul mates. And then we can let men be these great nice guys to have fun with.’”

Swallowing, I feel the burn of argument in my chest and wonder if she’s so far gone in that belief that no man has a real chance at becoming more than fun for her. If so, that’s a far cry from the romantic I was involved with. I’m certain I had far more merit with her.

“Now,” Whitney says, “let’s turn this party around because it’s getting depressing.”

“Agreed,” Serena pipes. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“Love you three,” Erin giggles.

“I’ll go grab us some more trouble to get into,” Whitney declares as I reach over and close the window praying like hell she can’t feel the chill already in the air when she steps in. Just after the sliding door opens, Whitney pokes her head around the thermal curtain, her golden eyes finding me. “Hey. Didn’t know you were in here.”

I’m going to hell.

“Yeah,” I say, lowering the book.

“You can sleep in my room if you want so we don’t bother you.”

“I’m good here.”

She wrinkles her nose. “We’re probably going to be going in and out a lot.”

“I’ll deal.”

“Okay, but the offer stands.”

“Thanks. I promise I’m good.”

She enters the kitchen and retrieves more wine before reappearing and pausing at the door. I feel her eyes on me and look up.

“Eli,” she whispers. “I’m sorry for acting like a jerk.”

“Which time?”

“Shut up,” she smiles and walks over, eyeing my biography. “Doing some studying?”

“Just trying to figure out what there is to admire about a guy who ate a stick of butter per sandwich.”

“Daddy loves them. I can make you one so you can test it out.”

“No thanks.”

She sits at my side on the mattress, the bed barely moving as she deposits the plastic bottles next to me. “Did you mean it?”

“Every word. Well, almost every word. I don’t know. I was mad.”

“You hit me with diapers,” she giggles, and I can’t help my grin.

“I’m not proud of it.”

We stare at each other, and I instantly feel the pull.

“I would apologize again, but I don’t regret that kiss, and I meant every word after it.”

“Eli, this is crazy. We really don’t even know each other anymore,” she says softly, combing my hair back. She’s buzzed, so I’m not sure she even realizes she’s doing it. Even so, it’s all I can do to keep from snatching her and pinning her beneath me.

“You’re still very much the same, Whitney, in the ways that matter. The same beautiful, selfless, mouthy, family-oriented pain in the ass who looks at me like…”

“Like what?” She asks, her eyes probing.

“Like only you can.”

She sighs, and I grip her hand. “You’ve been drinking.”

“So?”

“We can talk about this when you haven’t.”

“I’m not that buzzed. I’ll remember this conversation. I can hold my liquor, unlike you,” she pokes.

I can’t help my grin. “I don’t doubt it, but I rather we didn’t have it now.”

“You always did hate it when I drank.”

I sigh. “Because I was an asshole when I drank, but you were nothing like me.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

Positive she’s remembering a time where I hurt or alienated her due to my own issues, she moves to stand. I grip her wrist and pull her back to sit.

“You didn’t deserve it.”

“Deserve what?”