Merry Ex-Mas Read online

  MERRY EX-MAS

  Victoria Christopher Murray

  Copyright © 2013 by Victoria Christopher Murray

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Jacket design by Natanya Wheeler

  For more information about Victoria Christopher Murray, please visit http://www.victoriachristophermurray.com

  Chapter 1

  Sheridan Hart Goodman

  "Boy, do you know how many hours I labored just to give you life!" Although I had asked my son that question before, with what he was asking me to do, I needed to remind him. "I pushed and pulled and screamed for twenty-three hours, seven minutes, and sixty-three seconds."

  Leaning against the dresser, my son, Christopher, laughed the way he always did when I went into this rant. "Ma, why do you say sixty-three seconds? Just add another minute—make it eight minutes and three seconds."

  I waved my finger in Christopher's face. "My math is not the issue here. The issue is that you're asking me to go above and beyond being the wonderful mother that I already am."

  "Yes, you are." Christopher slung his arm over my shoulder, and I knew that was another trick. "You have been the best mother ever," he said, laying the butter on thick. "But I just need you to take it up a notch. Just this one time. Just this one little thing."

  "Trust me, what you're asking me to do is no little thing."

  "But it's important to me," Christopher said.

  "Why?" I whined. I knew I sounded like a child, so I figured I'd go all the way. I twisted away from Christopher, plopped down on the edge of my bed, folded my arms, and pouted.

  Christopher laughed as he crossed the room, then gently eased down next to me. In a tone that was full of patience, he said, "I told you, Ma. I really want Evon's first Christmas with our family to be special." Then he softened his voice and added, "Don't you?"

  Foul! I wanted to yell at him. This was emotional blackmail. I should know—I was a mother and used it often.

  "That's what you want, right?" Christopher asked. "A special Christmas for me and my wife-to-be?"

  With every word, my son was breaking me down just a little bit more…and he knew it!

  "Evon and me." Christopher said his fiancée's name again, knowing that I adored the young woman that he'd chosen to marry.

  My lips betrayed me; I couldn't help it—I smiled. Of course I wanted this Christmas to be wonderful. This was the beginning of a whole new life for us. In six months, my baby boy, my son, my Christopher was going to be a husband. That, by itself, was hard enough to believe. And that meant I was going to be a mother-in-law. And I was going to be a wonderful one because Christopher had chosen well.

  Suddenly, Kem's voice filled my bedroom. "If it's love, it'll last a lifetime…." Christopher unhooked his cell from his holster, but he was grinning before he even looked down at the screen. "Ma, I gotta take this," he said, trotting out of the room.

  He didn't even give me a chance to tell him that it was okay and that I was glad that Evon had chosen this very minute to call. Maybe by the time he hung up, he would've forgotten what he was asking me to do.

  I couldn't believe Christopher actually wanted me to invite his father to Christmas dinner.

  His father, my ex-husband, who in 2004 had sent our entire family into turmoil and, at the same time, had almost ruined Christopher's life. Losing Quentin, the man I'd been married to for seventeen years, the man who was the love of my life, was bad enough; but what that breakup did to our sixteen-year-old son? It was crazy.

  It all started the day that Quentin had announced to the world that he'd been playing for the wrong team—that he was gay. From that day, Christopher had done everything in his power to prove that he was nothing like his father. My son had searched far outside his Jack and Jill circle and found Deja, the first girl that he'd ever brought home for me to meet.

  Deja Blue, the youngest of seven girls, was raised by a single father who'd taught his daughters that more important than education was finding boys who could take care of them. Thank God, Deja had been nothing more than a high school, first-lust, first-sex, get-back-at-my-father fling.

  Deja may have been the first, but Evon LaCroix was the last and she was the real deal. I just loved that young woman, whose face always shone brighter than the sun. I'm telling you, I would bet that not a tear had ever been shed out of her twinkling brown eyes. Just being around her made me happy.

  All of that alone would have been good enough for me, but the bonus was that Evon was sharp, mentally and physically. She was a Harvard grad who was born with a strong fashion sense, and she planned to put her education to use as a fashion entrepreneur with her LaCroix Designs. So yes, I wanted her to have a great Christmas with us, but did having Quentin here have to be part of the deal?

  "So, Ma," Christopher said, strutting back into the bedroom.

  Just the way he said that, I knew he wanted to pick the conversation up right where we'd left off.

  He continued, "All I'm trying to do is show Evon how we do it. I want her to see the wonderful Christmases that we have and how it's gonna be for her when she becomes a Hart."

  "I agree. And she'll see all of that. It's not necessary to bring your father into this. You haven't spent Christmas with him in what? Over eight years?" I shook my head. "No, we don't need him here for Christmas."

  Then Christopher lowered his eyes and glanced up at me through his eyelashes. "Please," he whispered.

  I used to think that was so cute, and it would've helped him—if this were eight years ago. Because Christopher looking at me like that—that was all Quentin. And looking and sounding like his father right now was not a winning strategy.

  "No, Christopher. I'm not inviting your father."

  "Come on, Ma!"

  "And think about it…what would Brock say?"

  "What would Brock say about what?" my husband said as he stepped into our bedroom.

  I jumped up and wrapped my arms around the finest man that I knew. "Hey, honey, I didn't hear you come in."

  "That's because you were too busy saying no to me," Christopher said.

  My husband looked at me and then switched to Christopher. "What's going on?"

  "Christopher is trying to talk me into something, and I'm not having it."

  Brock turned to Christopher. "You haven't convinced her about your father?"

  That made me blink over and over. "You know what Christopher wants me to do?"

  Brock nodded, but it was Christopher who spoke up. "Yeah, Ma. I talked to him last night. I wasn't going to disrespect Brock by going to you first."

  "Oh, so just disrespect me."

  "You know that's not what I meant." Then he shrugged. "It's just that Brock's the man of the house, and I understand these man things. I wanted to give him his props, his due respect. And I knew you'd understand that."

  I started grinning hard. How could I be mad at that? But then I remembered what Christopher wanted me to do, and I snatched my smile back. "So you guys talked and…"

  Brock put his arms around me like he thought he'd better be holding me when he said, "I told him I thought it was a good idea."

  I wiggled away from him. "Traitor!"

  He laughed. "Ah, come on; we're all grown up now," Brock said as he pulled me back to him. "First of all, I won; you're my bride."

  I loved when he said that, when he called me his bride, even though we'd been married for six years.

  He added, "So I don't have any beef with Quentin. Plus, Christopher wants to show off his family to Evon. He wants her to really see that he comes from good stock."

  "She knows that
already. She's met me and you."

  "And she's met Dad, too, obviously," Christopher piped in, "but now, she'll get to see all of us together."

  "Yeah," Brock said, "she'll get to see the cohesive blended family that we are."

  I rolled my eyes. It sounded good, but the reality of it—sitting down with Quentin and whatever man he was with…I shuddered. Looking up at Brock, I said, "I've known you for nine years, and now you turn on me?"

  He laughed, but I didn't find a single thing funny.

  "You know I love me some you," he said. "But baby, this isn't about us. This is about our children, this family, and this Christmas."

  Game over! Because Brock had me whenever he referred to Christopher and Tori as his children. That's how he'd always been. From the moment when I'd finally introduced my son and daughter to him, Brock had thought of Christopher and Tori as his own.

  I still remembered the conversation he had when we told the kids that we were getting married. "You two already have a father, and I'm not trying to replace him. But I want you to know that I love you because I love your mother. And I'll always be here for you in whatever way that you need me."

  Right after that, he'd asked their permission to marry me, and it had been a love fest all around since then.

  Brock said, "So, we're all having Christmas dinner…here…together…as a family?"

  I was almost ready to say yes, but I still had to give it one more try. Glancing at Christopher, I said, "I thought you didn't want to have anything to do with your father?"

  Christopher frowned as if he was trying to figure out what I was talking about. "Are you talking about when I was sixteen?"

  I nodded. "Can't we go back to those days?"

  "Ma!"

  "Sheridan!"

  Brock and Christopher shouted at me at the same time. Then Brock added, "Can't we just do this for our son?"

  There it was again. Our son. The way he had pulled my children into his heart, how could I say no?

  I nodded, though I barely moved my head. I didn't want either one of them to think that they'd totally won me over. I didn't want them to think that I totally agreed because I knew something they didn't know. I couldn't explain it, but it was in my gut—eating turkey with Quentin and his man on Christmas was sure to be a disaster.

  "Yes!" Christopher pumped his fist in the air. "Thank you!" He kissed my cheek and then bumped fists with Brock. "Thanks, dude!"

  "You got it 'cause I'm just trying to help you out; I'm just making sure that Evon doesn't give you back that big ole ring that she's rockin'."

  Christopher laughed one more time before he kissed me again, and then he strutted out of the room like he'd just won the current forty-million-dollar Powerball.

  Brock followed him to the door, then closed it behind him. When he turned back to me, I shook my head. "What was up with that? I thought you didn't like my ex?"

  "I told you—I don't have a problem with Quentin. Once I put that ring on your finger, he became my best friend. Because of him, I have you. How can I hate on that?"

  He kissed my neck, and inside I moaned. But I wasn't ready to give in totally…yet. "You're just trying to butter me up so that I'll do this."

  He laughed. "No, 'cause you already agreed. It's a done deal, and we're gonna have fun doing it."

  "Dinner with Quentin and whatever man he's seeing now? Yeah, it's gonna be a real Christmas day at the beach." I sighed. "Do you really think I can do this?"

  He nodded. "Yes, 'cause you're my beautiful, wonderful, amazing wife and you can do anything." Then when he pressed his plump lips against mine, that tingling began in the soles of my feet and began rising, rising.

  But even when he pushed me back onto the bed and lay on top of me, I couldn't stop the thoughts in my head. I was really going to have Christmas dinner with Quentin Hart. Christmas with my ex. This was going to take a lot of prayer.

  Oh joy, joy, joy!

  Joy to the world!

  Chapter 2

  Kendall Leigh Stewart

  From the moment I got the call from my father this morning, I knew exactly what he wanted. This was our annual pre-Christmas caucus. This was when he'd beg me to come to Christmas dinner, and I'd have to tell him what I'd told him for the last six years: No!

  I sighed as I peeked through the windshield at my Compton childhood home. Why did my father put himself through this? By now, he should have gotten the message; I was never going to change my mind. I wished that he would just stop asking. For him and for me. Because every time my father called right before Christmas, he reminded me. And I was taken back to the day when this started all those years ago…

  I couldn't wait to get home. Anthony and I had been so off-kilter for the last few months, and I wanted to do something about that. Especially with the way I'd left for San Francisco yesterday morning. I still felt bad about the special night that Anthony had prepared for me—a celebration the night before I left for this business trip. But the thing was, I didn't know about his plans. And once he'd told me, it was too late for me to change mine. I had planned another long, long night at the office. This meeting with the Ozark people in San Fran was too important for me not to be totally prepared. I really wanted their specialty products in our spa, and I needed to put the final touches on my presentation.

  Of course, because I wouldn't change my plans, it had turned into just another one of the thousands of blowups I had with my husband. Anthony accused me of always putting work ahead of him, and I told him that I thought I'd married a grown man and not a whiny boy.

  The look in his eyes when I said that made me want to snatch those words back. Made me try a different approach.

  "This is all for our future," I tried to convince him.

  But though my approach was different, his wasn't. "If you keep this up, we may never have a future."

  His words had shocked me. "What does that mean?"

  He didn't answer, just stomped away.

  It felt like a tantrum to me, and I didn't have time to handle it then, but I planned on handling it now. Tonight. In our bedroom. In our bed.

  Just me coming home early from this business trip—something that I'd never done before—would prove to Anthony that I was serious about us and our marriage. I knew I wasn't good at this wife thing. Maybe it was because, as a little girl, I'd never wanted to grow up to be a wife. Maybe it was because I saw Anthony as more of my business partner than my husband. But whatever my issues were, I wanted to get it right, now. I'd probably need some counseling, and I was fine with that.

  I'd start with tonight, though. Just me and Anthony.

  It was just about five minutes before a new day when the cab eased to the side of the road on PCH and stopped at our home. Every time I pulled up in front of our Malibu beachside house, I was reminded of just how blessed I was. And I was going to not only tell my husband that tonight, I was going to show him.

  I rushed through the front door and dropped my bag right at the entry. Of course, the house was dark, but not pitch-black since the midnight moon that lit the beach seeped through the living room's magnificent glass wall. As I headed up the stairs, I was already peeling off my clothes, getting ready for my husband.

  And then I got to the doorway of our bedroom.

  And I stopped.

  I was frozen, but only for a moment.

  Truly, my eyes had to be deceiving me. It was dark, so my brain had confused my eyes because I couldn't be seeing what I saw. That's why I turned on the light. The bright overhead light that lit up the bedroom like the shining sun. The light we never used because it was so bright. But the light that I needed now.

  Anthony was home. In bed. But he was not alone.

  I screamed.

  And then he screamed. And then she screamed.

  "Oh, my god!"

  I think I was the one who said that because the next thing I heard was, "Kendall!"

  That was Anthony, but I couldn't concentrate on him. Because my eyes wouldn't move
from the woman who held the sheet, my sheet, from my bed, over her bare chest.

  "Kendall!" Anthony yelled my name again.

  It wasn't until he touched me that I was finally freed from my catatonic state. That was when I stumbled out of the bedroom and staggered down the stairs. Thick tears clouded my eyes, slowing me down as I struggled to open the garage door and jump into my car.

  I was surprised that Anthony hadn't caught up to me, but I guess I had an advantage—I was already dressed.

  The tires screamed as I shifted the car into reverse and pressed the accelerator to the floor. Then I pushed the car into drive and did the same thing. I drove, with no destination in mind, but after only a few minutes, I couldn't keep going. I was truly blinded by my tears and wouldn't make it much further. But where was I going to go?

  It didn't take me long to figure that out, nor long to get there. But if I'd been thinking straight, I would've chosen someplace else. Because five minutes after I arrived in my office, Anthony barreled in.

  "Kendall!" There was relief in his voice. "Oh, my god!"

  I turned to face him and the way he looked at me, I wondered what he saw. I knew he could see my swollen, red eyes, but could he see my busted heart, too? That's the part that I wanted him to see. I wanted to rip my blouse open, slash my skin, and show him my heart that I knew would never, ever be the same.

  But with all of that in my mind, the only words that came out of me were, "How could you?"

  He shook his head slowly, and that's when I noticed that his eyes were as puffed up as mine. I wondered why—it wasn't like he had any reason to hurt.

  "Kendall," he said, "I'm so sorry."

  But I didn't want to hear any apologies. I just wanted my answer. "How could you?" I asked him again through my sobs.

  There was nothing but sorrow in his eyes, and I wanted to smack that out of him. "I'm sorry," he kept saying. "We can try to work through this…it was just this one time."

  One time? So that was supposed to make a difference?