Thank you for your continued support. I appreciate it.
Standard disclaimer.
The Rose's house looked like Christmas got drunk and threw up on it.
There was a blowup Santa, one of those weird ones in the front yard, that reminded Sam of Bubble Boy.
Wire reindeer glimmered in the night, flashing white and then red.
On the roof, was another Santa, perched near the chimney and there was a blowup sleigh, on the other patch of frozen grass.
Christmas lights in every color imaginable, hung from the roof and circled the porch railing. And there...a back-lit Frosty the Snowman stood, waving at him.
'Creepy,' Sam thought and shuddered.
But, as he stepped onto the porch, Frank E. Post, kicked on and started singing 'Have a Swinging Christmas' when he came within a few feet of it.
"Whoa," he said, stepping around the thing and heading for the door.
As Sam approached the door, he paused before knocking and shook out his shoulders.
It was an attempt, at trying to lose the pissy attitude he'd been rocking since yesterday, courtesy of Mercedes.
How foolish did he look getting all...considerate and shit, by ordering her favorite food and then assuming she'd want to spend Christmas Eve with him?
He should've known better.
They were faking this whole dating thing.
He just hadn't thought about that, when she'd texted him. Little did he know, she was coming over, to ask him, not to go to the Gala with her.
Whatever.
He wasn't going to let this crap with her, ruin the one night a year, he was actually surrounded by family.
His brother answered the door, decked out in a sweater, that had Sam laughing so hard, he was afraid he was going to drop the gifts he'd brought.
It was bright green, with a knitted jolly Saint Nick, holding a sign that read...EVEN SANTA IS PREPARED 4 ARMAGEDDON. R U? MERRY CHRISTMAS!
"If you say one word," Stevie said, holding open the door, "I will kick your ass."
Marley's father popped out and gave a huge wave. He wore the same sweater.
"Hey there, all-star!"
Sam struggled to get the smile off his face.
"I won't say a word."
"I bet," Stevie said sarcastically. He took one of the bags from him and then frowned. "Where's Mercedes?"
Sam followed his younger brother in.
The air smelled of Old Bay seasoning and beer...a Rose Christmas Eve tradition.
"She couldn't make it."
"Hmm," Stevie replied, putting the bags down by the tree.
Sam turned, hoping to make a hasty escape, before his brother could start asking more questions, and found himself enveloped in a warm hug.
"I'm so glad you could make it," Mrs. Rose said, squeezing the damn life out of him, but man, he loved those hugs.
She pulled back, the skin crinkling around her eyes, as she smiled.
"Is it possible, that you get more handsome every time I see you?"
"Eew, Mom!" Marley's voice carried from the kitchen.
"It's entirely possible, Mrs. Rose," Sam said and gave her a wink.
Mr. Rose appeared and swung an arm over his wife's shoulder.
The man was as huge as a bear. The apocalypse-ready Santa on his sweater, was at least three times bigger than Stevie's.
"Sorry, Sam, I'll try to keep her paws off you."
"Oh, he knows my eyes and hands are for you." To prove her words, she grabbed her husband's ass, and then slapped it .
Mitch poked his head out and curled his lips in horror.
"That's not something I wanted to see...ever," he said, disgust written all over his face.
Mr. Rose huffed.
"Yeah, well, you've obviously been grabbing a lot more than your wife's..."
"Dad," Mitch groaned. "Really?"
From beside the Christmas tree, Mitch's wife Eliza grinned and rubbed her swollen belly.
"It's true."
"My family's insane," Mitch said, and disappeared back into the hall.
And they were, but Sam loved them...loved the whole warm atmosphere. It was one of the reasons why he and his brothers had been drawn to their family.
It was the complete opposite of theirs.
Speaking of family, Sawyer came out and shoved a cold beer in his hand.
Sam noted that he wasn't rocking a Rose Christmas sweater.
"Where's your woman?"
Sam sighed, not wanting to think about Mercedes.
"She's not here."
His brother nodded curtly.
With his hair pulled back in a small ponytail, at the nape of his neck, Sawyer looked like the kind of guy, people hired security, to protect them from.
"What about the other one?"
"Other one?"
"Yeah...the one with glasses?" he clarified. Sam's brows shot up.
"Miss Wilde...my publicist? Who knows? I'm just hoping it's far away from me. Wait. You're not..."
Before he could finish that nightmare of a sentence, Marley appeared with a platter of cookies, eyes narrowed.
"Oh, what the hell? Where is Mercedes?"
"She couldn't make it," Stevie tossed over his shoulder, sending Sam a look, as he took the tray from Marley. "Or that's what Sam claims."
Marley looked like she was about to throw something.
"Every year I invite her, and this was the one year, I figured she had no way of escaping."
"Sorry." Sam shrugged. "I guess she's scared, you guys will lock her in a bomb shelter or something."
She rolled her eyes.
"That's not why she won't come."
Sam's curiosity was definitely piqued.
"You mean, she's not afraid you guys are going to force feed her freeze-dried survival food?"
"Ha. Ha. No."
"Then why did she bail?" he asked.
Marley glanced over her shoulder.
At that moment, her father had Stevie and Sawyer cornered, showing them some type of survival magazine.
Marley winced and grabbed Sam's arm, pulling him into the empty kitchen. On the stove, a huge pot of shrimp steamed.
"Mercedes doesn't like Christmas." Sam crossed his arms.
"I figured as much," he said.
"Do you know why? Probably not...because she doesn't talk about it."
"Are you going to tell me?" He leaned against the counter. She sighed.
"I'm only telling you this, because I love that girl to death, and she had a really crappy day yesterday."
"Wait. What do you mean?"
Marley looked dumbfounded.
"She didn't tell you? Of course not." She shook her head, as Sam's patience stretched. "You know how we've been working on the Gala and it's been our life, for almost the last year."
Sam knew and he also knew Mercedes' job hung on the line. He nodded.
"We're still a lot of money short, which has the director insane about the Gala. He pulled her into a meeting yesterday," she said. "She's not allowed to attend the fund-raiser."
"What?" He straightened his arms. "Why the fuck not?"
Marley looked uncomfortable.
"It's because of you."
"Excuse me?" She cringed.
"See, the director is concerned about you two...kind of taking over the event. About it becoming more...about you being there...than raising money, and there's going to be a lot of conservative people there, who won't want their pictures taken..."
"Mercedes came by yesterday and asked that I not go, but she didn't say anything about this."
Anger had his hands clenching.
"I'm not going. It should be an easy fix."
"Yeah, that's what she said, but he knows the press could still be there. He's not going to let her go."
Why hadn't she told him this? That was the question forefront in Sam's mind.
"That's absolute bullshit. She deserves to go."
"I know. I totally agree, but what the director says, goes. There's nothing I can do."
Marley turned her head to the side a bit.
"I should've figured she wouldn't tell you. Probably didn't want you to feel bad."
'Fuck!' He felt like an ass. Mercedes hadn't given him a reason, for asking him not to attend, but if he'd known it had been because of him...
"Anyway," Marley continued. "This time of year isn't good for her. So the whole Gala thing is definitely adding to it."
Sam thrust his fingers through his hair.
"Why doesn't she like Christmas?"
There was a pause.
"Her parents were killed on Christmas Eve, when she was in college."
"Holy shit..."
"I didn't know how it was before then, but ever since I've known her, she doesn't celebrate Christmas. Bad memories, I guess, but I've been trying to give her new ones, you know?"
She looked crestfallen.
"I was hoping, since she was dating you, the holidays could actually be something nice for her."
Sam stared at Marley.
Mercedes had told him, her parents had passed...during one of their dates, but he hadn't known how, or the timing.
Good God! No wonder Christmas sucked for her and on top of that, her director pulling her out of the Gala?
He was pissed and he was also...he was also very upset.
Turning to the pot on the stove, he tried to imagine what it was like for Mercedes right now and he could...easily.
Before he had the Rose family, Christmas wasn't celebrated.
There were no goofy sweaters, gifts, laughter ringing through the house, or shrimp boiling on the stove.
Christmas at the Evans household, had been cold and as sterile as everything else.
Except, his mother was usually more doped up and his father would almost always be away, on a 'business trip,' but this was different.
Different on so many levels.
None of this should really affect him, but it did.
He was upset for Mercedes, and he didn't want her sitting at home alone.
He also didn't want her, not to be able to see a year's worth of work, not come to fruition
He wanted to fix this.
Strange...really fucking strange, because, typically, whatever problems he faced, he either ignored them, or blew right through them.
Or someone else took care of them. He never really fixed them.
But he was going to fix the fuck out of this.
One thing he could do now. The other, which involved a phone call to his accountant and then to the rat bastard of a director, would have to wait.
"Sam?" came Marley's quiet voice.
He turned around, his mind made up.
"I have to go. Can you pass my regrets to your family?"
Marley blinked slowly, and then her eyes were aglow with happiness.
"Yeah...yes, I can."
He started passed her, but she called out his name, stopping him.
"What are you going to do?"
He wasn't one hundred percent sure, but he only knew one thing...
"I'm going to go make new memories."
It was damn near eight o'clock in the evening, before Mercedes decided she needed to shower and brush her teeth, but the marathon of The Walking Dead, had kept her glued to the screen for most of the day.
And nothing, not even hygiene, was more important, than the cray cray, of a zombie infestation.
It seemed funny, to be finally taking off her jammies to shower and put fresh pajamas back on, but that's what she was doing.
Tying the sash on her robe, loosely around her waist, she patted out most of the water in her hair, with her towel, as she crossed her living room and peered out on the streets down below.
There was last-minute traffic congesting the streets, but in about an hour, there'd be nothing, and tomorrow, there'd only be a few cars, carrying people to see their families.
Mercedes had decided to go to the movies tomorrow and eat as much popcorn as she could stomach.
Moving away from the window, she dropped the towel on the back of the recliner and glanced at the coffee table.
Her cell phone had been so silent, Kellogs had curled up around it.
She briefly toyed with the idea of texting Sam a Merry Christmas message, as she'd planned on doing, but after the complete hideous bitch, she'd been to him yesterday, she doubted he'd be happy to hear from her.
Sam had actually tried to be considerate and sweet with the food thing, and she had...well, she'd just had a really bad day.
But she sincerely hoped he was having a good time and tried not to think passed the New Year, but it was inevitable.
How many dates did they have left together? Three. Maybe four, and then nothing.
And considering how she'd acted yesterday, Sam probably thought she didn't even care.
Sitting down on the couch, she picked up the remote and searched for something on the TV to distract her.
When that failed, she tried searching out a favorite book of hers, from the case.
A sudden, unexpected knock on the door, caused her to drop the book.
Kellogs popped up from the coffee table, kicking her cell phone onto the floor, as he darted into the bedroom.
Mercedes sighed.
Having no idea who could be here, other than a neighbor, she peered through the little peephole in her door.
Air punched out of her lungs, and her heart skipped a beat.
She'd recognized the back of that head, anywhere.
Stay safe!