You for Christmas Read online

  “Thanks.” She took the beer, but didn’t drink.

  As Felix leaned a hip against the bench, desperate for a plan, opportunity struck. He spotted his phone through the glass door to the balcony, sitting innocently on the tiles. If he could text Stevie, he’d only have to delay Regan for half an hour tops before she got here.

  Without a better idea, he said, “This album isn’t as good as I remember. I’ll just change it over.” Casually, he made his way outside.

  He’d managed to switch to a new artist and type a time-poor Regan’s here, get over asap text, before a hand shot around him and snatched the phone away.

  Teeth clenched, he turned and met narrowed eyes. She was holding down the power button, and after a moment, she swiped to shut down.

  “I see subtlety isn’t your thing,” she said, and slid it into her pocket as a tram dinged with cheerful fury on the street below.

  “She deserves to know you’re here.”

  “She deserves a better sister.” Regan raised a hand to shield her eyes from the lowering sun, skin gleaming with perspiration. “But I’m what she got.”

  He shook his head, disappointment hitting hard.

  “I’m here to take up what I’m owed. Then I’ll get out of your life.”

  “This isn’t fair.”

  Her frown was incredulous.

  “Not about me owing you.” He pressed a hand to the wall, frustrated, and heard his neighbor clear her throat on the balcony next door. He lowered his voice. “Not fair on Stevie.”

  Regan’s chin moved a little higher, showing the smooth cut of her square jaw. Short, bite-sized, and insolent, this pixie wouldn’t be persuaded.

  “I can’t believe it.” Felix dropped his hand to his side, gutted. “But fine. Damn it. I’ll give you the whole ten grand and you can run off into the sunset without giving a shit about anyone.”

  Regan’s lips parted. Her pause was unsettled. “Ah. No, thanks.”

  “Adding interest?” He shouldn’t be surprised.

  “I’m not after money. It wasn’t mine in the first place, Felix. I hardly deserve it back.”

  Unease crept down his spine, mingling uncomfortably with the heat of the setting sun. “Then what are you doing here?”

  She met his glare and put her bag down. “I want to stay with you for a few days.”

  At his disbelieving silence, her features hardened and her chin shot back up.

  She was serious.

  Shock slapped him. He’d hardly known Regan as a youth—he didn’t know her at all as a woman. And now she’d turned up out of the blue and wanted to crash at his place? He had no idea who she had become. For all he knew, she had him marked and intended to rob him blind. He didn’t really believe it, but she’d stolen before. He eyed her bag and made a decision.

  “I’d prefer to pay back what I owe. But if you need somewhere to stay, I’ll put you up in a hotel, too.” And while he was organizing a bank transfer, he’d be telling Stevie the room number. “Inner-city like this, five star. All the white walls you could wish for.”

  She tapped her beer bottle with a fingernail. “I’d prefer to stay here, actually.”

  “A B&B,” he said next. “A nice one out in the Yarra Valley.”

  She shook her head. “Thanks anyway.”

  “A resort by the beach.” Now he was grasping, because he couldn’t deny that he owed her, but Regan as a houseguest would be all kinds of messy. This could buy him time.

  Cynicism curved her smile. “A resort, okay, sure. And what am I supposed to do there?”

  “Be happy?”

  “Yeah.” She pivoted and sat on the in-built balcony bench. Then she swigged the brew, set it down beside her, and said, “I’ll stay here.”

  Felix clenched his fingers. No way would she come to Melbourne just to stay with him for a few nights. Apprehension dug into his chest as he asked, “Why?”

  She looked up, expression mildly curious. “How’s your dad?”

  His fingers uncurled. In other words, Don’t ask questions, you owe me this, remember?

  He answered anyway, tone detached. “Dead, since you ask. Years ago. Got drunk, started a fight in a bar. Police tasered him, instant heart attack.”

  She blinked and sat still for a moment. “Should I be sorry?”

  “I still ask myself the same question.”

  “Your mum?”

  “Remarried on the other side of the country,” he said. “Presumably running from the unimaginable guilt of having witnessed her husband beat up her son without trying to stop it. She calls on my birthday, but we rarely talk. I think it hinders the running thing.”

  There was a substantial pause.

  “You know about running.” Felix waited until she glared up at him. “But if you stay here, I won’t let you keep running from Stevie.”

  She straightened. “So I can stay?”

  “You heard the rest of the sentence.”

  “Please, Fee.” Her fingertips dug into the skin below her eyebrows, sliding the pressure outwards. “It was hard enough coming here. Can you let me stop in peace for a day or two?”

  “I owe you.” He couldn’t deny that. “But I’m not on your side.”

  Her guard fell away with her hands. Defeat stared up at him in those big brown eyes and the bags beneath them seemed to darken. She looked exhausted, either by stress or sleeplessness or both. She’d be twenty-four by now, but looked sixteen again, lost and confused.

  “Please? I’m so tired.” He heard the truth of it in her voice. “Please leave it for now.”

  Pained, he took off his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and slid them back on. “Are you caught up in something dangerous? Are you thinking only of yourself by being here?”

  Vulnerability curled her shoulders forwards as she shook her head. “I just need a break.”

  And he just didn’t know whether he could believe that.

  “I’ve got no one else to ask.” Despite the heat, her skin had paled. “I know it’s pathetic, needing people to owe me favors before they’ll help me. But that’s my life. And you owe me.”

  Felix felt a corner at his back.

  He watched her look down, fingers tangling together, waiting for his decision. With a pang, Felix knew he wasn’t being fair. So Regan hadn’t pulled herself together these past years. So he knew that she was capable of stealing substantial funds and disappearing into the night. So she had been a heartless sister, leaving Stevie alone without warning and not looking back.

  None of that changed the fact he owed her.

  “Okay.” He sighed. “But I have complete control over the television, stereo, and computer at all times, even when asleep.”

  Hope had her sitting straight, lips pressed together. She nodded rapidly.

  “You can have the spare bedroom. Ten minute time limit to the bathroom. No long baths or whatever women are notorious for doing in there.”

  She looked on the verge of scoffing, but settled for an eye roll.

  “You can’t have anyone over,” he added, just in case.

  She shook her head quickly, as if to say never.

  “Two nights.” His tone held a warning.

  “Just two,” she said, clinging to it. “Or three, on good behavior.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “Don’t tell Stevie,” she said next.

  That request tore at his loyalty. “You know the position I’m in.”

  Regan paused, features pinched. “Don’t tell her yet.”

  Reluctantly, he agreed to the compromise.

  “I’ll pay for everything,” she said.

  “No, you won’t.”

  And then she stood, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder again. She eyed him, attention skimming over his chest. Tension crawled outward from her gaze, prickling his skin. “Any chance I could take that long bath now?”

  “There’s a spare towel under the sink,” he murmured.

  “Stop looking like this is a huge mistake.”<
br />
  Hard, with it being one and all. But he said, “The hot tap’s touchy. You’ll hardly need to turn it.”

  “Right.” With a strange parting glance, she stepped into the apartment and disappeared down the short hall. The bathroom door closed with a snap.

  Felix stood, dazed in the late afternoon sunlight. What the hell had just happened?

  Regan had turned up. Asked to stay for a few days. And he’d said yes.

  He peered down at the frazzled flow of people several storeys below and felt a moment of envy. Couldn’t be that hard to buy presents and plan a fancy meal with the extended family. They should try having a long-lost rebel turn up on their doorstep.

  Regan. His memory of her was blurred. Mixed parts carelessness, attitude, and fierce generosity. She could have been anywhere, done anything in her eight years away. He had no idea what had made her steal twenty grand and split in the first place, just as he didn’t know why she was back now.

  Only one thing was certain.

  She’d come home looking as broken as when she’d left.

  Chapter Two

  Regan sat on the tiles of the shower, warm water flowing over her head and down her spine. With her legs drawn to her chest and face between her knees, she was prey to the strangest sensation.

  Safety.

  She’d helped herself to Felix’s sweet-scented shampoo and lathered herself in body wash. Now she was comfortable, cool, and pretending with all her might that she was calm.

  She tilted her head slightly, and the running water shifted its path and sped into her mouth. She drank it, swirled it, spat it back out over her chin. Calm, playful movements. Regan could do calm. There was no reason to hurry. Even naked and alone, she was warmed by the unfamiliar sense of protection.

  She pressed her forehead harder against her knees. When was the last time she’d felt wholly safe? No idea. Nor could she remember the last time she’d been certain she’d made the right decision, but the instant Felix had opened the door, conviction had struck her.

  He was harmless. She knew that instinctively. So harmless, the sight of him had clogged her throat with relief that this ridiculous plan might actually work.

  He fit with her memory of him. An older, more assertive version of the kind-hearted geek who’d always been by Stevie’s side. The truest of friends, right from the moment the pair met as childhood neighbors. Regan was convinced he was the reason Stevie had turned out okay. Stayed safe. A constant presence, his support like a guiding hand on her back.

  Sometimes, Regan tried to imagine how she’d have turned out if she’d been that lucky in friendship.

  She couldn’t.

  Panic squirmed in her chest and she clutched her legs tighter. One week ago today, her world had split apart like the ice beneath her. She’d realized, with terror fat and frozen in her heart, no one would notice if she died. No one would care, beyond those who got lumped with the paperwork.

  The accident had held a mirror to her damaged existence and she’d stared back, horrified that she’d cared so little for herself for so long. That she’d let herself be so alone. She’d built a fortress secure enough to keep out those who sought to harm her, but that meant blocking out offerings of kindness, too. As for love, well, it had no chance of finding a way in.

  The panic in her chest roiled again.

  On the verge of a breakdown, Regan had clung to the one bridge she hadn’t burnt, as frail as it was. She’d huddled in an internet café in snow-smothered Canada and searched online for Felix Nickson. His professional profile had squeezed her heart with a deranged hope and the screen had blurred behind her tears. She could find him. Appeal to his gentle nature. She hadn’t truly believed he would help her, but in that moment, she’d needed a reason to save herself.

  I’ll go to Melbourne for Christmas. Fall apart later, but hold it together long enough to get there.

  She’d held it together. And here she was.

  She’d saved Felix’s profile photo onto her phone, a reminder of her goal. One of those candid shots, taken at a convention or team meeting or something, where he’d been caught laughing. So straight with his black-framed glasses and even teeth, so pure with his close shave and lightly mussed brown hair. So gorgeous with his blue eyes, thick lashes, and laugh lines.

  He looked genuine, engaged, successful.

  Everything she wasn’t.

  The water ran a little colder and Regan let it. She wanted to be worth Felix’s time, but as it was, he thought she was a failure. She’d seen it on his face when he’d opened the door. Shock, confusion, and there, pulling down his mouth as judgment formed, disappointment. Even now she felt his dismissal burying under her skin like tiny claws.

  Regan clenched her eyes shut. She could hardly blame him.

  The plan was to change that. Even just a couple of days in Felix’s company, soaking up his goodness, could help get her on track. Ease the guard she’d clung to so tightly, for so long. Stop her defenses being second nature. Make space for the girl she’d buried inside, and buried deep for her own safety. If Regan was to ever feel whole again, she had to let that girl back into her heart. Back into the world.

  For several minutes, water fell, cool and safe, and Regan sat, wrapped in her own arms.

  Then her phone buzzed on the vanity and she stood. The countdown timer she’d set so she didn’t exceed ten minutes. She intended to follow Felix’s rules. The last thing she wanted was to get kicked out before her two days were up. She fully intended to use this time to think, and plan, and ultimately turn her life around.

  Starting now.

  From: Felix

  21-12-2015 (8 minutes ago)

  To: Jed Brown

  Subject: Stuck

  Hey, man, hope you still check your emails over breakfast, ’cause Stevie’s little sister just rocked up on my doorstep. Been missing eight years, ran away at sixteen, no word since. She wants to stay for a few days but says I can’t tell Stevie. I owe her, big time (explain later), but shit, am torn. Thoughts? See you in a few days. F.

  From: Jed Brown

  21-12-2015 (1 minute ago)

  To: Felix

  Subject: RE: Stuck

  Damn. Points for brevity. I say tell Stevie because no one should be lied to about family. Dee says don’t tell Stevie yet because she’s shown up for a reason and a girl who returns after eight years asking for a place to stay at Christmas is “quite obviously after a lot more than that, you dolt.” So...good luck with that. Jed (and Dee).

  The shower stopped running as Felix returned his computer to hibernation. Still torn, he now felt a stronger tug in both directions. Jed, a close friend since university days, had a solid reason for his stance, having been lied to about his father—and birthright—for twenty-six years. But his wife, Dee, also had a point. From what Felix had gathered about her, Dee’s opinions were blunt, well-meaning, and usually right on the money.

  Keeping quiet it was. For now.

  Half an hour later he was lounging on the couch beneath the ceiling fan, gaming console in-hand, unable to concentrate on anything other than the woman in the room. Regan had emerged from the bathroom after exactly ten minutes and had since wandered around his apartment, reading the certificates and posters on the walls, poking at a disassembled laptop, and then lingering at his bookshelf, head tilted as she read the spines.

  He couldn’t stop watching her.

  Couldn’t stop wondering if Dee was right, and if so, why Regan was really here. She’d tracked him down specifically. And she didn’t want money. She’d turned up, shrouded in eight years of mystery. She hadn’t said where she’d been or what she’d done in her time away. What had changed to make her come back to Melbourne now? He knew nothing about her and judging by her agile approach to conversation, she intended to keep it that way.

  Attraction partnered with his intrigue. He blamed those skin-hugging jeans.
And that red singlet, all thin fabric and low-scooping neckline, the kind of skimpy thing a woman wore under clothes, not in place of them. It showed off toned arms, winter pale skin, and breasts that just might have been too big to fit in his palms.

  He tried to concentrate on the game. Really tried. Then she went and dropped a book, twisting towards him as she bent down to pick it up, and stunned him with an eyeful of luscious cleavage. Awareness rushed through him, a hard and fast full-body tug that had his pulse lurching and his character dying a sudden and bloody death.

  Regan glanced at the flashing screen. Eyebrows raised, her attention shifted to him. “Death by zombie attack. Thought you’d be better than that.”

  “Me, too,” he muttered.

  “You know,” she said, rising slowly to her feet and dragging Felix’s attention with her, “video games can kill you.”

  “Yeah, okay.” He chucked the console onto the coffee table, smiling dryly. “Which story have you heard?”

  She slid the book back onto the shelf. “Deep vein thrombosis.”

  “I don’t routinely play for twelve hours at a time.” He rarely played a couple hours a week, with the screen strain his eyes copped at work. “I also enjoy exercising my ability to stand.”

  “Exhaustion,” she listed.

  “My previous points stand.”

  “Jumping off a building because you’ve forgotten how to distinguish between reality and virtual reality, and you want to kick-start your after-life adventure.”

  Felix stared. No words needed.

  “Just saying,” she said, turning back to the books. A moment later, she tugged a graphic novel off the shelf. “Drifting in Melbourne, by Jebediah Brown.” She frowned. “That name sounds familiar.”

  “That name belongs to a friend of mine, Jed. He’s an online comic artist.” Among other things. “That’s his latest, just went to print last month.”

  “Really?” She looked amused as she flipped the covers open. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised you know a comic artist.”

  “Because I’m a nerd?”

  All she had to do was gesture to the globe beside his computer—of Middle Earth.

  “Point taken,” he said.