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.”Chapter NineThe easy way tradition settled around Kyle, surprised him.Moments ago, he’d been wound up in the same knots that refused to unclench.But as he wrestled with straightening the star, remembrances of how many times this damn piece of tinsel and plastic had refused to sit any way but cockeyed, surfaced.One year, he’d almost thrown it across the room.Aimee rescued the poor star a nanosecond before it left his fingers and eased his frustration with a kiss so sweet, he questioned how ambrosia could be the nectar of the gods.They’d made love in front of the fireplace, and afterward, he hung the star the same crooked way he had each time before.What he really craved was the scent of pine.This fake tree just didn’t hold the same appeal.He stepped back and squinted at the uncooperative tree topper.One of these days, he was going to replace…The thought died as quickly as it surfaced.This would be the last time that star would push him to the limits of insanity.When Aimee left, there would be no more Christmas trees, no more hand-made stockings on the mantel, and no pine wreaths on the front door to tickle his nose when he walked inside.His gaze strayed up the staircase to their bedroom, where wrapping paper rustled.Longing wrenched his heart.In two weeks, that room would be empty, and he had never spent a single night in this house alone.God above, what he would give if they could go back to the summer they’d decided children would be smart and change his mind.What he’d do to be normal once again.A dark shadow on the gold star made him frown.Damned thing had a light out.How appropriate.It never seemed to fail in its maddening existence.Kyle hobbled to the foot of the stairs.“Aimee? Where’s that box of replacement lights? This thing’s got a bulb out.”“Um.” Wrapping paper crackled.“I think it’s in the basement.Don’t worry about it.I probably stacked a bunch of stuff on top of the Christmas boxes.”Don’t worry about it—had she forgotten the waging war between him and the star? He chuckled as he picked up his cane and trudged to the kitchen and the basement door.A distant flicker of red light beyond the dining room’s picture window gave him pause.Bulb temporarily forgotten, he drifted to the wide pane, scrubbed a clear spot in the frost, and gazed out at their neighbor’s decorated house, further up the woodsy incline.On top of the peaked roof sat a lighted sleigh and two reindeer.Kyle couldn’t help but smile.Aimee and he still played Santa.Granted, their version was often a bit more…adult, and cookies and milk had never been so erotic as a child.Still, the sight of the magical sleigh drew him further into the magic of the holiday.Traditions were made for a reason, and if this was the last Christmas he had with Aimee, he would make it as memorable as their first.She would start her own, no doubt.He, however, wanted one happy memory to hang on to.One little place of peace—even if he didn’t deserve it—he could go to when the nightmares ripped him from sleep.He left the window and went to the back patio door, hoping she hadn’t used all the wood he cut in preparation for last winter.As he slid open the glass, the hearty aroma of someone else’s burning fireplace filled his nostrils.He breathed in the smoke and the crisp winter air, let the pleasant aroma fill his lungs before he exhaled, and his breath clouded around him.After a dozen winters in the sand, the serenity of new fallen snow was a glimpse of heaven.He spied the remnants of his exuberant efforts last October, and relief flooded through him.Leaving his cane inside, he hobbled across the powdery white covering their deck and picked up a large armful of hand-hewn logs.It took a little coordination, but he managed to juggle the wood and his suddenly uncooperative leg, back inside the house, all the way to the fireplace.There, he knelt in front of the stone mantel and tossed the logs inside.Kindling came from the basket on the hearth, pieces of shingles and small twigs they both collected whenever they went on walks.He drew a match from the tall box, struck it, and held it to the dried wood.When it began to crackle and flames licked at the brittle pieces, he stole a glance at the stairs, ensuring Aimee was still locked away in the bedroom.The faint, snip-snip of scissors assured she wasn’t coming out soon.Kyle awkwardly pushed himself to his feet and returned to the kitchen.He told himself one glass of wine wouldn’t hurt, that opening a bottle had nothing to do with wanting to recreate the other aspects of their usual Christmas traditions.The sudden racket behind his ribs as he plucked a bottle of merlot from the wine rack, however, argued sound logic [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]