White Hot Christmas | h.s | COMPLETED

Chapter Eight

IT took a full minute before Avery realized that the deafening whir in her ears wasn't coming from the blizzard. It was coming from her brain. The same brain that didn't seem to be hearing things correctly.

She gave a nervous laugh, uncrossing her legs, and then crossing them again. "Did you just try to tell me that you didn't cheat on me?"

Harry's face was grim. "I didn't try to tell you. I did tell you."

"But, that girl...your study partner..."

"...was a study partner," he snapped. "Like I told you a million times."

"And she was gorgeous," Avery pressed on.

"Sure," he said, throwing up his hands. "And you were my wife." The last word was gruff, and Avery's mouth went dry.

"You were always late," she whispered. But that wasn't fair. She knew the second the words were out of her mouth that it wasn't. He could have accused her of the same. Of never making it home when she said she would. Could have thrown back at her that on the rare occurrence where their courses overlapped, that they were so focused on their own grades, their own study groups, that they barely noticed that the other was there.

But he didn't strike back. In fact, he didn't seem interested in fighting at all. "I was late because I was studying or working," he said, more calmly now. "Just like you were."

There it was again. No accusation. No vehement defense. Just a calm statement of fact. Except it couldn't be fact, because... "Carrie saw you at that restaurant. With someone else."

He let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. "I was just... we'd just finished our paper. Krista suggested we celebrate. I called you to see if it was okay, but you didn't answer—"

Avery swallowed, pressing her finger tips against her eyes, willing the tears not to come. "I'm sorry. I was busy, I was always busy, and I know that I wasn't blameless, but how am I supposed to believe—"

Harry reached out, pulled her hands from her face, cupped them between his palms and waited until she met his eyes. "I know, Avery. I know how it looks, I know it was dumb. But I swear to you, it was just dinner. A boring dinner at that. I never touched her. Never even thought about it."

She closed her eyes, unwilling—unable—to believe him. "Her perfume. Her lipstick."

Harry shot from the chair and went to the window, both hands resting atop his head. She could tell by the tense line of his shoulders that we was barely holding his temper together. "Damn, but you're stubborn. And blind. The perfume, I don't fucking know. She always wore too much, and then she drove me home, so yeah. Okay fine, I smelled like perfume." Harry turned. "But the lipstick. The lipstick was yours, Avery."

Her mouth dropped open. "You're a lawyer, and that's the defense that you're going with?"

Harry came to her, knelt in front of her, grabbing both hands. "You know I never thought to do dry cleaning back then. Neither of us did. I barely managed to have clean socks on a daily basis, much less a shirt. You got lipstick on my shirt weeks before that night, and I just never cleaned it, never cared. I don't know." She scoffed, but he reached out and caught her chin. "That night. Both of our seminars got canceled. Do you remember it?"

She went very still. Thought back. "You took, me dancing. We danced all night, drank too much." Her eyes closed. "I dressed up, I remembered. Wore more makeup. Lipstick."

He nodded, just once in confirmation. "I noticed the lipstick smudge that night and meant to put it in the dry cleaning pile and then, just...didn't."

Her eyes watered. "Harry."

He dropped his head tiredly. "I swear to you, I never slept with her. Not even close."

She believed him. She did.

But still...

She reached out, gently touched her fingers to his cheek. "Even if I was wrong that night, we both know it was merely the straw that broke the camel's back. The climax in a year long nightmare of not prioritizing the other person."

He searched her face. "It wasn't really the so-called affair that broke us, was it? That was just your excuse."

Her finger drifted over the slight roughness of his five o'clock shadow. Traced the dent in the center of his chin that she'd always loved. "And you didn't fight it."

They looked at each other for a long minute then, the moment heavy with regret.

"True or dare?," Harry whispered.

"Truth."

"Do you miss me?"

So much. So damned much. "Yes," she said in a small voice. His eyes flashed.

"Truth or dare," he said again.

"Hey it's my turn—"

"Avery—please. Just for once, just...give me this."

"Dare," she whispered, heart pounding.

Harry stood, pulling her to her feet with him. "Give me one night. Give us one night."

There it was. It was the one thing she'd been braced for the entire evening. Because somehow, after all these years, when the lights had gone out, she'd known it would come to this. The ghost of Christmas past, or whatever.

"We can't go back, Harry. Even if we tried, we haven't changed. We're still stubborn and driven, and competitive. There there will still always be one of us waiting home alone while another works late. Foot massages will be few and far between and— "

He laid two fingers over her lips, his eyes begging. "Call it my Christmas present. Give me a night. This night."

Which they both knew he meant was, give me a chance. She shouldn't. For both their sakes. They'd destroy each other. And yet...

"Okay. One night," she said slowly. Harry's smile was white in the shadowy room, but she pressed a warning finger to the center his chest. "But for old time's sake only. To get each other out of our system. We can't go down that path again."

"Okay." And then dragged her close and kissed her.