You Had Me At Christmas: A Holiday Anthology (7 page)

A text came from Kayla as they left the mall.

Can’t stop thinking about you. Maybe we
could
fit in another date before Christmas.

Grinning, he responded, then swung his son to his shoulders. “Who’s for ice cream?”

“Yes!”

Hell, yes
.

The three of them spent the afternoon at his gym club, bouncing between the café and the heated kids pool. He was well-known there and people treated him casually. Rocco was the charmer, with his big smile and easy way of steadying himself on any pair of legs within reach.

They left the complex at three and called into the market where Jared bought ingredients for two meals—spaghetti for the kids, wine and deli goods for the grown-ups.

When they arrived home at four, the house looked awesome, Rocco was refreshed from a power nap in the car, and Jared had breezed through the day. But only amateurs would pat themselves on the back for good parenting. Jared knew he was on borrowed time.

Settling Maddie at the kitchen table with her mommy presents, sticky tape, kid scissors and a giant roll of wrapping paper, he stuck Rocco in his highchair with spoons and lids—the kid was a born percussionist—threw on an apron, and worked fast.

He made spaghetti sauce, mostly from scratch, even sneaking in a grated carrot when Maddie wasn’t looking. In between chopping and stirring, he laid out a platter of antipasto with all the food Kayla loved and the kids wouldn’t eat—marinated mushrooms and peppers, spicy dips and chorizo, smoked oysters.

Maddie finished wrapping gifts and used a Sharpie to write
4 Mommy
laboriously on each. When Jared turned from stirring the spaghetti sauce, she was writing it on her baby brother’s forehead. Rocco’s mouth was open, and he was holding himself very still for her.

“Madison Walker!”

“But he likes it, Daddy.”

Rocco decided he liked the Sharpie more, and threw a tantrum when Maddie wouldn’t give it to him. Shit got real from there.

By the time six o’clock rolled around, the kids were in their PJs and wrapped in sheets eating his spaghetti, and Jared was exhausted. He’d just returned the kitchen to its pristine state when the doorbell rang.

Maddie nearly tripped over the sheet in her hurry to get there first. “Maybe Mommy forgot her key.”

Jared hoped like hell it wasn’t Kayla arriving early—he still had to make himself pretty. He followed his daughter, who stood on tiptoes to open the door.

Dimity swept in. “Why the hel—’lo Madison—aren’t you answering your cell?”

“It should be working.” He fumbled for his pocket under the apron. No charge. Maddie’s games had run the battery flat.

“Forget that.” Dimity did a wholly uncharacteristic thing and hugged him.

Okay, that’s weird.

“I’ve been trying to get hold of you for the past hour and a half.”

Jared’s stomach dropped. “Is Kayla okay?”

“Why wouldn’t she be? We had lunch, she was going Christmas shopping and then to a movie. Haven’t you phoned—”

“Without me!” Maddie howled.

“It was a lame one, Madison.” As Dimity spoke, her fingers flew over her phone, texting. “All about the true meaning of Christmas. Okay, I’ve given them the green light.” She glanced up. “Good, the house is clean.”

“I’m glad you approve. What’s this about a green light?”
And why are you here?

“They want your reaction as soon as possible. Madison, why are you wearing a sheet?”

“Daddy’s keeping me clean till Mommy sees me.”

“Weird.” Dimity dumped her laptop on the couch, knocking the cushions out of formation.

Jared straightened them. “
Whose
react—” A howl from the kitchen interrupted. Rocco didn’t like being left out.

“Oh.” Uneasiness played across Dimity’s face. “Is the baby still up?”

Maddie laughed. “He’s not scary, silly billy.”

Crash
.

Jared ran, stopping in dismay at the kitchen door. Globs of spaghetti sauce encircled the high chair and Rocco’s bowl was rolling across the floor toward him. Leaning forward, his son followed its progress with interest. “Uh-oh.”

Jared grabbed paper towels from the pantry. “No. We
don’t
throw food.”

“No,” Rocco repeated gleefully.

Maddie tugged Dimity into the kitchen. “He won’t bite unless you put fingers in his mouth.”

“Stand back, you two, until I’ve cleaned this up.”

“No,
you
need to get cleaned up.” Dimity confiscated the paper towels. “For a start, take off that greasy apron. We need a sexy soulful vibe, not a short-order cook. And your hair’s flat. Madison, run and get your daddy a comb. Hurry now, the TV crew will be here any minute.”

“
What
TV crew?”

“Don’t worry, the kids won’t be in shot. But we’ve got to make the most of this.” Her cell rang. “It’s Zander.”

“Make the most of
what
?”

She held up a hand. “Hi Zee. Yeah, I’ve found him.”

“Okay,” Jared said. “I’m losing it.”

“And why wouldn’t you?” Seth Curran, Rage’s drummer, walked into the kitchen with a grin like Christmas Day. He grabbed Jared in a man hug. “I’m trying not to tear up myself.”

“How did
you
get in?”

“Maddie let us in.” Skirting the spaghetti sauce, Seth went to Rocco, who was going ballistic with excitement. Every living creature loved the band’s affable Kiwi sticksman. He was a walking, talking charm offensive.

“Us?” Jared repeated. Had he been dropped into an alternate reality?

Moss McFadden, Rage’s lead guitarist, entered the room, a bottle of vodka under one arm and a rare smile in his green eyes. He punched Jared’s shoulder. “Congratulations, buddy. Let’s get this party started.”

“Not until after the news crew leaves.” Dimity threw Jared her cell. “Zee wants to talk to you.”

“Will somebody please expl—Hey, don’t touch that.”

Too late. Moss had already taken a handful of walnuts and a wedge of blue cheese, ruining Jared’s careful display.

Giving up, he put the cell to his ear. “Zander?”

“Capitalize on this,” his mentor said from New Zealand. “Wring everything you can out of it, publicity-wise. It couldn’t have happened at a better time for you. I’m proud of you, man, it’s well deserved.”

Jared watched Dimity throw Moss some paper towels. “I don’t have the first clue what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you do,” Dimity said from her knees. “The news has been out for two hours.” She and Moss were smearing the sauce around the floor with the ineffectiveness of two people who never cleaned.

Seth studied him as he took Rocco out of his high chair. “He doesn’t know,” he said, and started to laugh.

In his ear, Zander said. “Seriously, you haven’t had a call? The Grammy finalists have been announced. You’re up for Song of the Year with ‘Kayla’s Song.’”

The news was too much to take in.
Her
song. The one he’d poured his emotions into. Lonely and homesick, he’d written it through the three-month auditions and performed it on the show finale. It had sat at number one on iTunes for a week and been recorded as part of his prize. And it had become a popular addition to the set list on Rage’s tour, along with several other of Jared’s songs, as Zander tried to manage the demands on his failing voice.

And now it was up for an award.
Damn.

He needed Kayla. This was her nomination as much as his. He couldn’t even think about what this meant without her.

He reached for his cell, then remembered the battery was flat and picked up the land-line, but his hands were suddenly shaking so much he kept missing numbers.

Maddie skipped into the kitchen carrying a comb. “There are more people at the door.”

“The press.” Dimity leapt into action. “Seth, entertain the kids. Moss, keep cleaning the floor. Jared, put down the phone, look humble, yet confident and take that damn apron off!”

S
till lost in
a Jimmy Stewart afterglow, Kayla arrived home at seven forty-five to a front yard full of cars and motorbikes, one of which she recognized as Moss’s. She’d switched on her cell outside the theater to see that Dimity had texted a message:

Great news. Phone Jared at home!

She’d figured it could wait another fifteen minutes until she saw him. Was this why he’d wanted her out of the house, to get ready for a surprise party? Because nothing said great news like trashing the house you’re about to put on the market.

When she opened the front door, music blasted from the speakers, and not Christmas carols either. Hard rock. The living room was crowded with Rage’s tour family—roadies, techs, security, a lawyer or two—all of whom greeted her with hollers and raised glasses.

Plastering a smile on her face, she dodged attempts to stall her and stalked through the house looking for Jared, moving a glass of red wine sitting perilously near the edge of the coffee table en route.
And we have freaking white carpet! On what planet was this stupid, inconsiderate party helping me with Christmas?
Bottles and cans of alcohol were piled up on every available surface and a cigarette butt smouldered in her rubber plant.
I’m going to kill Mr. “I’ve got this.”

The dining room table had been shoved against the wall to clear a dance floor, and she spotted Moss among the throng, rocking out with two women, his body moving in a sinuous seduction. She scowled when he threw her his bad boy grin. “No hookups in my house this time,” she mouthed, and he blew her a kiss, unrepentant.

Son of a bitch.
Where was her husband? On a mission now, she stormed into the kitchen, where she found pasta sauce on the stove, empty pizza boxes piling out of the trash can, two people making out in the pantry, and her best platter dumped in the sink with dirty dinosaur plates.

The kids
. Spinning on her heel, she pushed through the dancers and hurried toward the hall leading to the bedrooms. Seth was leaning against the jamb, a beer in hand.

“All under control,” he called above the music, and showed her the baby monitor, tucked into the breast pocket of his plaid jacket. “Jared is checking on them now.” The tawny-haired drummer’s smile held the ‘trust me, girl’ warmth that had inspired numerous marriage proposals from female fans, and Kayla relaxed. Because you
could
trust Seth.

If Jared was looking out for the kids maybe she wouldn’t
kill
him. Maybe diaper duty for a month would be punishment enough.

“Great news,” Seth yelled over the music as he let her pass.

Kayla nodded, smiling.
Nothing can justify this
.

Her husband was closing the door to Maddie’s bedroom. When he saw her walking down the hallway he laughed and opened his arms wide. “Behold.”

“I’m beholding,” she said grimly. Insult to injury, her husband was half drunk. “Jared, what the hell?”

“That was
my
next question.” He dropped his arms. “Why isn’t your fucking cell turned on?
I
wanted to be the one to break the good news.”

“Oh my God!” She suddenly got this. “Zander’s singing voice will recover.”

Jared’s dark gaze sharpened, then he smiled the most radiant smile. “Kayla Walker, you have a Grammy-nominated song written for you.”

It took her a few seconds to process his words. Then she gasped.

He opened his arms again. “Only the best song of the fucking year.”

Half-laughing, half-crying she cannoned into them. “Honey, I’m so proud of you.”

“I still can’t believe it!”

“This is so…!” Filled with the most incredible joy, she lost the power of speech again.

He pressed his forehead to hers. “I know, right?”

Unable to express themselves coherently, they kissed. Kissed harder. He tasted of vodka and boozy happiness.

“I’m a little drunk on shots.”

She stroked his stubbled cheek. “Yeah, I picked that up.”

“The roadies say it’s a tradition.”

“Funny how many traditions the roadies have involving partying. When did you hear?”

“I was planning a sexy night in for us,” he started to explain. “I even got the house cleaned as a surprise.”

Aww sweet
. “It still looks good,” she lied.
The best-laid plans of rock stars…
Whatever magic he might spin for her through this hiatus could not last. He was destined for a much bigger stage, and this was a timely reminder not to forget that. At the same time, she was so incredibly proud of him.

“And I made you an antipasto platter.” He scowled. “Except these bastards ate it all. I did manage to save one stuffed pepper. It’s in the fridge, hidden behind the yogurt.”

She started laughing at his drunken earnestness. “Kiss me, you fool.” But he pulled away, his expression serious.

“The nominees party falls on our wedding anniversary.”

“I think we can postpone our celebration for the Grammys, babe.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

He was genuinely worried about this. “Jared.” She caught his face between her hands. “Let’s just savor tonight, okay? You’ve worked so hard.”

“
We’ve
worked so hard. Kayla…” His eyes were suspiciously bright. Her husband got hopelessly sentimental when he got drunk. She intervened before he started sobbing like a baby.

“Yes,” she said solemnly, “I’d
love
a shot. And crazy monkey sex later.”

He threw back his head and laughed.

“Shush, not so loud,” she told him. “You’ll wake the kids.”

He shook his head. “I put noise canceling headphones on Rocco. He’s in a port-a-cot in Maddie’s room, sound asleep. Dimity’s reading our daughter a goodnight story.”

“Wow, is Dimity drunk too?” Dimity made no secret about her aversion to children. On the tour she’d ensured a safe distance between herself and Kayla’s kids, though Kayla had noticed a growing soft spot for Maddie—No wonder, Maddie was Dimity’s mini-me.

“No, it’s the weirdest thing.” Jared hauled her into his arms. “So, tell me more about the crazy monkey sex. Why should Moss be the only one to get it on in this house?”

“Wait…Moss, already?”