A dark brow wings up as he sniffs. “Early Christmas present.” His steady stare dares me to say anything.

I smile blandly. “I have just the cologne to go with that. Light Blue, I believe it’s called.”

Jax snickers as he sets a mug of cocoa down before me. His idea of pj’s consists of soft gray drawstring pants and a ratty green Henley. Scottie eyes it with annoyance, clearly feeling he’s been punked by having to wear actual pajamas.

But before he can complain, Sophie bounds over swathed in matching pj’s with an ice-blue silk robe trimmed in white feathers. “Isn’t this cute?” She kicks up a silk-clad leg and shows off little white feathered slipper mules with kitten heels. “I feel like some ‘30s Christmas starlet.”

With her platinum-blond bob floating around her face in a silvery cloud and her lips done up in fiery red, she certainly looks the part.

“Love the slippers.” Mine are boring flannel, not at all like my usual heels. Not with these drafty floors.

Killian, Libby, and Rye show up together. Killian and Libby are dressed much like Jax, but Rye surprises me. I hadn’t gotten a good look at him in the hall. I’m looking now. I can’t help it. A white thermal-underwear top stretches over his broad shoulders and packed muscles. Red flannel pants with white cotton fleece leg cuffs hug his lean hips and thick thighs.

“Look who’s playing the role of sexy Santa,” Sophie says with a grin.

Rye grimaces, a cute flush running over the bridge of his nose. “My mom got them for me.”

And I die. I’m pretty sure all the women in the room sigh as one.

Sophie isn’t wrong either. With his beard and that outfit, I’m suddenly flush with naughty thoughts of sitting on his lap and telling him what I want for Christmas while slipping my hand down his pants…

Wrapping my fingers tight around my mug, I order myself to calm the hell down. It isn’t easy, especially since he takes the seat opposite of me. His gaze settles on me like a hot palm between my breasts, and I meet his eyes. He gives me a searching, slightly uncertain look that I return with a tiny smile as if to say everything is fine. But I don’t think he believes it. His jaw bunches, and he moves his attention to Killian, who’s taken the seat at the head of the table.

“You all suck,” Killian mutters, but his posture is easier now. His dark eyes pin Libby. “I can’t believe you stole my phone.”

“You liked what I did after I stole it,” she drawls, clucking her tongue.

“Lord deliver us all,” Scottie pleads to the ceiling.

“Here.” Stella plunks a tray down before him. “Have a cookie.”

She sets an identical tray at the other end of the table. Aside from shortbread, there’s a selection of treats that has Whip, who sits next to me, making noises of delight. “Are those Mexican wedding cookies?”

“We always called them snowballs,” Sophie says.

“I thought they were Russian tea cookies.” Jax grabs one.

“I call them ‘get in my belly’ cookies,” Stella says. Jax happily pops the cookie into her mouth. She smiles as she chews. “Thanks, baby.”

“Sure thing, button. You want another one?”

“Can we stop talking about cookies?” Killian snarls. Okay, he’s still in a mood. I don’t blame him. Dinner sucked.

Libby gets up and sits on his lap. With a sigh, he wraps his arms around her waist and snuggles her close. “Sorry,” he says to all of us.

“It’s okay,” Stella says gently.

He sighs again, his fingers tracing the line of Libby’s waist. “I’m just…fuck. I’m tired of the people in my life keeping important things from me.”

A jolt goes through my center, and I hold my gaze deliberately away from Rye.

“I’ve no right to demand people tell me their secrets,” Killian goes on unhappily. “But it’s a kick to the teeth when someone drops a bomb on my lap without warning. I’m a grown man. I can handle my parents splitting up, but I thought they would at least talk to me before giving that ammunition to Neil and Patricia, of all people.” He glances my way. “No offense, Bren.”

“None taken.” My ears have started to ring. “They’re horrible. I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be.” Rye’s firm insistence has me locking gazes with him. He’s utterly serious, the muscles on his wide shoulders and thick arms bunching. “That shit is on their shoulders. You aren’t them, and you never will be.”

I don’t want to be like my parents. He knows how deeply I feel this. What he doesn’t know is that finally, finally, I understand the truth of his words.

I blink in acknowledgment.

“He’s right,” Killian says with fervor. “You’re the best part of them, Brenna Bean.”

“Stop,” I protest lightly, even though my voice has gone froggy. “You’ll make me weepy.”

Rye’s gaze is a living thing, and I know he’s all too aware of how close I am to actually weeping. This is what happens when change is thrust upon the unprepared; there is no time to shore up any defenses, and well-worn armor crumbles like so much rust.

Stella takes the seat to my right, curling up with a mug of cocoa. “None of us are responsible for the shitty actions of our parents. And thank God for that.”

I touch her knee in solidarity. Stella’s cool fingers brush over mine in response.

Killian runs a hand through his hair, the epic scowl still twisting his features. “Look, I know we all have a right to our private lives, but can we agree to tell each other the big stuff? Can we do that at least? Because it seems to me that we’re stronger when we come together, as opposed to going it alone.”

Jax taps out an idle rhythm on the table. “I’d like that. Being more open about shit, I mean.”

This is somewhat of a surprise, given that he’s very private. But Jax has been changing too. His relationship with Stella opened him up in ways none of us predicted.

Rye remains painfully silent while everyone else talks being open and honest. That’s my fault too. I forced silence on him, made him keep secrets. I recall with shattering clarity the frustration and pain in the words he spoke in California. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to lie to our friends.

Out in the hall, I told him to wait. Wait for a perfect time to talk. Wait until I find my courage.

Wait.

A thick, choking feeling of wrongness fills my chest, my throat. Everything about us is wrong now. I can’t shake it. It’s like my skin is too tight and my insides too full. The pressure bubbles and builds, a force that refuses to be ignored.

“When I went to LA, it was to see Marshall Faulkner about a job,” I blurt out.

A log cracks in the fireplace, punctuating the awful silence. I glance around to find my friends gaping at me. Well, everyone except Rye and Scottie. Rye’s expression is one of pride tinged with sadness. Scottie simply looks thoughtful.

I swallow thickly. “I’ve been…flagging with my job, not finding joy in it. And Marshall offered me a position with him at his Los Angeles firm.”

Rye’s stare is a palpable touch on my skin. He gives me a small, encouraging smile. He doesn’t want me to go. But he’ll support me every step of the way.