Abby could feel her heart breaking, and she wasn’t surprised when she felt tears in her eyes. She didn’t know what to say, though. She couldn’t think of anything that was appropriate at that moment. She knew that Nic didn’t need words—wasn’t expecting them. She wondered how often Nic relived that day. Or was it a once-a-year tradition now, to recount the events that took the lives of her parents and her brother.

“So that’s why I’m not too fond of Christmas.”

She wrapped her arms around Nic and pulled her into an embrace. It was then that she felt the wet tears on Nic’s cheeks. She kissed them away as they fell, feeling something swell within her. An urge to protect her, to comfort her.

“Let’s go back to bed. Let me make love to you.”

She led Nic back up the stairs and into their room. She undressed her slowly, taking her time as Nic stood there, almost despondent. Abby drew her to the bed, holding her, her hands moving gently, tenderly across her back. She came to the scar near her shoulder blade, her fingers tracing around it. She’d felt it earlier but had paid it no mind. Now that she knew what it was from, she wanted to kiss it—kiss it and make it all better.

She kissed Nic’s mouth instead, a slow, tender kiss that elicited moans from both of them. Yes, she would make love to Nic. Slowly. Gently.

She would make her feel loved on this Christmas Day.

Chapter Thirty

Nic wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment she felt or something else. She felt exposed, she knew that. Besides her uncle, Eric and Addison were the only two people who knew about what had happened on that fateful Christmas Eve, fifteen years ago. And now Abby.

What had compelled her to share that story, she didn’t know. Maybe it was just the closeness she felt with Abby. Or maybe she wanted to unburden herself, say it out loud, and let someone else share in her feelings. Maybe it was simply the beautiful Christmas tree that drew it out of her—a tree that was in complete contrast to the little one that was stuck in her mind.

She rolled her head toward the window, hearing the water turn off in the shower. Abby would be out soon. What should she say to her? Should she apologize? Or should she thank her? Thank her for loving her so thoroughly? Abby had been so gentle, so tender with her, touching her as if she were a fragile doll that might break. It wasn’t sex then. Abby made love to her. It was the first time for her, and she’d nearly cried when she climaxed. Abby had gathered her close, whispering soft words into her ear, making her feel like she was the luckiest woman alive.