Page 125 of Elf-ish

“You are a product of love.” His tone is tight. His words determined. “I love you.”

Despite.

He leaves off the quantifying word.

Despite my dickishness over the years. Despite missing holidays and birthdays. Despite trying to sabotage his relationship with Mae, because I couldn’t see him happy if I was unhappy. Despite the accusations that he never loved my mother, and the hurtful pride I tossed at him when I inherited the family business.

As if reading all of this in my eyes, Tucker reiterates. “I love you. As your dad.” Not my father. Not the man who produced me, but the man who raised me as his own.

I nod, still unable to find the right words to say back. Words that don’t feel big enough for a man who has taken my shit over and over again and still stands in front of me offering his love.

“I’m sorry.” I swallow thickly, knowing an apology is weak and long overdue. “I’ve been so . . . wrong.”

About everything. Him. Mom. I don’t know how to make amends.

It’s never too late, Angelica had said.

Tucker simply nods, easily accepting my contrition. Too easily, but I don’t have the energy to argue.

“Now, how are you feeling?”

“About apologizing?” I arch a brow. I am not about to psychoanalyze my feelings while still rolling in the uncertainty of them.

Tucker chuckles. “I meant after the heart attack.” His brows pinch again, concern marring those lines near his eyes. “Why didn’t you call me?”

Because I’m selfish? Because I didn’t want him to know? Because I didn’t want him to worry?

Because I didn’t think he’d care.

“It wasn’t a heart attack,” I admit, shrugging. “It was a broken heart.”

Tucker slowly softens his hand on my neck and pats over my chest with his other hand. “What happened?”

“Stress.”

His brows rise. He knows the pressure of running Ashford’s. It’s one reason he skipped out on wanting the place.

“But you’re okay now?” His voice is still hesitant, still troubled. Still concerned . . . because he does care.

Slowly, I shake my head. “Actually.” I roll my lips. “I’ve met someone. And I think I fucked up.”

I glance toward the living room where Chopper and Julia continue to open complicatedly sealed packages, and Mae is trying to help, but I’m certain their ears are tuned in my direction.

“I met someone,” I announce a little louder. “But I . . .” I fucked up. And I should be there right now.

Mae spins on the couch, glancing over the back at me, and smiles. She’s such a good woman, and I’ve done her wrong as well.

I have more apologies to share, but the next one goes to Angelica. I need my angel.

Glancing around my place, there isn’t a stitch of holiday cheer. Not a tree. Not a decoration. Nothing to entice Angelica to come to me. I need to go to her.

“I have to go somewhere, but I promise I’ll be back.” I reach for my keys on the kitchen island. I’m still wearing yesterday’s clothing, and smell of Angelica and I together, and that’s exactly what I want.

Her and me.

Rushing to the front door, I sense my family staring at my back as I pull it open with force, and halt.

Like a crowd of carolers, a family stands in the hallway outside my door.