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  She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Once upon a time it would’ve been. I’m finding it doesn’t quite hold the same appeal for me any more.’

  There was no need for her to point the finger of blame at him for that; the weight of guilt was already crushing him at the apathy she’d apparently developed towards the season. The disease that was his father had claimed another victim and he was sick to the stomach he’d been an accessory to the murder of her Christmas spirit.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. You were always so...involved.’ He’d never intended to take that childlike enthusiasm away from her. She’d always been so full of life, full of fun, he’d never imagined he would’ve been capable of draining that out of her. There were a lot of things he hadn’t thought through properly during that period, his mind so twisted with rage and grief. It was only now that black cloud had dissipated he was starting to see things more clearly and realise what he’d lost in the process.

  ‘I know you hated all of the fuss. Well, you’ll be pleased to know I’ve cut back considerably on my tinsel addiction since then.’ She made an attempt at humour but Lucas didn’t find anything remotely funny in what she was telling him. It had irritated him when he’d been expected to live in Santa’s grotto day after day for an entire month but that didn’t mean he was happy to find he might have made her as cynical as he was about the season.

  ‘I guess I just didn’t understand it. We didn’t really go in for the whole magical fairy-tale scene in our house.’ That almost made him snort out loud at the thought of his inebriated father thinking of anything other than his next drink. There had been no stockings hung by the fire or milk and cookies left out for Santa. He’d been lucky if there had been any food in the house at all. It was difficult to get caught up in the wonder of it all as an adult when he hadn’t experienced it as a child.

  ‘That’s a shame. Some of my best childhood memories are of Christmas, even if recent ones have proved more painful.’ She left him in no doubt he was the reason she didn’t feel like celebrating any more. It hadn’t been a calculated move and it was typical that his father had managed to cause maximum damage with optimum timing.

  ‘I never meant to hurt you. I just—’

  ‘Couldn’t do it any more? You said. It didn’t make it any easier for me, though. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t even tell my parents you’d left me for the longest time. I didn’t know for sure that’s what had happened until I’d exhausted all other possibilities and I got word you’d taken leave from the hospital. You didn’t even take your clothes. They’re still hanging in the wardrobe. Were you that desperate to get away from me, Lucas?’ It was the little hiccup catching his name that finally smashed through his defences and forced him to face up to what he’d done.

  ‘It wasn’t like that, Freya.’ It was all he could offer to soothe her from a distance without ripping his chest open and letting the trapped crows of his personal anguish beat their wings in flight.

  ‘I suppose it’s done now. A broken heart can’t ever be truly mended, can it? Slapped back together and held together with sticky tape maybe, so a person can keep on living even though there are days she doesn’t want to, but not fixed.’

  He could hear the irreparable damage he’d left in his wake in her clipped words. Perhaps he wasn’t so different from his father after all. In an attempt to avoid becoming a clone of the man who’d ruined his life by walking away, he’d done the complete opposite. He could hear that pain reflected in every word and hitch in her breath and he didn’t want to burden her with any more misery than he already had.

  ‘I honestly thought you’d be better off without me.’

  ‘Why? What did I do to make you think that? Where did you go? Why didn’t you let me know you weren’t dead?’ She launched a volley of questions at him that she’d probably been saving for months.

  He couldn’t answer any of them without making things worse and adding more to his guilt quota. It had never occurred to him that she might’ve believed him dead, only that he’d failed her. ‘I went to Peter’s—’

  ‘Peter? Your best man? The guy who swore he didn’t know where you were when I was sobbing down the phone?’ She wasn’t the only one he’d ticked off with that stunt. Peter hadn’t spoken to him the rest of the day after that one.

  ‘I made him lie to you. I needed space.’ He tried to picture those early days, which had passed in a blur when he’d never made it out of bed, never said a word, yet Peter had insisted on bringing him food and water and keeping him in the land of the living.

  The heart-wrenching gasp he pulled from her chest told of the devastation he’d caused by not letting that person be her, but he hadn’t wanted her to see that image of him curled up in the foetal position, weeping like a babe.

  ‘“In sickness and in health. Till death do us part.” We made the vows, Lucas. I, for one, intended to keep them.’ She was scolding him, yet she was so sincere he wanted to believe it would’ve been enough to get through it together. For the first time in his life, when he’d really needed someone to lean on, he’d had someone who would love him unconditionally and give him everything he’d ever wanted, pride had muscled its way in and robbed him of the gift. He’d been blind to that fact until she’d come back into his life and made him see what he was missing.

  ‘I did too, at the time, but things change.’

  ‘What things?’ Freya threw up her hands and he knew that given half a chance she would have them around his throat. The only reason he was being so obtuse was the same one he’d used when he’d left her—to save her from the darkness that had claimed him. The least he could give her was the reassurance she’d in no way been at fault.

  ‘Me. You know I wasn’t the same man you met. Maybe I just wasn’t cut out for marriage but that honestly wasn’t a reflection of you. You’ve got a lot of Christmases ahead of you. Don’t let what happened between us spoil them all for you.’ He didn’t want the legacy to continue. Someday she would have a family of her own and he didn’t want to be responsible for ruining anyone else’s childhood. That was exactly why he’d left their marriage when he’d been at his lowest point and had needed his wife more than ever. She’d deserved someone who wouldn’t taint her rosy view of the world.

  ‘I’m trying.’ She made a mocking toast with her coffee before gulping it down as though it really had the special powers she’d always claimed.

  It was a shame his word wasn’t enough for her any more but that was his own fault. He wouldn’t be able to give her an adequate explanation without digging deep into his past, so he could only hope a strong woman like Freya wouldn’t have her spirits dampened for long. Unlike him, she didn’t tend to dwell on the negative aspects of life. At least, she hadn’t in the past. A year apart had already changed her so much he wasn’t sure he knew anything about her any more.

  ‘What was the whole deal with the over-the-top festivities anyway? I’ve never seen anyone tinsel-bomb a house the way you did. I don’t think there was an inch of that house devoid of glitter.’ A month of cheesy festive tunes and barely being able to see the football on the TV because of the stuffed woodland animals strategically placed around it had bugged him no end. However, he couldn’t imagine the house in December without all the palaver. It was simply one of her quirks, which anyone other than a miserable Grinch like him would’ve found adorable.

  She took on that faraway look in her eyes she’d always had when it had come to her favourite time of the year and he was pleased that his Mrs Christmas Fairy, as he’d nicknamed her, hadn’t totally lost her mojo.

  ‘No matter how tough things were financially, Mum and Dad always made such a big deal of it. I don’t ever remember feeling as though I was missing out because it was just such a warm, cosy feeling of us being together as a family. Sorry—you probably don’t want to hear that.’ She shook away that glimpse of the old Freya and replac
ed it with the jaded wife she’d become during his absence who was afraid to express her enjoyment of it all.

  Had he really been the dark cloud hovering over the holidays? He thought back to that Christmas together, when he’d frowned at her whimsy. Yes, he’d virtually beaten her into submission with his cynicism and that guilt wasn’t going to be easy to live with any more than being the victim of someone else’s rage.

  ‘I wouldn’t ever want to take that away from you. You’re very lucky to have had such a wonderful family.’ If he’d had a mum who’d stuck around or a father capable of loving his son, he knew he’d have an entirely different take on the subject. As it was, the only feelings he connected with any supposed family celebrations were ones of disappointment and fear. Not only had the needs and wishes of a little boy been frequently ignored in favour of the demon drink but it had inevitably led to an outburst of violent temper.

  ‘You never told me anything about your father.’ Freya pulled the heavy woollen blanket up towards her chin, cocooning herself in comfort, and he wondered if that was what Christmas had become for her—a comfort blanket she could wrap herself up in once a year. And he’d whipped it away, leaving her exposed to the harsh elements of reality. He sighed and nodded, resigned to the fact he’d have to go some way to sharing the gory details of his past if it would help her understand his actions and rediscover her joy.

  ‘He wasn’t worth talking about.’ Lucas shrugged, wishing he had been able to dismiss all thoughts of him as easily as he made out. The reason he’d never wanted to discuss his father was because talking meant remembering and that hurt too damn much. He’d spent his adult life trying to block out all thoughts of that time. That hadn’t worked out very well for him in the end when the suppressed emotions had all spectacularly erupted at once.

  ‘Wasn’t?’ She picked up on that minute detail straight away.

  In the time-honoured tradition of denial he could’ve pretended it was a slip of the tongue. It was even less of her business now that they were no longer together. Except if he ever hoped to start building bridges with Freya he knew it had to start with the truth. At least, as much of it he was comfortable sharing with her.

  ‘He died. Last year. Just before Christmas.’

  Lucas watched her facial expressions as she ran the gamut of emotions that information brought to the surface—shock, horror, sympathy, and finally the realisation of what that timing meant.

  Suddenly he couldn’t bear to watch any more. He didn’t want to confront this here and now where they were doing their best to make childhood dreams come true, not relive old nightmares. This unburdening of his soul wasn’t as liberating as he’d imagined when he could feel her gaze burrowing into his skin, willing him to give more of himself.

  ‘You should have told me,’ Freya said softly, reaching across to rest her hand on his knee, but that sympathy was exactly what he hadn’t wanted from her. He’d no wish to see pity in her eyes every time she looked at him. He wanted her to see him as the strong man he’d been when they’d met and not the shell he’d become as a result of his father’s reign of tyranny.

  ‘It wouldn’t have changed anything. I simply wasn’t ready to settle down. I could’ve handled things differently, though, and I am sorry for the way things ended between us. Just know it wasn’t because of anything you’d done. That’s entirely on me. Don’t forget that. Now, I think it’s time for me to go check in with the boys and grab a couple of hours’ sleep while I still can.’ He got to his feet suddenly keen to reclaim that distance between them before he was pushed to dig for a deeper explanation. That panic was already rising in his chest with the mere mention of his dad and he didn’t want to trigger the nightmares or the panic attacks by reliving the horror again. It needed to end here. All of it. Including whatever misguided notion his sleep-deprived mind had conjured up about trying to win Freya back.

  * * *

  The cold wind swirled in as Lucas opened the door, its icy fingers reaching in to grab Freya. Not even the blazing logs in the hearth could keep the chill from her bones and she huddled deeper into her blanket. Lucas’s father had died and he hadn’t told her. That said everything about the state their marriage had been in when he hadn’t trusted her enough to confide in her and she’d never suspected he might’ve been grieving.

  She knew what it was to mourn such a huge loss and how that sorrow was able to sneak up and steal your very breath in a moment of weakness. The searing raw pain was enough to make anyone want to walk away from it all and start over. That was exactly what she’d done by throwing herself into her nursing career when she’d lost her baby, never speaking of her little angel again. She hadn’t even told Lucas because she’d never wanted him to think a baby of theirs would ever simply be to replace the one she’d lost. These secrets kept from one another had surely contributed to the breakdown of their relationship.

  The timing left her questioning if his erratic behaviour could’ve been attributed to grief as well as the apparent lack of communication in their marriage.

  Unfortunately, Lucas had reverted to type and shut her out again.

  She jumped up from the couch with her comforter wrapped around her and ran after him. He was already knee-deep in the snow between the two cabins by the time she opened the door. As she ran out onto the wooden porch with only her thermal socks on her feet, it wasn’t long before they started to turn numb but she wasn’t going to let him go a second time without being given the chance to say her piece.

  ‘I would’ve been there if you’d let me, Lucas,’ she shouted, her voice carrying easily across the still, pre-dawn air. Even though their relationship was over, it was important he know that.

  It stopped him in his tracks and the words hung between them, crystallising along with the tears on her cheeks as she waited for his response—an acknowledgement that he knew he wasn’t alone in the world.

  She watched as his head slumped forward, could see the wisps of his breathy sigh take flight into the frozen skies. The snow crunched beneath his feet as he slowly turned to face her.

  ‘I know,’ he said with a trembling smile and the glint of tears in his eyes, but it didn’t stop him from walking away again.

  He might have finally opened up a fraction about what had been going on behind the scenes at that difficult period but it hadn’t eased that empty ache in her chest for the husband she’d lost or the family she’d never have. This early morning confessional hadn’t changed anything—her marriage was still over. She still wasn’t enough to make him happy.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘THERE’S PAPER AND colouring pencils for you to draw Santa a picture of what you would like for Christmas, or I could write the list for you if you want?’ Lucas made sure Scarlett had everything she needed at hand to complete her task as she took her seat at the wooden counter with the others.

  The post office in Santa’s Village was a hub of activity as kids and adults alike sent postcards home to their families as souvenirs and penned notes to the man they’d all come to visit. Lucas had never written a letter to Santa in his life and he wasn’t about to start as an adult, but he was happy to write a few words on the back of a picture postcard for Scarlett’s family as a memento. The address would be in her emergency contact details.

  He jotted down the details of what they’d done so far and that they were excited about seeing Santa—a lie on his part but he would be happy once it was all over and he could go home—and got Scarlett to scrawl her name on the bottom before he handed it to a post-office elf. A glance across the table confirmed Freya was still engrossed in helping Hope, reaching for the glitter glue and showing no signs of leaving anytime soon. The tiny specks of silver dust glistening on her cheeks and hands gave him hope she’d recaptured a tiny bit of her inner child on this trip.

  He’d hardly been able to look at her today for the same reason he’d been unable
to respond appropriately to her after baring his soul. He had been afraid he’d break again as emotions had begun to overwhelm him. Freya had been the one person in his life who’d loved him unconditionally and he’d let go of her anyway. Regret was steadily eroding what was left of his much-needed defences but it wouldn’t be good for either of them to let those old feelings for one another resurface when he knew he’d never deserved her love and would only ever bring her more misery.

  The pile of picturesque postcards caught his eye, in particular the image of the forest at night with the Northern Lights casting an eerie green glow over the snowscape. It made him immediately think of Freya. She’d always talked with such reverence about seeing the lights one day, as if they held some sort of magical powers. It would be a shame if they went home without her wish coming true, and even if they did witness the phenomenon, the cold temperatures were known to freeze camera screens, so she mightn’t even get to capture the event. He wanted her to have a small memento and at the same time give her some sort of explanation in writing because he hadn’t made a very good job of delivering it in person so far.

  Faced with the blank side of the card it was difficult to come up with the words to both fill it and adequately express what he needed to say. Plus, he didn’t exactly want his personal life to be coffee-break gossip in the post room. He took the coward’s way out and started with the address—the home he was supposed to be sharing with his wife.

  I’m sorry.

  He could’ve left it at that but he’d said it a lot over the past twenty-four hours and it hadn’t made a difference either to his conscience or Freya’s pained expression every time she looked at him.

  I always loved you, never wanted to hurt you, but I could never be the family man you need me to be. You deserve better.