Del and I shared a room with a Puerto Rican girl named Analia, and right before she left for break she made us each a bottle of it.” I walked over to the bags and pulled out the rum, condensed milk and other ingredients. “It’s like eggnog but so much better.”
“Looks like you’re planning a party.” He lifted a large bottle of Bacardi Silver.
“Do you want to try it?”
“Sure.” His green eyes were bright like emerald gems. His gray zipped sweater was loose around his torso but hugged his strong arms, and his black jeans were broken in and faded. God, he looked delectable.
“Will it take long to make?”
I backed away from where we stood and opened my small fridge. Pulling out another bottle of Bacardi that was already filled with a milky concoction, I lifted it to show him. “I have a batch all set.”
“And this stuff?” He pointed to the ingredients in my bag.
“I’ll sip on this all night while I watch every Christmas movie known to man. And tomorrow is Christmas day, so in the event I run out, I have a backup stash.”
“Spoken like a true lush.” He shook his head in mock disapproval.
Ignoring his comment, I poured the Coquito into two red Solo cups and handed him one. “Cheers.” I lifted my cup up to him.
“Merry Christmas, Brielle,” he whispered.
I ignored the butterflies that instantly fluttered in my stomach and took a gulp of my drink. “Are you going back home tonight?”
I walked over to the couch. he pulled out a computer chair and sat across from me. “Nah, I’m staying around here. I’m working full time while we’re on break, so there’s no point.” He lifted the cup and took a sip. “Why are you still here?”
“The drive home sucks, and my dad isn’t the best person to be around.” I exhaled and took another gulp.
“Care to share?”
I pointed to the liquor bottle and motioned for him to hand it over. “I need more of that if you want the ugly truth.” His gaze met mine and he raised one eyebrow. “Oh,” I said sarcastically. “Don’t think I forgot about your ugly truth. If I give you mine, I need yours.”
“I guess you can kiss that bottle good-bye then, because my ugly truth isn’t ugly. It’s horrifying.” His voice was laced with seriousness and my heart clenched.
I filled my cup to the brim and handed him the bottle. I took a few big gulps and let the rum burn my throat going down. “My dad is an asshole.” I shook my head, I couldn’t believe I was finally about to admit to someone how fucked up my life at home really was, but there was something about Nate. He made me feel safe. Or maybe it was the alcohol, but if I had to guess, it was him.
“When I was five, my mother was diagnosed with Eisenmenger syndrome, a rare heart disorder. All of my parents’ savings went to pay her hospital bills. Since she was in and out of the hospital a lot for treatment, she was let go from her job.” I paused, not knowing if I could continue. I closed my eyes for a brief second and looked up at Nate. In his gaze I saw compassion.
“My dad worked two jobs to cover our mortgage and we eventually had to downsize from my mother’s dream home. She felt it was all her fault because she couldn’t find work, and my father turned to women and liquor as a way to relieve his stress. It wasn’t until much later that I learned my mother turned a blind eye and ignored that my father had affairs with countless women. She felt he resented her because they’d wanted a big family and she had a hard time getting pregnant with me. After her heart ordeal, they simply stopped trying.”
With a shaky hand, I brought the cup to my lips and took another sip. “We had to downsize again when my father stopped paying the mortgage.” I swallowed back the knot in my throat. “He pissed away my college tuition that my grandparents left me. My mother now works three odd-jobs to keep up with the household bills, and they live in a tiny two-bedroom home in a shady
“Looks like you’re planning a party.” He lifted a large bottle of Bacardi Silver.
“Do you want to try it?”
“Sure.” His green eyes were bright like emerald gems. His gray zipped sweater was loose around his torso but hugged his strong arms, and his black jeans were broken in and faded. God, he looked delectable.
“Will it take long to make?”
I backed away from where we stood and opened my small fridge. Pulling out another bottle of Bacardi that was already filled with a milky concoction, I lifted it to show him. “I have a batch all set.”
“And this stuff?” He pointed to the ingredients in my bag.
“I’ll sip on this all night while I watch every Christmas movie known to man. And tomorrow is Christmas day, so in the event I run out, I have a backup stash.”
“Spoken like a true lush.” He shook his head in mock disapproval.
Ignoring his comment, I poured the Coquito into two red Solo cups and handed him one. “Cheers.” I lifted my cup up to him.
“Merry Christmas, Brielle,” he whispered.
I ignored the butterflies that instantly fluttered in my stomach and took a gulp of my drink. “Are you going back home tonight?”
I walked over to the couch. he pulled out a computer chair and sat across from me. “Nah, I’m staying around here. I’m working full time while we’re on break, so there’s no point.” He lifted the cup and took a sip. “Why are you still here?”
“The drive home sucks, and my dad isn’t the best person to be around.” I exhaled and took another gulp.
“Care to share?”
I pointed to the liquor bottle and motioned for him to hand it over. “I need more of that if you want the ugly truth.” His gaze met mine and he raised one eyebrow. “Oh,” I said sarcastically. “Don’t think I forgot about your ugly truth. If I give you mine, I need yours.”
“I guess you can kiss that bottle good-bye then, because my ugly truth isn’t ugly. It’s horrifying.” His voice was laced with seriousness and my heart clenched.
I filled my cup to the brim and handed him the bottle. I took a few big gulps and let the rum burn my throat going down. “My dad is an asshole.” I shook my head, I couldn’t believe I was finally about to admit to someone how fucked up my life at home really was, but there was something about Nate. He made me feel safe. Or maybe it was the alcohol, but if I had to guess, it was him.
“When I was five, my mother was diagnosed with Eisenmenger syndrome, a rare heart disorder. All of my parents’ savings went to pay her hospital bills. Since she was in and out of the hospital a lot for treatment, she was let go from her job.” I paused, not knowing if I could continue. I closed my eyes for a brief second and looked up at Nate. In his gaze I saw compassion.
“My dad worked two jobs to cover our mortgage and we eventually had to downsize from my mother’s dream home. She felt it was all her fault because she couldn’t find work, and my father turned to women and liquor as a way to relieve his stress. It wasn’t until much later that I learned my mother turned a blind eye and ignored that my father had affairs with countless women. She felt he resented her because they’d wanted a big family and she had a hard time getting pregnant with me. After her heart ordeal, they simply stopped trying.”
With a shaky hand, I brought the cup to my lips and took another sip. “We had to downsize again when my father stopped paying the mortgage.” I swallowed back the knot in my throat. “He pissed away my college tuition that my grandparents left me. My mother now works three odd-jobs to keep up with the household bills, and they live in a tiny two-bedroom home in a shady
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