A Chicago Christmas story
After an hour of cleaning, stitching, and bandaging his battle wounds– and what seemed like an eternity of begging him to put his shirt back on – Shiloh and Diesel sat around the dining table with food, drinks, and a Christmas movie.
Diesel took a long sip of his wine and smacked his lips with a satisfied sigh. “I gotta admit it: there’s nothing quite like going broke bitch fancy for dinner.”
Shiloh nearly spit out her drink. “Broke bitch what?”
“Broke bitch fancy,” he repeated. “Frozen pizza and bottom-shelf wine.”
She shook her head at him and his Cheshire grin. “Some of the things you come up with…”
He tipped his head and saluted her. “You’re welcome.” Beside herself, she giggled. Diesel and wine were the only two things in the world that had that effect on her. She hoped nobody ever noticed. He stood to clear the table but waved her off when she moved to help him. “I’ve got it, relax.”
She shot him a look. “But Dee, you’re all broken.”
“Only on the outside, Princess,” he joked with a wink. “I don’t know what you cleaned me up with,” he stacked their plates before picking them up, “but it’s actually not bothering me as much.”
“That would be the Orajel,” she answered. “But just because you’re not hurting as much doesn’t mean you’re ready to get back up on your white horse.”
His jaw dropped in phony offense. “You numbed me up with Orajel?”
“You were being such a baby!” she laughed. “I didn’t have much of a choice!”
He tossed a fake glare at her over his shoulder. “I’m gonna remember that.”
“I think the phrase you’re looking for is thank you,” she shouted at him as he disappeared through the kitchen doors.
“Bite me,” he yelled back.
She giggled once more and finished off her glass. She yawned, her eyes heavy and fuzzy, so she set the empty glass on the table and focused on the TV. Vera Ellen and Danny Kaye danced on the screen – not unlike she and Diesel had earlier. She smiled, a chill shooting down her spine.
Dangling from the hook, each of her strangled gasps were clouds of cold air.
“You stubborn—”
Punch, gasp, beg.
“Stop—”
He whipped out his belt and looped it around her neck.
“Tell me.”
She shivered uncontrollably. “Please—”
He pulled the belt tight, her vision darkening with black, exploding stars.
“Tell me everything.”
So cold.
“Princess—”
Warm leather wrapped around her, and blue eyes met hers.
“You cold?”
She jumped out of the memory, shivering where she sat. Her eyes were dried out from staring directly at the fire too long – how long, she wasn’t sure. But Diesel gazed at her, his own eyes soft and curious, as she pulled herself together.
“Yeah, a little.” She sniffed and rubbed her eyes, seeing the same black stars. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel his still on her. She pulled the blanket off the back of the couch – as if she could ever hide from him – and wrapped it around her. “Damned snow.”
He nodded slowly before jerking a thumb towards the hearth. “I’ll put some more wood on the fire.”
She pushed her fingers into the corners of her eyes, willing them to stop burning, but knew it couldn’t be helped. Months have passed, but everything still reminded her of that Rogue and that meat locker. Months and months, but the cold still lingered deep in her bones. Everyday life may distract her from time to time, but it followed her everywhere.
She sucked in a deep breath through her nose and exhaled into her hands, which provided little relief. She pulled the blanket up to her chest as Diesel sat next to her, his body heat all-too tempting to curl up into.
Her stomach flopped. If he wasn’t covered with injuries, she could probably convince her not-quite-drunken self to just do it. (Wine had that kind of effect on her, too.) But his cuts and bruises reminded her too much of her own and, knowing how painful they felt, she didn’t want her touch to cause him more pain.
Perhaps it was the intruding memories, the hour she spent tending to his wounds, or the steady consumption of alcohol – or, likely, the combination of all three – but worry pulsed through her veins. Up until this point, it had been a relaxing holiday evening, but now she felt like they were sitting ducks.
I wouldn’t have stopped if someone was tailing me.
I will keep her safe.
She squirmed in her place, fighting the urge to run for the hills as the clandestine conversation played back in her head. She trusted Diesel with her life, and with how many times he’s proven himself, she always would. But Blaze made an excellent point:
You could’ve led them right to her… like last time.
She would never blame Diesel for what happened. He couldn’t have stopped them, even though he tried. It was her fault for convincing him to break escape protocol. Splitting from the pack seemed like a good idea at the time, especially since they hadn’t known where the leak was coming from.
But Blaze still didn’t understand that. She was the one the Rogues had been after – and the one they caught. He couldn’t let her, the helpless victim, take the blame. Diesel knew better, he claimed. As his right-hand man, the responsibility fell on him.
Ironically, at least those two agreed on something. And because of that, she knew Diesel wouldn’t let anything happen to either of them again. She knew that… but the paranoia crawling up her back didn’t.
“We’re okay, right?” she blurted, staring back into the fire.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “What do you mean?”
She gulped at the fireplace, unsure how to answer. She hadn’t thought this conversation through. The last thing she wanted him to think was that she didn’t have faith in him. They’d been friends too long for her to not have faith in him. But his guilt weighed him down just as much as her own. They could play the blame game better than he and Blaze could.
Finally, he sighed. “You were eavesdropping on the other line earlier, weren’t you?” he asked. She bit down hard on her lip turned her attention to a frayed seam on the blanket. He scoffed. “I should’ve known. You’re too nosy for your own good.”
“So I’ve been told,” she muttered over the lump forming in her throat. Eyes burning once more, she blinked furiously and pulled at the fabric in her hands. She set her jaw as it trembled with unshed tears. How could she question him after everything they’d been through? She didn’t want him to think she didn’t believe in him. Because she did, even more than she believed in herself.
“Hey,” he whispered. He turned towards her, but she turned her face away from him. God, would you pull it together? But when his firm hand gripped her shoulder, the dam broke. She squeezed her eyes shut and tears cascaded down her cheeks. “Look at me,” he pleaded, threading his fingers through the tufts of baby hair at the base of her neck and making her shudder. She shook her head and wiped her tears away with the palms of her trembling hands. Please, don’t make me, she wanted to say, but the brick in her throat stopped her. He gripped her shoulder and begged, “Shiloh, please.”
A gasping sob burst from her lips. Covering them with the back of her hand, she blinked through her tears to stare at the fire instead. She wouldn’t look at him. She couldn’t. It would only make it worse. She sniffed and wiped her nose with the cuff of her sleeve.
“You are safe, Shiloh,” he assured her, leaning in close. Feeling his breath tickle her cheek, she squeezed her eyes shut once more. “I promise you, you’re safe.”
Thank God, she thought. She nodded, but still couldn’t look at him. Hearing the words did bring some comfort, but the paranoia was too strong. It pounded in her chest like a war drum, danger danger you’re both in danger. Her hands tingled with fear as the cold ransacked her body, making her shake like an earthquake.
“You trust me, don’t you?” he asked, rubbing his hand up and down her arm.
She nodded without hesitation. “Of course, I just—” She inhaled sharply, biting her bottom lip to keep another sob from escaping. She gulped down her tears, and finally looked him in the eyes. His bushy eyebrows were furrowed together, eyes squinting with worry. The drum in her chest pounded harder. “—I still get scared sometimes,” she admitted in a teary exhale.
His eyes glassed over, and he swore under his breath before beckoning her closer. She leaned into his embrace, clutching his shirt and pulling him as close as she could. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured into her hair. “I didn’t think.”
Sobs swept through her. She buried her face in his chest to stifle them, all the while shaking her head at herself. She desperately wanted to say it wasn’t him, it was her. But all that passed her lips were whimpers. “It’s okay,” she managed in between gasps.
He shook his head. “No, it’s not.” He kissed the top of her head and ran his fingers through her hair, settling at the base of her neck. “I should never be the reason you feel this way.”
It’s not you, you idiot, she thought, shaking her head at him. She gulped down the ever-present lump in her throat, wishing she could say just that. She sniffed and finally said into his shoulder, “It’s not you.” She cleared her throat and added, “I’m always scared.”
After a moment’s pause, he angled his head to look down at her. “Always?”
More tears fell, and she nodded. He swiped at them with his thumb, but she promptly pulled away, like his gentle touch zapped her. She dried her tears herself, pulling her knees up to her chest and scowling at the wall while his somber eyes never left her. How was she supposed to say this while he was staring at her like that? How could she spill this without spilling everything?
She inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. If she had to say it, she would have to say it fast. Like ripping off a band-aid. She gulped, and goosebumps rippled down her arms. Say it, she thought. Just say it.
“The entire time—” she began, but her voice caught. She cleared her throat once more, “—I-I thought you were dead…” Her eyes welled up. Reliving that grief was heart-wrenching. His thumb rubbed comforting circles on her back as he waited for her to finish. She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “…it hurt worse than everything they did to me.”
He sighed and hung his head low. It hurt him as much as it hurt her. They’d never talked about it before, but they both knew. After twenty hours of not knowing the other’s fate, those first moments of desperately clinging to each other said it all.
She blindly reached for his hand, and he held on tight. Drawing from the strength of his grip, she continued. “And now, every time you leave on whatever sketchy… thing Blaze sends you on…” She looked down at their entwined hands, and then back up at him. “…I can’t breathe until I see you again.” Teary hazel eyes met stormy blue. He sighed her name, but she shook her head to silence him. The floodgates were open – there was no stopping it now. “I am terrified of the people who gave you those—” she pointed at the injuries underneath his shirt, “—coming back to finish the job—”
“Shiloh—”
“—and not taking me with you.”
Silence encased them both as the gravity of her words sank into him. And when the realization hit him, his face fell. His mouth flapped open and shut, speechless.
Oh, God, did she just blow it? Did he see right through her – like he always did – down to what she really wanted to say? Her heart raced up to her throat and her face burned waiting for his response. But his silent stare continued, and she gulped. Her thoughts raced faster than her pulse, damage control, say something, anything—
So, she rambled, “I’m scared of that, I’m scared to fall asleep, I’m always looking over my shoulder, I—”
“Stop,” he ordered, but she ignored him.
“—it’s not you or whatever you spent the last week doing, I’m scared of everything, I can’t help it.”
“Stop,” he repeated with a squeeze of her hand. His voice was firm, but soft. And, upon looking him in his glistening eyes, her breath caught.
Shiloh could count on one finger the times she’d seen him cry. It was six months ago… in the hospital. He’d thought she was still unconscious. Kneeling by her bedside with a broken arm and a bullet wound in his head, he’d buried his face in her mattress to muffle the sound. He’d clung to her injured hand, kissing his silent tears off it between sobs.
To protect his pride – and her already-fragile composure – she’d pretended to be asleep until he’d finished. To this day, the memory tore her heart down the middle, but she’d never told him the truth. It was yet another shared, unspoken moment they both kept from each other.
He swore and pulled her close, breaking their tear-stricken gaze. He tucked her head underneath his chin and held it there, hand tangled in her hair and holding her tighter than ever before. She hugged his forearm to her chest, and it wasn’t until she buried her face in his neck that she noticed he was holding his breath. His pulse beat fast against her forehead.
Then, with a shuddering inhale, he placed a lingering kiss to her forehead. “I love you,” he blurted.
Her heart dropped to the floor.
He pressed his forehead against hers, forcing her to look at him in the eyes. A lone tear trickled down his cheek, but he dried hers instead. The corner of his lip quirked up in a tender, soft smile. “You know that, right?”
Tears still cascading down her face, she returned his smile with a nod. With trembling lips, she managed to whisper back, “I love you, too, asshole.”
His smirk turned into a cheesy grin as he chuckled at her reply. “Good to hear,” he replied. “This would be really awkward otherwise.” She snickered, drying her remaining tears on the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “And you know…” He trailed off, his eyes darting back and forth between hers. She gulped as his thumb traced her cheekbone, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He bit his bottom lip as he searched her face, for… courage? Words? She wasn’t sure.
Maybe whatever it was would be easier for him to say if she wasn’t seeing right through him. So, she shut her eyes and leaned forward until her forehead rested against his chin. Her fingers chartered the chiseled grooves of his forearm all the way up to where his hand rested at her neck. She gently seized his wrist, holding his hand in place there.
He exhaled into her hair, nose pressed into her hairline. “My loyalty’s not with the Shade,” he finally said against her clammy skin. “It hasn’t been for a long time.”
She opened her eyes, squinting curiously at his chest. What did he mean, I’m not loyal? He was the most loyal person she knew. She watched his chest rise and fall, waiting for him to elaborate.
“There isn’t…” He paused to caress her arm. The tension radiating from him sent her heart somersaulting through her body. If he didn’t spit it out soon, it just might give out. He inhaled deeply, slowly. “There isn’t a single Shadow protocol I wouldn’t break to keep you safe,” he admitted with an exhale.
Her stomach filled with butterflies. His loyalty lied with… her.
He’d been a Shadow since he was a kid – younger than she had been when she stumbled upon them. He knew better than anyone else: the Shade comes first. You have to sever any and all personal connections in order to survive the Shadows; and Diesel had learned that lesson the hard way. After Ashley, and a very sobering night of post-breakup-drinking, he’d vowed to never let it happen again.
“I…” His voice broke, and he swallowed the words lodged in his throat. She bit her lip. He’d never been this vulnerable with her before. It couldn’t have been easy for him. She placed her palm flat against his chest, just over his bleeding heart. He clasped his hand over hers, his calloused fingertips clutching it tight. “I really need you to know that.”
That I really, truly love you, his heartbeat like Morse code against her hand.
She nodded, her eyes falling shut. “I do,” she whispered. She lifted her hand from his chest for him to take, which he did. She would take that secret to the grave for him. He didn’t have to ask, or even say it out loud. They both knew it, the same way they both knew the sky was blue.
All the built-up tension escaped his body through a sigh. “Good,” he said. He kissed her forehead once more before he settled back into the couch. She curled into him, searing the moment into her memory. She’d been shivering cold for months, but finally, finally, warmth seeped into her roots. She sighed, sinking further into him. He laid down on the couch, pulling her down with him.
Now sandwiched between him and the cushions, the soothing sound of Bing Crosby’s White Christmas and Diesel’s heartbeat against her ear lulled her into a deep, comfortable sleep.
xXxXx
Shiloh woke up to Diesel’s lips against her forehead whispering her name. She moaned in tired protest, burrowing deeper into the warmth of his side. But it wasn’t until she felt the deep chuckle rumbling through his chest that she remembered where she was.
Her leg was draped across his, and her arm across his chest. His strong arms had encircled her fully, keeping her safe and warm through the night. With careful fingers, he trailed up and down her side to beckon her from sleep.
She’d fallen asleep on him.
Oh, no.
She lifted her face from his chest and looked around, cheeks blushing. The fire had burned out, and early dawn light peeked through the curtains at the entrance.
“Comfy?” he asked, a shit-eating grin on his face.
She turned back to glare at him. “Mords-moi.”
“If you insist.” He winked at her. She lifted her hand to swat at him but remembered his broken ribs just in time. She let her hand drop back on his chest. “I gotta make that delivery, Princess,” he told her.
Her heart sank. She forgot about that. She pulled away from him with a shudder as the cold air filled the vacant space between them. “But it’s so cold outside,” she complained, pulling the blanket to her chest. “Don’t you wanna stay inside where it’s nice and warm?”
He sat up with a groan, keeping his arm close to his injured side. “You have no idea how much so.” At his display of pain, she reached for him, prepared to assess and assist him, but he waved her arms away. “Don’t fuss. I’m fine.” He picked up his duffel bag and retreated to the bathroom before she could protest.
You don’t look fine, she wanted to scream at him. But, if that’s what he needed her to believe, he could lie all he wanted. The only person he was lying to was himself. She got up and shuffled over to the fireplace, taking the warm blanket with her.
Perhaps it was a hangover, but last night’s remaining paranoia stirred up butterflies in her stomach. He had all but reassured her that there was nothing to worry about. The danger had long passed. As she reached up and ran her hand across the mantle, she recalled Diesel and Blaze’s conversation. I have it all under control, he’d said. And then to her, You should see the other guys.
She didn’t need to see them. She saw him. That was enough.
She pushed the hidden button on the side of the mantle, stood back, and watched the painting slide up to reveal a small arsenal. She looked straight past Diesel’s special-occasion throwing knives and pulled out a Ruger. Diesel hated guns, but he hated this line the least. It would be the easiest one to convince him to carry.
She ejected the magazine and filled it with ammo. Diesel may be convinced he’s safe, but she had to take Blaze’s side this time. She didn’t care how much Diesel argued: he was not leaving this bar without a gun on his belt. He didn’t have to use it, but he was going to take it with him. End of story.
Now fully loaded, she checked the chamber before putting everything back in its hiding spot and pushing the button. The painting slid back into place just as Diesel exited the bathroom, donning the same clothes he wore yesterday.
“I’ll be back in a couple hours,” he told her, tossing his bag down by the door and picking up his boots. He sat down on the stool by the door to put them on. “The roads should be clear enough by now. It won’t take long.” She walked over to him with purpose in her step. He watched her silent approach with an arched brow. “What—?”
She pulled the weapon from underneath the blanket and held it out to him by the barrel. “Take this with you.”
He groaned and sat back in his stool with his hands up. “Shiloh, come on.”
“Don’t argue.”
“You know why I prefer knives.”
“Yeah, I know, you’re impotent. I’ve seen Criminal Minds, I get it,” she jabbed. Beside himself, he chuckled, pressing a hand into his sore side and glaring at the floor.
“Come on,” he complained through a gasp. “Don’t make me laugh.”
“Don’t make me beg.”
When he looked back up at her, her expression was grim. Her mouth had formed a straight line, and her eyes were downcast with worry. He shook his head at the sight but sent her a soft smile to try and ease her nerves. “It’s just a drop, Princess.”
“I know. But, with the state you’re in already, if anything goes south for any reason…” She trailed off, desperately trying not to imagine the worst. She didn’t need to fill in the blanks. Seeing the solemn look in his eyes, she knew he got the message. “…you really shouldn’t Kimbo Slice your way through a band of thugs if you can avoid it.” He scoffed at the joke, then shook his head at the gun in her outstretched hand. She nudged it at him. “Please?” she asked, her voice a hair above a whisper.
After a silent moment of gazing into each other’s pleading eyes, he sighed. He finished up the laces on his boots, stood up, and took the gun from her. He checked the chamber, the safety, and then her face before tucking it into the back of his waistband. “You can’t say I’ve never done anything for you.”
She beamed at him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiled back, mischief gleaming in his crystal blue eyes. “But you know how you can really thank me?”
“How?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. His grin widened as he pointed to the balcony above them… where Stella had hung mistletoe.
Cue the internal somersaults. Shiloh swore aloud at her best friend’s attempt to spread mono—er, holiday cheer. Stella had caught countless willing men underneath that very plant this week, but Diesel had expertly avoided her trap thus far. Not because he wasn’t willing to kiss a beautiful woman, but because he loved the chase – and being chased. He was her white whale, and if she was here now… Shiloh wasn’t sure if she’d cheer or pelt them with peanuts.
“In. Your. Dreams,” she laughed and took a step back from him. Perhaps, the farther she got from him, the less tempted she would be to… “thank” him.
He cackled and shook out his coat. She covered her face with one of her hands while he laughed at her bashful response. “You know,” he added, “it’s bad luck to pass under mistletoe and not share a kiss.”
She scoffed. “Says who?”
“Says the legend,” he answered. She laughed in disbelief. “And I’m about to need all the good luck I can get.” He shrugged his coat on. “Don’t you agree?”
She glared at him the best she could with the blush across her face. “Don’t use that against me, you dick.”
“Oh, come on,” he drawled, wrapping his scarf around his neck. “I’m a good kisser, you’re a good kisser. What do we got to lose?”
Shiloh did a double-take. “Y-You think I’m a good kisser?”
To say he nodded enthusiastically was an understatement. “Oh, yeah.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Really?” she squeaked.
“Shiloh, I’m gonna let you in on a secret. When you flash a guy—” She sputtered at the accusation. “—then grab him by the necktie and make out with him to get out of trouble, that’s A-plus technique.” While her mouth flapped open and shut in response, he shrugged with a wicked smile. “The kissing itself was pretty good, too. I was pleasantly surprised.”
Her face was burning. She’d backed farther away from him, desperate to create space between them. She finally mustered up the courage to defend herself by pointing a finger at him. “I did not flash you!”
“Oh, yes, you did,” he argued with a nod. She tripped over her tongue again, which gave him time to say more. “Trust me, I would know." He wiggled his eyebrows. "I still dream about ‘em.” With an offended gasp, she threw off her blanket and wadded it up to throw at him. He held his hands up and backed into the door. “Hey, that’s a compliment!”
“The hell it is, you creep.”
“But I’m your creep,” he countered as she wound back. “The one who you just told not to get into fights!”
She stopped mid-throw. He had a good point. But maybe she could get the last word in and take some of her dignity back. With newfound, surging confidence, she dropped the blanket and stepped closer. “Fine,” she said.
He raised an eyebrow, eying her suspiciously as she approached. “Fine?” he echoed.
She grabbed him by the scarf. “Fine.” She pulled him in and kissed him.
His lips were just as soft as she remembered. Her eyes fluttered shut as he pulled her close with two hands on her lower back. She stood on her tiptoes to tangle her hands in his hair, making him smile into their kiss.
Her heart filled with helium and floated freely in her chest. This was a thousand times different than kissing him in a staged environment with people watching. Here, it was just the two of them with the snow and the smoldering fire. No wandering eyes, no interruptions.
She melted into him, savoring the moment with a soft moan. He pressed his fingers into the small of her back, his cool fingers grazing her warm skin. She shivered at the contact, goosebumps flooding her skin. Oh, how she longed for those curious hands to wander. Desire bubbled inside of her, hot and bursting in her stomach like fireworks. She traced his chiseled jawline with her thumbs and curled her fingers behind the bend of his jaw.
Hours passed before they broke away from each other to breathe. They pulled apart slowly, lips lingering longer than necessary. She kept her eyes closed, basking in the heat of his breath on her skin.
She gulped, then licked her swollen lips. “Think that was good enough to garner some good luck?” she asked, breathless, but he didn’t respond. So, she opened her eyes to meet his. They were half-lidded, dark blue, and twinkling.
“I think it’ll do,” he finally answered.
She blushed furiously, suddenly all-too aware of how into that kiss she’d been. Could she have been any more obvious? “Good,” she said after clearing her throat. She pulled away from him and grabbed her discarded blanket off the floor. He watched her with smiling eyes. “Now, if you don’t come back in one piece, we'll know it wasn’t my fault.”
He chuckled and picked his duffel bag up off the floor. “Oh, I’ll definitely be coming back in one piece. If only to get some more of that,” he said, pointing a finger at her. “That’s a promise.”
“Oh, no,” she drawled, wrapping herself back up in the throw. “You won’t be catching me underneath that again.”
His all-too-kissable lips curled into a wicked grin. “Challenge accepted.”
“Get the hell out of here,” she half-heartedly barked.
He unlocked the door with a flourish and a laugh. “Merry Christmas to you, too.”
He slipped out and she locked the door shut behind him. She lifted the curtain away from the window and watched him leave, her heart heavy and longing.
She hadn’t exaggerated last night: she wouldn’t be able to breathe easily until he came back. Soft snowflakes flurried around his retreating figure. If this were a Christmas movie, she’d throw the door open and chase after him, profess her undying love, and they’d ride off in a horse drawn carriage. But this wasn’t a Christmas movie. It was cold and grey Chicago. There was nothing magical or romantic about it.
Halfway down the street, Diesel stopped and turned around. Spotting her watching him through the window, he shot her his best smile.
Then, he flipped her off.
She laughed, then returned the gesture. He put his hand over his heart like she wounded him, then he turned back around and continued his journey.
And as the snow continued to fall, so did she for him.
THE END
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