Juneau's POV
"There." I withdrew my hands and, with a muffled clap, joined them at my chest. "I'm so glad they fit."
"Looks nice." The thin line Damian's mouth drew into suggested he wasn't as into these adornments.
"Wasn't sure when I bought it online." I sat back onto my heels and tugged an index finger on the hook. "Should work."
One way to find out.
Echoing my thoughts, Damian nodded. "Hang it."
Bristly branches poked into my gloved fingers as I hinged over. Extending my arms, I grunted and laid the wreath on the headstone hook. The blue-green spruce spires, topped with a red bow, blurred under my tears.
"Merry Christmas, Daddy."
With a shaky breath, I took the second wreath Damian extended to me. My tears dripped over my cheeks as I hung it over the second stone. "Merry Christmas, Mama."
As many times as Damian and I made this visit, every week with two exceptions, we had our routine down. Mumbling, he knelt next to me, paid his respects to my parents, then graced a kiss on my forehead.
Under the gray, evening backdrop sky, Damian's eyes softened at me. He bit one of his leather glove fingers, pulling it off with his teeth. The pads of his fingers wiped my damp cheeks, then he took my chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Take all the time you need."
"I'll find you." Tipping my chin down, I pressed my cold lips into the pad of his thumb.
My palms pressed together and I squeezed them between my thighs. Dipping my chin down, I waited for shuffles of Damian's retreating steps to be washed out by the wind.
"I love him so much," my voice hushed, thick and strained, as my tears resurfaced. "I'm sorry you never had a chance to meet."
I knew for a fact both my parents would've loved Damian as much as I did.
And not in comparison to the string of... less than stellar guys before him.
Closing my eyes, Dad's jaw dropped at Damian's bike. His fingers, nails etched black leftover from his mechanic's job that never washed away, rubbing his bald head and marveling at the details. The two of them tinkering on each other's pride and joy.
Mama's cooking up a storm in the kitchen, shaking her head. She asks me how serious Damian and I were getting, her brown eyes sparkling at my answer, 'He's a keeper, Mama.' Hours, loud bangs, beers, and adjustments Mama and I will never notice later, the two grease monkeys come out of the garage, grimy and grinning.
The vision disappeared with the white puff I exhaled, leaving me with an empty ache in my chest. Heated swirls dissipated as they rose above my hair, revealing two rectangular headstones. The gray speckled granite had deep insets carved for my parents' names, birth and death dates, and 'Loving Mother/Father, taken together too soon but not forgotten' copied from their previous ground-level name plaques.
A huge relief lifted off my heavy heart when I bought the headstones. Damian arranged a small remembrance ceremony, with his mom and sister in attendance. We laid down flowers, said our prayers, and he embedded himself deeper into my heart with that gesture.
"He's a good guy," I whispered, closing my eyes.
A bitter wind numbed my cheeks. Cold from the frozen ground radiated through my jeans, numbing my shins. Taking a breath, I assured my parents, "Everything's great. Work's crazy, school's almost over, but I love it. I'm training a new guy because they're hiring me permanently."
My tears rolled down my cheeks, chilling from the air exposure. "I know it took a long time but..." I sniffled, drawing up the congestion tickling my nose. "I found what makes me happy."
Wish you were here to see it.
Pressing a kiss onto my index finger, I outlined each of my parents' names. Palming my thighs, I squeezed my calves and stood up. My head dipped down, I tossed one more, "Merry Christmas," over my shoulder and hugged my elbows into my stomach.
My winter boots carried me between the snow-covered path between plots, until hardness struck my soles and they thudded on the road. Walking the path I knew with my eyes closed, I joined Damian standing over his father's site. Unlike my whispered greetings, he offered silent condolences, with hands stuffed in his pockets, eyebrows drawn together, and eyes a world away.
Tightness constricted my chest watching him hang a similar wreath over his father's headstone.
Cold, stiff ground again met my kneecaps. The tips of my fingers ran over Damian's father's first name. Tears rewarmed my eyes as I traced Damian's middle name, for a man I regretted never meeting.
Alexander.
"Merry Christmas, Mister Rivera," I whispered, placing my hand in Damian's and letting him pull me up.
Hugging onto Damian's arm, I rested my cheek in the cold black leather on his shoulder. Leaning over, he pressed his ice cube lips on my forehead, breathing warmth, humid air on the spot. Without a word spoken, his arm wrapped around my shoulders. We walked our heavy hearts back to where he parked his bike.
One aspect I appreciated about Damian's bike was when it afforded us silence, which I needed whenever we left the cemetery. Weighed down, my arms hung around his waist as he left Holy Name Cemetery. I leaned my chest against his back, turning my head to the side and sagging against him.
Twenty minutes later, he cut the bike with a low rumble. Crisp, dry air kissed my face and scalp as I lifted up my helmet. We both ran our fingers through our helmet hair. Reaching back, I grabbed the giant garbage bag strapped on behind me, smiling as Damian shook his head.
"Open it." My dry lips smiled.
He obliged, groaning at the wrapped presents inside. "June..."
"Stop." I rolled the top of the bag closed. "This is the first year I have enough to buy gifts. And who better to spoil than your family."
"Anyone," he deadpanned. Looking like a black leather-clad, sexy Santa's helper, he tossed the bag over his shoulder and swung his leg off his bike.
As we walked up to the familiar, brick-front condo building, I bumped my elbow into his shoulder. My nudge was muffled by our leather coats but served its purpose by twitching up the corners of his mouth. Darkness cloaked around us, broken up by the building lights' yellow glow. My own lips tugged up at Damian punching his code, opening the door for me.
With a grunt, my shoulders slumped at the cement stairs option he steered me to. By the time we got to the seventh floor, I gasped and wheezed while Damian breathed normally.
"Knock," I grumbled between raspy breaths.
The view of his flexed bicep, that booming pound of his fist...
Worth it every time.
His low chuckle warmed my numb ears, and the heated look he sent me -
"Ahh! There you are!" Esther Rivera flung open the door with a shriek. "Merry Christmas!"
Tabernacle Christmas music spilled into the hallway, along with the smell of vanilla and the same red wine sauce that dotted her black apron. I smiled at the 'Never Trust a Skinny Chef' embroidering. Flour dusted the tip of her nose like powdered snow.
"Juneau!" Pushing past Damian, two warm arms engulfed me, compressing the air out of my lungs. Any that remained squeezed out when her breasts smashed into mine.
"Oof," I grunted, wrapping my arms around her back. "Merry Christmas, Esther."
"Juneau, you shouldn't have." She clicked her tongue at the bag over Damian's shoulder, reaching up to pinch his cheek.
He leaned back, avoiding her pinching fingers and grumbling like a Christmas Scrooge. She followed up by planting a red stained kiss on his cheek, which rolled his eyes. I reached up and swiped it off with my thumb.
"They're all from June, Ma," he grumbled, his flashing eyes giving away his teasing.
"Damian Alexander. Look at you." Her penciled eyebrows furrowed and her lips, redder than my Christmas sweater, pursed as she dragged her eyes up and down his appearance. "Is he eating, June?"
"Yes and he does most of the cooking," I assured her and stepped inside, smiling at the warmth that enveloped me.
"Ahh ahh ahh," she tutted, black curls moving with her head and hand pulling me back by my scarf. As I gulped and loosened it, she pointed up over the threshold. "Entrance fee."
"Ma," Damian groaned at the mistletoe hanging over his head.
"Better do it or she won't let you in!" a teasing female voice called out. "You should skip it, Ma. If those two kiss, then they'll get naughty in the hallway."
She's not wrong. Wait, does that mean -
"Fine." While I wondered how much of a reputation Damian and I built with his family, a chilled press of lips smooched my cheek. "Better, Ma?"
"You call that a Christmas kiss?" Her brown eyes twinkled like the garland lights strung around the doorframe. "More like a lump of coal in June's stocking."
"Told ya," the interior voice chided. My ears traced it to the kitchen, along with its owner, spreading a smile on my lips. "Better make it Christmas movie-worthy, Damian."
Damian's low grumbles hit my ears as my hands clamped on his shoulders. Turning to him, I raised up on my toes, bumping the tip of my nose against his. With a slow lean in, my lips pushed against his. Warmth flowed past the initial chill as his lips parted and covered mine.
Tingles rose up at the contact point, thrumming faster beats in my chest and warming my cheeks. Damian's sharp exhale puffed over the cleft of my upper lip, warming it with a searing heat. It fluttered my eyes closed and my heart swelled more than one of Esther's Christmas bundt cakes when he rolled my lower lip into his mouth. Heat thrummed through me, pulsing suggestive beats between my legs. A moan bubbled up my throat when his teeth dented mine, offering a gentle tug -
"Told ya, Ma," rang out behind us, flipping my eyes open. "Invite them in before your neighbors get a show."
With a giggle, I pecked Damian's lips and pulled back. The heat igniting his hazel eyes did nothing to help the dampening situation in my underwear. Neither did the way his lips were pink and fuller, drawing a sigh from mine.
He knows. It's his fault, why is he so damn irresistible?
The half-mast lump pushing into my left thigh was enough evidence that Damian was also affected. Not ready to abandon the possibilities of putting that appendage of his to proper use, my mind offered a few dirty, suggestive -
"Come here, you Christmas Scrooge." Esther opened her arms to her son.
Right, his mom. Fuck, at Christmas too. Focus, June.
I am focusing, right on the spot where he's rubbing -
I blinked away the haze clouding my eyes, rolling them closed. Another moan attempted a jailbreak out my throat as he leaned forward, rubbing his erection harder into my thigh. His muttered sounds died in my ears as he kissed his mom's cheek. Her hand cupping my very warm cheek drew my eyes open.
"Merry Christmas, you two," she cooed. "Come in because we are first talking about how you brought too many presents."
Damian and I stepped into the warmth of her small, cozy condo. My eyes couldn't take in enough Christmas decor details, settling on the army of nutcrackers lining her fireplace mantle as I toed off my shoes. With a clump, I dropped them next to Damian's. Smiling at the simplicity of our shoes joining three more pairs, I took his coat and hung it with mine in her hall closet.
Setting down the bag of presents near Esther's tree, Damian shot me a hard look as he adjusted himself. While I tugged down the wrinkles in my red sweater, he chuckled at its glass of milk, plate of cookies, and 'I put out for Santa' message. Shaking his head, he hinged over. Opening the bag, his eyes met mine as he withdrew present after present.
"Juneau, you always have the prettiest wrappings." Esther scooped up one box, wrapped in a white and silver snowflake. Reaching over her arm, I fluffed the bow's eight loops, squished from the ride over, and pushed the red cranberries back in the center.
"And the weirdest ass sweaters I ever seen," she added with a laugh.
Esther's laughs mirrored her personality. Voluminous, unabashed, abrasive, and full of life, I loved them as much as how her thick accent covered her words like 'evv-uh.'
"Thank you." I offered Damian a wink. "All good deals."
"Wouldn't expect less," he shot back, the corners of his lips curling up. He withdrew the last crumpled gift and wadded the empty bag in his fists. "Right here, Ma?"
"Under the tree, you mook!" Her arm wrapped around my shoulders and steered me into the open kitchen. Her hazel eyes, a shade darker than Damian's, lit up at the stack of bags he shoved under the tree.
"You're too much," she gushed, red coffin nails flashing as she cupped her cheeks. My eyes softened at her gold wedding band catching the twinkle of the tree lights. "But I'm so glad we have you for Christmas, Honey. I made extra bundt cakes. Oh, and that biscotti you like, for you to take back."
"Ma, your biscotti is terrible," Damian groaned and stood up, coming back to my side. "It's too dry. And those bundt cakes are like doorstops."
My eyes pulled wide at his blunt remark while Esther huffed, fisting her hips. "It's supposed to be dry. And you take back the bundt cake insult."
"Not freeze-dried," he retorted, shooting me a wink and mouthing 'drop them on the way back.'
As his mom uttered a string of half-Italian, half-Spanish curse words, my eyes shifted to the other guests present in the kitchen.
Knowing who was here from the teasing that greeted us, I smiled at the backs of a young woman and man tending the stovetop. Dressed in a silver sweater and black leggings, her hips rolled with the Christmas music. The swaying movements wagged her long, dark brown ponytail across her shoulders. Towering over her was a tall, muscular cut man with short black hair and shoulders as wide as the fridge. He paused from stirring a cooking pan and gazed at her with stars in his eyes.
Damian's mom caught my inspection of the hip-joined couple and stated the obvious, "Emma's here." Her voice squeaked and fingers depressed further in her cheeks, tears glossing over her eyes. "Big news. Big, big -"
"She's engaged," Damian cut in with an even, emotionless tone.
My lips parted in a gasp and my neck pinched a nerve with how fast my head whipped in his direction. "You knew?"
"She's been squealing about it for six months." Crossing his arms, Damian offered a grunted, "Hey, Em."
"Those are mood boards," Emma turned so fast her ponytail smacked Damian's now future brother-in-law. "And don't call me Em, Dame."
Oop, here we go. I swear, those two turn into children every time.
She turned, greeting me with the sight of a tall, thin, feminine version of Damian. Her left hand stretched in our direction, fingers presented down. A princess cut diamond gleamed on a gold band as her other hand cupped her chin. Her eyes, golden-hazel like Damian's, beamed like rays of sunlight shone from them.
"Beautiful." Stepping in to divert a sibling squabble, I clasped her hand, angling the ring for inspection. It glinted in the overhead stove light. "Congratulations! That's so exciting."
"I know!" Her skin glowing, she withdrew her hand and hugged me. "Chris did so good."
"Congrats." Damian extended one hand to his new brother-in-law. Craters of dimples carved into his cheeks with how wide Chris grinned but my awful boyfriend couldn't resist, "You sure? No return policy on my sister."
"Damian!" Emma swatted her brother in the chest with a spatula, which he pretended to flinch at and palmed the area.
"Don't burn the mushrooms," Esther chided her, prompting Emma back to the stove and turning off the burners.
"Are you on call tonight?" Damian ignored his mom's shaking head and looked at Chris.
"Yeah." He sighed.
Chris, Emma's now fiancé, was a firefighter who transferred to FDNY from Chicago three years ago. Jason took pity on his friend, inviting him to his family's Christmas. After sharing a mistletoe kiss of their down, they were inseparable since. She graduated from night school two weeks ago, working as a bookkeeper for a local florist.
So sweet he didn't waste a moment.
"Juneau," Esther interrupted me, flashing a familiar picture on her phone screen. "Your sweater party pictures! Hilarious. I haven't seen so many dicks and balls since -"
"Ma!"
Giggles bubbled out of me at the disdain in Damian's voice. I loved his family exchanges, in particular how they cracked into that normal, stoic demeanor one embarrassing line at a time.
It's good for him.
Her short, black waves bounced as she tipped her head back and laughed. "Couldn't get a smile outta Mister Sourpuss though."
"I'm trying," I teased, wrapping my arm around his narrow waist.
Damian's eyebrows shot up at the screen showing us at Adam and Vaughn's party. My head rested on his chest and dick adornments dangled overhead like phallic icicles. "You sent her pictures?"
"Yep." I grinned, tucking my ear against his shoulder. "See? Told you my nipple was covered."
"Nothing wrong with a little under boob," his mom miffed, grabbing a piece of chocolate-covered biscotti from the counters and crunching down. Bits of the end flaked off as she jabbed it at Damian. "I flashed your father a lot -"
"Enough, Ma." Damian's groan drew another giggle from me, bouncing my chest into his side. "Before I lose my appetite."
Striking a nerve with his mom's overconcern for Damian's calorie intake, Esther's mouth clamped shut. He wrapped his arm around my waist. Leaning over, his warm breath hit my ear. "What am I going to do with you?"
I pulled back and shot him a smile. "You already know my answer, which may or may not involve me flashing you."
My lips parted when his lips mouthed around my earlobe, grazing it with his teeth. "Later," he promised with a whisper.
"Hey, yous two." I blinked up at Esther, assuming she meant Emma and Chris, but she looked at me. "Plate up, then story time."
"Ma, I've already told you twice..." This time Emma groaned. I assumed her beaming smile and twinkling eyes meant she was on board sharing how Chris proposed.
I sure want to know.
"And it's such a sweet proposal, June..." Esther squeezed my upper arm. "You're gonna love this!"
"Great." Damian's mumbles earned him a plate shoved in his chest.
"Sit down before you pass out." My teasing tones died as I whispered, "And eat extra."
"Ugggghhh," he rumbled with an exaggerated groan as I plopped an extra piece of beef wellington on his plate. "You know this is gonna give me -"
"Stop." With a curl of my wrist, I added extra mushrooms and potatoes on his plate. "We both know I have to ride back behind you."
And your stinky carb-gas farts.
Yep, I said it. Correction: I thought it.
"Still driving that death stick," Ester lamented with a moan. Setting her plate at her round kitchen table, she accompanied her disapproval of Damian's bike with wild hand gestures between him and me. "Bad enough you're endangering your own life, but now June's?"
"I like it." I goosed Damian's left cheek, squeezing a full palm's worth as we headed to the table. "It's sexy."
"It's dangerous," his mom muttered. "What are you gonna do when -"
"It's staying." Damian flopped down with a grunt. "June thinks it's sexy."
"Please." Emma snorted. "June thinks you brushing your teeth is sexy."
My cheeks warmed at the mental image of Damian at the sink, white towel riding low on his hips, water trailing from his damp hair down the cords of his neck, chest and ab muscles, the swell of his... bicep.
I sure do.
Swallowing, I noticed their empty glasses. "What would you like to drink, Damian? Esther?"
"Water, please." My grumpy Gus glared at his mom. "Since I'm driving the death stick home."
Her red lips pulled into a smile but her eyes screamed 'What am I going to do with him!?' I squeezed her shoulder, leaving the two to discuss that impasse without me.
Enroute back to the table with a glass of water in each hand, Emma thrust a phone under my nose. "Check out this crazy guy."
I squinted at the back of a firefighter dressed in full FDNY gear, black with yellow stripes. His head was hidden by his large helmet and his face wrapped in protective layers.
He sat outside a window, facing Emma. She sat on the ledge, her feet dangling over and hands clasping his sides. Snow flurries swirled around them.
"Wait..." I stared at the picture, taking in the grappling ropes and brick building exterior. "Is he..."
"Dangling from the roof," pride radiated in Emma's voice. "I should've known when he asked me to be the training dummy at practice."
Full bite of food lodged in his mouth, Damian sucked in a breath and gagged. I set down his water, patting his back until the tears watering his eyes subsided.
"Not one word." Esther pointed her fork in his direction, then rounded her eyes at Emma. "Go on."
"He said..." Emma's dark eyes glowed up at her fiancé. "Firefighters aren't big talkers, we let our actions speak louder. I laughed until he said, 'I'm sorry, I can't get down on one knee like this but I'd dangle over any edge for you, Emma."
"Aww," I cooed, threading my fingers and clutching them at my chest. The action alone pulled at my heart.
"So sweet." Emma leaned over and squeezed Chris' hand. "He finished with, 'I rescue people for a living but you're my lifesaver. Emma, you make me feel alive, shining light into my darker days. This isn't an easy job to be married to, but I'd be the happiest guy in New York if you spend the rest of your life with me.'"
Oh, my heart.
A strangled squeal lodged itself in my throat. Drawing in all the room's air, I held it in my lungs. Warmth swelled in my heart, pressing it against my chest walls. Thudding beats pushing back against my palm.
"That's so sweet, Chris!" I whispered, tears beading up in my eyes. Sniffling, I sank down in my seat.
"Congratulations." Damian's stiff voice prompted my knee to nudge his leg under the table.
He responded with a warm palm clamped onto my thigh, surging ripples of excitement up to the apex.
That's not a good idea.
Threading my palm under his, I curled my fingers. Throbbing aches nestled in my mound, cocooning the warm, steady beats. With a strong clench of my fingers around Damian's, I gripped my inner muscles in a Kegel, holding back the pooling arousal sensation behind my tingling lady bits.
The small uplifted corner of his mouth was the only hint I needed.
I'm getting him back for that.
"And I want you to walk me down the aisle." Emma's eyes shifted to Damian as she and Chris took the last table seats.
The reminder of their late father and husband slipped a solemn veil over the happy space, draining the lightness out of this wonderful family's eyes.
Damian swallowed, the chords in his neck bobbing. "Of course, Emma."
"Don't shove her," I teased, wiping my damp eyes with the pads of my fingers.
"Stop eating, Damian!" his mother chirped out a much-needed diversion from the liquifying situation in my jeans. "We haven't said grace."
He rolled his eyes but obliged, holding his free hand up to clasp his mother's outstretched one on the table.
"Hands," Esther instructed, offering her other palm to Emma. "June, would you?"
"Me? Oh... sure."
With one hand already clutching Damian's, I placed my other hand on Chris' outstretched bear paw. Calloused skin wrapped both my hands. Damian's felt like fine-grained sandpaper, like the sexy stubble on his jawline that I liked trailing my nose and lips over. Chris' skin was like a pumice stone exfoliant.
Bowing our heads and leaning forward, my eyes closed. "Heavenly father, bless the food that we are about to share. Bless the hands that prepared it, the hands that protect us, and the hands that serve in your name. We pause in silence for Alexander, whose presence still lives in our hearts, never forgotten."
I didn't say their names out loud, a mental acknowledgment being sufficient.
Mama. Daddy.
Soft breaths passed between us. They stopped and my skin tingled with awareness under the weight of curious eyes. My lashes fluttered, dusting light tickles on my cheeks. Pin-drop silence cloaked the table space, heavy and somber like a remembrance moment but not uncomfortable.
I cleared my throat. "As we all come together -"
The squeeze on Damian's hand side at those words was not appreciated.
"- and celebrate in your Holy Name, on the birthday of your son and our savior, we ask not for ourselves but for the more unfortunate. We pray in your name, Amen."
Murmured 'Amen's hummed out and a hand squeeze from Damian later, my eyes blinked open.
"So..." Esther smirked over her water glass at Damian. "When's your proposal?"