Read TWISTED PROMISES (Twisted Path Book 2) :: Chapter 12

Becca

There’s no such thing as waking up from heartbreak.

I wish there was.

It’d be nice to open your eyes after a night of tossing and turning and just—feel better.

Imagine stretching, yawning, and thinking to yourself, Wow. Glad that emotional spiral is behind me. Time to get back to living my life.

But it doesn’t work like that.

Instead, you just… lie there. Stuck in this strange limbo between pain and exhaustion so deep you feel it in your bones.

That’s where I am now. Staring up at the ceiling of my tiny apartment, blinking against the watery blur clinging to my lashes. My eyes feel gritty. Swollen. Like they’ve been scrubbed raw from the inside. Which tracks, considering I cried myself to sleep last night—quietly, once the lights were off and the room went still.

I don’t even remember falling asleep.

Just the ache.

The waiting.

The silence.

My hand gropes for my phone on the nightstand before my brain fully catches up. I don’t know what I’m expecting. A text? A missed call? Anything to make the last twenty-four hours feel less like a punch to the chest?

The screen lights up. Nothing.

No missed calls.

No messages.

Not last night. Not this morning.

My throat tightens, but I swallow it down.

Don’t cry, Becca. Not yet. Not until you know for sure there’s something to cry over.

But I already know there is.

Did he do it?

Did he actually go through with it?

The questions loop in my head, over and over. And I’m not sure what hurts worse—knowing he probably did it… Or that he didn’t bother to call me afterward.

Movement by the window pulls my attention.

My chest seizes—irrational hope and panic flaring all at once.

Is it him? Please tell me that it’s him.

Maybe he came back. Maybe he snuck in while I was sleeping, which would explain why he didn’t call—

But no.

As my eyes adjust to the brightness of the room, the shape comes into focus.

It’s not Shane.

It’s Nick.

He’s crouched under my little Christmas tree in the corner, fiddling with something beneath the lowest branches.

I blink, still groggy, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing.

Is he… tucking something under the tree? Are those—

Wait.

No.

They can’t be.

But they are.

Presents.

Well… sort of.

I sit up slowly, pushing the blanket off my legs. My eyes sweep the haphazard little pile beneath the tree. The bottom one is wrapped in birthday-themed wrapping paper—bright colored balloons on a blue background. The one on top of that? A crumpled section of newspaper, complete with a faded weather forecast from some random day in the past. And nestled between them… something that looks suspiciously like it’s wrapped in paper towels?

I squint.

Yep. Definitely paper towels.

Nick hasn’t noticed me yet. His brow is furrowed in concentration, like he’s making final adjustments to a masterpiece. When he finally glances over and sees me watching, he startles slightly—then stands fast, brushing his hands on his jeans like he’s been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

“Morning,” he says, voice a little too casual. “Don’t worry, I ordered us breakfast. Very fancy. Michelin-star donuts to commemorate our first Christmas together as a happy blended family.”

Despite everything—meaning the ache in my chest and the silence of my phone—I smile. Just a little. It’s impossible not to when he says things like that.

He nods toward the coffee table. Sure enough, there’s a box of donuts, two cups of coffee, and a white paper bag stamped with the Dunkin’ logo.

Christmas breakfast à la Nick.

It’s perfect.

I shake my head, the smile still hovering as I take it all in. This whole thing is so him.

I pull myself out of bed and pad across the room, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders to stave off the chill in the room.

Nick’s already claimed the floor cushions by the coffee table, where the food sits like a peace offering.

I plop down beside him and reach for the larger coffee cup. “Please tell me this one’s mine.”

Nick lifts his hands in mock surrender. “All yours. I figured you for a large regular—extra cream, extra sugar.”

“You figured right.” I take a sip and groan. “God, that’s good.”

“Yep. Nothing like a healthy dose of caffeine and diabetes first thing in the morning.”

I smile wider at that.

Then we fall into a comfortable silence as we unwrap the still-warm breakfast sandwiches and start eating like it’s any other morning.

Somehow, that makes it all feel even more surreal.

Then the question slips out before I can stop it.

“You sure that was a good idea? Running out to get breakfast? What if someone saw you?”

Nick shrugs, chewing around a mouthful. “Never left.”

I blink. “Then how’d you get all this?”

He swallows, then says. “Mike dropped it off.”

I frown. “Mike?”

“One of Cedric’s guys. He’s the one who’s been tailing you all week. Making sure you’re safe.”

I pause mid-bite.

Someone’s been following me?

That should freak me out more than it does, especially the part where I never even noticed. But in the growing list of things I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to deal with, it just floats to the top… and sits there.

I file it away next to Shane’s silence. Next to the ever-expanding ache that’s taken up residence in my chest.

I chew slowly, staring at the blinking lights on our tree—Shane’s and mine.

That’s it, Becca. Add it all to the pile of crap you’ll have to unpack later. ‘Cause avoidance… now there’s a healthy coping mechanism.

I sigh.

The silence stretches as we finish the last bites of our breakfast. The coffee goes cold in my hands before I even realize I’ve stopped drinking it.

From the corner of my eye, I catch Nick watching me again—subtle, but not subtle enough.

I don’t acknowledge it. Instead, I just stare into my cup and finally ask the question that’s been clawing at the back of my throat since I opened my eyes.

“Have you… heard from him?”

Nick shifts. The answer’s already there, written in the way his jaw tightens.

“No,” he says finally. “But… it’s done.”

I freeze. “What do you mean, it’s done?”

He hesitates.

“Nick.”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Connor Matthews’s dad was there. Con said it went down like it was supposed to. Public. Polished. Emotional. Everyone bought it.”

The air goes thin.

My stomach turns.

He didn’t just propose.

He sold it.

Made it look real enough for people like Governor Richard Matthews to believe it. Which means—

My hand tightens around the coffee cup.

Did he kiss her? Touch her in ways that only belong to me? Is he still with her now?

The thoughts slam into me so hard I nearly gag.

I push the coffee away. Then the box of donuts. Suddenly, I’m not hungry anymore.

Nick notices. Of course he does. I’m quickly learning that while he’s not great with emotions, he’s deeply attuned to them. And right now, I can feel him watching me like I’m a ticking bomb. Like I’m seconds away from imploding in front of him.

He’s not entirely wrong.

He clears his throat, then claps his hands together. “Alright. That’s enough depressing breakfast vibes for one morning.” He stands abruptly and gestures toward the tree. “Time for presents.”

My brain short-circuits. I blink. Then: “You… got me presents?”

He shrugs like it’s obvious. “Of course I did. It’s Christmas.”

I don’t move right away.

The inner rebel in me resents his pushy attitude. It wants to dig in, to stay curled up in the familiar ache of disappointment and self-pity. But Nick’s already crouched near the tree again, brushing imaginary dust off one of the weirdly wrapped gifts. He waves me forward with his free hand like I’m an errant child not moving fast enough.

It should annoy me.

But it doesn’t.

Just one more thing I’ll file away to examine later.

Resigned, I do as I’m told and take a seat beside him.

“Alright, rules are simple,” he says. “You open them. You act surprised. You shower me with praise for being the world’s greatest brother-slash-Santa-slash-holiday elf.”

I snort. “Got it. But let the record show I have concerns. If your ego gets any bigger, you won’t fit through my door. And then how will I get rid of you?”

He grins like he knows I’m full of it and hands me the first gift. It’s wrapped in newspaper and sealed with what looks like duct tape—items he probably scavenged from the garage downstairs.

With great effort, I finally peel it open—and laugh.

A box of Velveeta mac and cheese. His favorite. And based on the squished condition of the cardboard box, definitely from the stash he keeps in his duffle bag.

There’s a yellow sticky note stuck to the front: Emergency gourmet comfort carbs. Use only in case of heartbreak (or to avoid hangry meltdowns).

The laugh that escapes me this time is the most real one I’ve had in weeks, maybe months. A real, god honest, uncontrollable fit, from somewhere deep at the base of my chest.

Once I’ve caught my breath, I tell him, “Wow. Parting with this… to give it to me? I can’t imagine how difficult that must’ve been for you.”

Nick winks. “It should prove how much you mean to me. I don’t share my stash with just anyone. So, you’re welcome.”

The next gift he hands me is smaller. Not wrapped, just some folded notebook paper stapled at the edges into a crude little booklet. I smile as I flip it around.

The cover reads: COUPON BOOK - Redeem with Nick. No expiration. No judgment.

Inside, I find four hand-drawn coupons:

– One Ugly Cry Session (tears optional, snacks provided)

– One Movie Night (your pick—even if it’s sappy)

– One Free Pass to Spiral (no interventions until the next day)

– One Hug, Redeemable Anytime. No Limit.

I shake my head, smiling as fresh tears prick my eyes. This time for a very different reason. “You made me a coupon book?”

“Technically, I repurposed scrap paper,” he says with mock pride. “I’m nothing if not resourceful.”

I laugh again.

And God. I realize this is exactly what I needed.

The next present he hands me is wrapped—if you can call it that—in paper towels. Inside is a long, crumpled strip of computer paper, cut into crooked snowflakes and taped together end to end.

“A snowflake garland!” I say, feigning excitement.

I hold it up. It immediately tangles.

Nick leans in to help untangle it and somehow makes it worse.

“I was going for festive,” he says with a sheepish grin. “But clearly I have a strong knack for the… kindergarten art aesthetic.”

“No,” I say softly, smoothing one of the torn edges. “It’s perfect.”

And I mean it. Judging by the way he looks at me, he knows I do.

Next up is a box wrapped in birthday-themed wrapping paper. Inside is my favorite mug, which he must have swiped from the dish drainer. Stuffed inside are random little things: a packet of hot cocoa from my pantry, a handful of peppermint candies from the dish on my coffee table, a face mask I’m pretty sure came from his bag, and a folded napkin with a note.

It reads: Today might suck. But this should help.

My throat tightens. Painfully. Sharp and sudden.

He didn’t have to do any of this. But he did. To cheer me up. To give me something good to hold on to when everything feels so wrong.

“You didn’t have to do all this, Nick.”

“I know,” he says quietly, “but it felt like I should.”

Before I can respond, he pushes one last gift towards me like he’s trying to move us past the sentimentality of the moment. The gift is small. Wrapped in—of course—a paper towel.

Inside is a keychain. Metal, slightly worn, the lettering faded from use.

It reads: WHEN LIFE GIVES YOU LIMES, GO BUY TEQUILA.

I laugh. More tears springing instantly, flooding my eyes.

Nick shrugs. “It’s from my bag. One of my favorites, so treat it well.”

My fingers close around it… and just like that, something inside me breaks.

The laugh dies in my throat. The tears hit before I even know they’re coming. I blink hard, trying to stop them, but they fall anyway.

“I’m sorry.” I swipe at my cheeks, mortified. “It’s just… no one’s ever done anything like this for me before.”

Nick doesn’t say anything. He just watches me from the corner of his eye, awkward in that way he gets when emotions creep too close to the surface.

It seems to happen a lot around me lately.

God, he must think I’m a mess…

So, in a moment of pure emotional overload, I do the only thing that makes sense to my heart.

I hug him.

He stiffens immediately, like I’ve just short-circuited his brain. For a second, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe.

But then, slowly… he melts. His arms come around me—solid, still hesitant, but real. And I sink into him, letting myself feel the quiet, unspoken comfort of not being alone. Of finally having someone who has my back.

This isn’t the Christmas I imagined. Not even close.

Just days ago, I thought I’d be waking up in Shane’s arms. Kissing him under the twinkle lights. Whispering about our love, our plans, our future.

Instead… I got this.

And somehow, it’s more than enough.

This is everything.

Nick gives me a light squeeze. His voice is quiet when he says, “Merry Christmas, sis.”

The words land like a balm. Like a promise.

My heart still aches—but this time, not just from grief. There’s something else now. Something growing in the space between the cracks of my heart.

Love.

Real familial love.

For the brother I never expected. The brother I never knew I needed.

In the end, even if it all falls apart—even if Shane and I don’t make it—he gave me this.