All I Want for Christmas Is You (Short Story) by Molly O'Keefe

Dad’s sickness had taken over everything. She was twenty years old, had been married for two years, and sometimes it felt like her life was over.
    What about journalism school?
    Stop , she told herself. She lifted her head from the door.
    You married him, honey , her mom had told her. Now you gotta try living with him.
    She loved Billy Wilkins. Down to her bones, she loved him, which was the only reason she was outside his hotel room in Detroit. Ready to beg, if that’s what it took.
    Enough , she told herself, and knocked on the hotel room door.
    “Just leave it outside,” Billy’s voice called out. The Pit Bulls had lost tonight, she’d heard it on the radio in the cab she took from the airport.
    He was going to be prickly.
    She closed her eyes and prayed for strength. “Billy,” she called back. “It’s me.”
    Almost immediately, the door was yanked open andBilly stood in front of her. His thick brown hair was damp from the shower and curling at the ends. He was shirtless, the muscles of his chest and shoulders bathed in low lamplight from the room behind him.
    And it was all there, everything he felt was on his face. His surprise. His love. His joy—in her—it illuminated him, the hallway, her entire world. He’d been looking at her like this since they were kids, and she felt an answering spark inside her.
    They could do this. They could make it work. It was worth fighting for. They were worth fighting for.
    The relief was profound and her heart threw itself wide open.
    But he closed right down, no doubt remembering every awful thing she had said to him the night before. A chill rolled off of him, and he lifted the beer bottle he was holding to his lips.
    Where the scar pulled his mouth into a terrible sneer.
    The sight of him—his scar, his body, his virile strength barely restrained—rippled through her, as it always had. As it always would.
    Maybe she would have been able to walk away if she didn’t want him so badly.
    “What are you doing here?” he asked.
    “Can I come in?”
    He pulled the door a little closer to his body.
    That would be a no.
    “You’re going to make me do this in the hallway?” She tried to make it a joke, but he just stared at her. Immutable.
    Right. On with the begging.
    “I’m sorry for those things I said. I was mad. Hurt.”
    “Yeah? Well, it’s my turn now. And screw your apology, Maddy.” He stepped backwards as if to shut the door, but she reached out her hand, nearly touching him. They both froze.
    “Don’t, Billy. Please. Let’s talk. I’ll come back on the road—”
    He blinked. His eyes flared and the sneer spread briefly into a smile. “You will?”
    A bittersweet happiness flooded her. It wasn’t perfect, but what was?
    “Yeah,” she said. “I miss you.”
    “Oh my God, baby. I miss you so much, I—” He reached for her.
    “Billy?” a voice called from the hotel room behind them.
    A female voice.
    A woman in a hot pink dress slunk toward the doorway, glowing malevolently in the shadows.
    “What are you doing out here?” the woman asked, her voice strangled by the breasts pushed up to her throat.
    Bittersweet happiness curdled to a bitter rage. And right at that moment Maddy hated Billy more than she’d ever loved him. It was a terrible rending, from which there was no going back.
    Hating him like that changed her on a molecular level.
    And the pain … the pain was shocking. She couldn’t see or breathe. She couldn’t think. Her whole landscape was pain.
    “Maddy,” Billy said, blocking her view of the bitch in the pink dress. “It’s a party.”
    “Yeah? For two?” The words spilled from numb lips.
    “No,” the stupid stupid woman said. “My friend is here, too. Are you delivering the champagne?”
    “Gary and Ben are coming over,” he said quickly, acting like she was a fool for imagining the worst. A fool for doubting him.
    Well, she wasn’t going to be his fool anymore.
    Speechless, she shoved him as hard as she