Chapter 43: 2 Christmas 2 Furious

The winter sun beats down on my face. ‘Fifty-two degrees on Christmas Day in Massachusetts? Something’s not right.’

“Erica,” I croak, my voice rough from last night’s festivities. “You feeling this?”

She groans beside me, her usually intimidating presence diminished by the mother of all hangovers. “Feeling what, Jason? My head splitting open?”

I can’t help but chuckle, even as my own temples throb in sympathy. “No, babe. It’s just weird its not cold out.”

Erica manages to crack open one piercing blue eye, glaring at me from beneath her messy blonde bangs. “You dragged me out here to talk about the weather? I swear to God if you don’t have a good reason-”

“Oh, I’ve got a reason,” I interrupted, unable to contain my excitement any longer. “Close your eyes again.”

She complies with a dramatic sigh, and I take a moment to admire her, even hungover and grumpy; she’s breathtaking.

“Okay,” I say, positioning her just right. “Open ’em.”

Erica’s eyes flutter open, then widen comically as she takes in the sight before her. The sleek red Porsche Carrera GT gleams in the unseasonable sunlight, a bow haphazardly stuck to its hood.

“Holy shit,” she breathes, suddenly wide awake. “Is that-”

“Yep,” I grin. “Merry Christmas, Erica.”

“Holy Fuck Jason!.” She screeches like a child while hyperventilating. “It’s the same model Paula Walker died in.” she exclaims, her voice filled with a mixture of awe and morbid glee that only Erica could pull off. She runs her hands reverently over the hood, and I can’t help but smile at how excited she is.

I watch Erica with unbridled adoration, my heart swelling as she practically dances around the car. Her eyes sparkle with childlike wonder, all traces of her hangover seemingly evaporated in the face of her excitement. Moments like these remind me why I fell so hard for this beautiful woman.

“I know.” I say softly, unable to keep the fondness out of my voice. “I remember how much you loved Fast and Furious. I wanted to get you the car your hero died in.”

Erica’s running her hands over the sleek curves of the Porsche, her touch almost reverent. She’s muttering to herself, a stream of “Oh my god.” and “I can’t believe it.” punctuated by little squeals of delight. It’s like watching a kid on Christmas morning, which, I guess, is exactly what this is.

I’m so caught up in Erica’s joy that I barely notice Brooke approaching until she’s right beside me, her eyebrow raised in that signature skeptical look of hers.

“Why didn’t you just get her one of the poster cars from Fast and Furious?” Brooke asks, her tone a mix of curiosity and judgment.

I shrug, my eyes never leaving Erica as she pops open the driver’s side door and slides into the seat with a whoop of joy. “Erica loved Paula Walker for some reason,” I explain. “She always said Paula was the real star, that she brought something raw and real to the franchise that no one else could match.”

Brooke stares at the car, her hazel eyes widening as she takes in every gleaming detail. “Jason,” she says slowly, her voice barely audible over Erica’s continued squeals of delight, “isn’t it... I don’t know, offensive that you bought the car the girl died in?”

I watch as Erica presses every button on the dashboard, her excitement palpable even from here. A smile tugs at my lips. “Erica doesn’t see it that way,” I explain. “She told me once that the car is a legend because Paula died in it. She called it a ‘drivable mausoleum.’”

I laugh at the words, remembering Erica’s solemn face when she’d said them, but Brooke’s expression remains troubled.

“That’s... kind of dark, don’t you think?” she murmurs, her eyes flicking between me and the car.

I nod, acknowledging some level of truth in her words. “I guess. Look,” I say, gesturing towards Erica, who’s now revving the engine with a look of pure bliss on her face, “if this is what makes Erica happy, then I’m happy. How she feels about that car, is how I feel everyday being with her.”

Brooke nods slowly, her eyes softening as she watches me watch Erica. “I knew you loved her, Jason.” she says softly, her voice barely audible over the purr of the Porsche’s engine. “But maybe I underestimated just how much. The way you look at her... it’s like she’s your whole world.”

I laugh a warm chuckle that seems to melt the unseasonable heat around us. “She kind of is, Brooke. Erica’s not just my girlfriend; she’s my adventure, my warden, and my safe harbor. She’s everything.”

As if on cue, Erica’s voice cuts through our conversation, high-pitched and exuberant. “I’m going to be an absolute weapon on the road now!” she screams, her blonde hair whipping around her face as she revs the engine again. The sound is deafening, a primal roar that seems to shake the very ground beneath our feet.

Brooke’s face transforms in an instant, her previous warmth replaced by abject horror. Her eyes widen, and she grabs my arm, her fingers digging into my skin with surprising strength.

“Jason.” she hisses, her voice urgent and filled with concern, “You have to make sure she doesn’t go too fast in that car with you in it. It’s not just a car it’s a death trap. Promise me.”

I nod, feeling a knot of anxiety form in my stomach. “Yeah, I’m already nervous she’s gonna want to go too fast.” I admit, watching as Erica fiddles with the gear shift, her eyes gleaming with a manic sort of glee.

Brooke shifts awkwardly beside me, her eyes darting between the car and my face. She reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out a small, neatly wrapped package.

“I, uh, I got you something,” she says, her voice barely audible over Erica’s continued exclamations about the car’s features.

“Oh my god, Jason!” Erica yells from the driver’s seat, her voice filled with childlike wonder. “It has heated seats! My ass is going to be straight baking turds now!”

I can’t help but chuckle at Erica’s enthusiasm as I turn my attention to Brooke. She’s holding out the gift, a soft smile playing on her lips despite the concern still evident in her eyes.

“Open it,” she urges, pressing the package into my hands.

I carefully unwrapped the gift, my curiosity piqued. As the paper falls away, I find myself holding what appears to be an ordinary pen. But as I examine it more closely, I notice that the top of the pen is a large cap for something. I grab it and separate it from the pen.

My eyes widen in surprise and delight. “A knife pen?” I breathe, a wide smile spreading across my face as I see the blade glistening in my hand.

Brooke nods her expression a mix of pride and nervous energy. “It’s a knife you can hide from Erica.” she explains in a hushed tone, glancing towards the car to make sure Erica is still distracted. “So she won’t try to take it away from you. You know, so you can protect yourself... just in case you run into any more kidnappers.”

I feel a rush of gratitude wash over me. It’s true that Erica doesn’t like me having weapons, she’s always insisted that she’s the protector in our relationship. But I’ve been kidnapped twice, and I’m happy to have options.

“Thank you, Brooke.” I say sincerely, meeting her gaze. “This is... it’s perfect. Really.”

“Jason!” Erica’s voice cuts through the air, a mix of frustration and excitement. “Where’s the NOS button? I can’t find it anywhere!”

Brooke’s eyes widen in horror again, her face draining of color.

“NOS?” I yell back, my voice firm despite the amusement bubbling up inside me. “No fiancée of mine is allowed to have a NOS button! I want you to live a long time.”

Erica’s pout is visible even from here, her bottom lip jutting out in a way that’s both adorable and slightly terrifying. “But Jaaaason,” she whines, “What’s the point of having a supercar if I can’t make it go super fast?”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Please don’t make me regret getting you this car.”

I turn back to Brooke, still grinning from Erica’s antics. The sun catches on the knife pen in my hand as I cap it and place it in my pocket.

“So,” she says slowly, her gaze drifting back to me. “What did you get me?”

“Well.” I begin, suddenly feeling a bit nervous. “I know you said you didn’t want any ‘blood money’ last night, but...”

Brooke’s eyebrows furrow. “But what, Jason?”

I take a deep breath, the crisp winter air filling my lungs despite the unseasonal warmth. “I had already set up a trust fund for you.” I say in a rush. “It’s enough to pay off your college loans and then some. You can use the rest for whatever you want, travel, start a business, buy a dog, whatever floats your boat.”

Brooke’s eyes widen, her mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ of surprise. For a moment, the only sound was Erica revving Porsche’s engine, and the deep growl punctuated the silence between us.

“Jason, I... I don’t know what to say,” Brooke finally manages, her voice barely above a whisper. “That’s... that’s incredibly generous. But I told you, I can’t accept-”

“Brooke, it’s already done,” I interrupt, my words final and direct. “I mean, the paperwork’s signed, the money’s transferred.”

She sighed, a long, drawn-out exhale that seemed to deflate her entire body. “Fine,” she says, her voice quiet but firm. “Thank you, Jason. That’s... that’s very kind of you.”

“Actually.” I add, a mischievous glint in my eye, “It’s the same thing I gave Mom. You know, in case she wants to retire early.”

Brooke’s eyebrows shoot up, her hazel eyes widening in surprise. “You didn’t.” she breathes.

“Oh, I did.” I grin, feeling a bit like Santa Claus on steroids. “And that’s not all. I also got Mom a fake golden gun, custom-made to look exactly like Saddam Hussein’s personal AK-47.”

Brooke lets out a low whistle, shaking her head in disbelief. “Holy shit, Jason. Mom’s going to flip. She’s been obsessed with that thing ever since she saw it in that documentary.”

“I know, right?” I chuckle, remembering Mom’s fascination with the dictator’s gaudy taste in weaponry. “I figured if anyone could appreciate a gold-plated symbol of megalomaniacal excess, it’d be Mom.”

Brooke nods, a worried look on her face as if she feels like she’s imposing. “You got that right. So, uh... how much exactly is in the trust funds.”

I take a deep breath, bracing myself for her reaction. “Ten million. Each.”

Brooke’s jaw drops so fast I’m worried she might have dislocated it. Her eyes bulge comically, and for a moment, I think she might actually faint. She staggers back a step, her hand flying to her chest as if to keep her heart from bursting out of it.

“Ten... ten million?” she sputters, her voice a strangled whisper. “Jesus fucking Christ, Jason!”

She starts pacing back and forth, muttering under her breath. I catch fragments of her rambling “college loans... travel the world... open that restaurant... holy shit, a house...a third house…” as she tries to process the magnitude of what I’ve just told her.

Before I can say anything else, Erica’s voice cuts through the air like a siren call. “Jason!” she yells from the Porsche, her tone a mix of impatience and excitement. “Get your ass in here! I want to take this baby for a spin!”

I glance at Brooke, who’s still muttering to herself, her eyes glazed over in shock. “Uh, you okay there, sis?” I ask, torn between amusement and concern.

She waves me off, barely seeming to register my presence. “Go,” she says faintly. “I just... I need a minute. Or a year. Jesus Christ...”

“Alright.” I laugh, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze. “Merry Christmas.”

*****

Erica’s hands grip the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles have turned white, and her piercing blue eyes are fixed on the road ahead with an intensity that’s almost frightening.

But what truly surprises me is the speedometer. We’re crawling along at exactly 25 miles per hour, the posted speed limit for this residential area. Erica’s right foot is trembling, hovering over the gas pedal as if it’s taking every ounce of her willpower not to floor it.

“Babe,” I say softly, “you okay? You look like you’re about to explode.”

Erica lets out a shaky laugh, her eyes never leaving the road. “I’m fine, Jason. Just... just enjoying the car.”

But I can see the tension in every line of her body, the way her jaw is clenched so tight I’m worried she might crack a tooth. She’s holding back, and it’s clearly killing her.

“You know.” I venture, “It’s okay if you want to go a little faster. We could hit the highway and see what this baby can really do.”

For a moment, Erica’s foot twitches towards the gas pedal, and I swear I can see a flash of pure, unadulterated desire in her eyes. But then she shakes her head violently, her hair wrapping around her face.

“No.” she says, her voice strained. “No, I can’t. Not with you in the car, Jason. It’s... it’s too dangerous. I can’t risk it.”

I’m taken aback by the raw emotion in her voice. “Erica,” I say gently, “it’s okay. I trust you.”

She lets out a sound that’s half-laugh, half-sob. “You don’t understand, Jason. I... I want to. God, I want to so badly. But I can’t. I can’t risk you. I won’t.”

Her eyes flick to me for a split second, and in that moment, I see everything. The love, the fear, the desperate need to protect me warring with her innate desire for speed and danger.

“Fuck!” she mutters, her voice barely audible over the purr of the engine. “I’m so weak. Look at me, crawling along like a fucking turtle. All because of you.”

But even as she curses herself, her eyes meet mine again, and I’m struck speechless by the depth of emotion I see there. There’s frustration, yes, but underneath it all is a love so profound it takes my breath away.

*****

After watching my mother open her gift I’m struck by the surreal scene before me. My mom, Emily Parker, is standing there with a golden AK-47 cradled in her arms like it’s her newborn child. Her eyes are sparkling with a manic glee I’ve rarely seen, a stark contrast to Vivian Knight’s look of utter bewilderment.

“Jason!” Mom exclaims, her voice pitched higher than usual with excitement. “I can’t believe this, Jason! It really is an exact replica of Saddam Hussein’s personal AK!” She runs her fingers over the cold metal.

Vivian’s mouth opens and closes several times, with no sound coming out. She looks like she’s trying to process the image of a police officer fawning over a dictator’s weapon. Finally, she manages to sputter, “Emily, that’s... that’s barbaric!”

Mom doesn’t even seem to hear her. She’s too busy examining every inch of the golden monstrosity. “Oh, honey,” she coos to the gun, “you and I are going to have so much fun together.”

Erica, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet since we entered, suddenly pipes up. “That is so fucking cool!” She moves closer, her eyes locked on the weapon like a cat eyeing a shiny toy. “Can I hold it? Please?”

Mom passes the gun to Erica like it’s a newborn. “Careful,” Mom warns, “it’s heavier than it looks.”

Erica nods, her face a mask of concentration as she hefts the golden AK. “Oh man,” she breathes, “I feel like my words suddenly have more power. Is this how God felt when he told Abraham to kill his daughter!”

‘Putting a pin in that one for later.’ I try to mentally commit her words and the implications associated with them in my brain for different time.

After a minute or two with the gun, she regretfully gave it back to Mom.

Vivian looks like she’s about to faint. “Am I the only sane person here?” she mutters, rubbing her temples.

Mom ignores her, instead turning to me with a gleam in her eye that makes me slightly nervous. “So, Jason,” she says, her tone deceptively casual, “any guesses on how many dissenters I could take out with this bad girl?”

I let out a soft chuckle, shaking my head at my mom’s enthusiasm. “Probably more than anyone could ever hope for, Mom. That thing looks like it could mow down a shit load of people.”

Mom nods sagely, her eyes still fixed on the golden weapon. “You know, if I had been on Flight 93 with this beauty, everything would have been different that day. Those hijackers wouldn’t have stood a chance against me and my golden goddess here.”

I stare at her, my amusement fading into concern. “Mom, stop power tripping.”

She blinks as if coming out of a trance. The manic gleam in her eyes fades, replaced by a softer look. “You’re right, honey. I got carried away there.” She carefully sets the gun down on the coffee table, safety on.

Mom’s eyes soften as she looks at me, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Her arms wrap around me with a strength that surprises me, and I feel the warmth of her love seeping through her embrace.

“Oh, Jason.” she murmurs into my shoulder, her voice thick with emotion. “This is... it’s just incredible. So much better than those lame son coupons you usually give me every year.”

‘HAH! Score 1, new Jason, old Jason 0!’ I compare myself to myself.

As she pulls back, I’m struck by the changes I see in her face. The hard lines of stress that used to permanently crease her forehead have softened. Her eyes, once constantly narrowed in suspicion or worry, now crinkle at the corners with genuine joy. It’s like looking at a completely different person from the stern, unyielding woman I grew up with.

She turns back to me, her eyes suddenly serious. “Thank you, Jason. For the gun, for the money... for everything. You’ve given me a chance at a life I never even dared to dream of.”

Her words hang in the air between us, heavy with unspoken emotion. I can see the gratitude in her eyes, mixed with a hint of lingering disbelief, as if she still can’t quite believe this is real.

I can’t help but smile at the transformation I see in my mom. The hard edges that once defined her seem to have softened, replaced by a newfound sense of possibility.

“So, Mom.” I venture, my curiosity getting the better of me. “Does this mean you’re gonna retire early? Live the life of luxury you’ve always wanted?”

Without missing a beat, she nods emphatically. “Undoubtedly.” she says, her voice ringing with a certainty I’ve never heard before.

I can’t help but laugh. “Just like that, huh?”

Mom’s eyes twinkle with mischief, a look I’m not used to seeing on her face. “Don’t get me wrong, Jason. I love being a cop. It’s been my life for so long. But now... now I want to do more than just be a cop. I want to live.”

“So what’s the plan?”

She shrugs, a gesture so casual it seems almost out of place on her usually rigid frame. “Probably pick up a few hobbies.” she muses. “You know, I used to be really into Magic The Gathering when I was a kid. Might be fun to get back into that.”

I’m about to respond when Vivian lets out an undignified snort. All eyes turn to her, and she has the grace to look slightly embarrassed. “Sorry,” she says, not sounding sorry at all. “It’s just... Emily used to steal my cards in school. Remember, Emily?”

Mom’s eyes widen, a mischievous glint sparking to life. “Oh, I remember, alright,” she purrs, her voice taking on a sultry edge. “It was the Urza block, Viv. It was a dire time.”

Vivian leans forward, her gaze locked on Mom. “You stole four separate Tolarian Academies.” she murmurs, but there’s no anger in her tone. Instead, her voice is low and husky. “Always pushing me up against the lockers, demanding to see my deck.” Her eyes suddenly looking hungry.

“It was the combo winter Viv, if anything i did you a favor.” Mom drawls, taking a step closer to Vivian.

The air in the room suddenly feels thick and charged. Vivian’s cheeks flush a delicate pink as she holds Mom’s intense gaze. “You know,” she says softly, “I still have some of the cards you didn’t steal. Maybe we could... play sometime.”

Mom’s lips curl into a predatory smile. “I’d like that,” she breathes, her eyes roaming over Vivian’s face.

As the tension between them ratchets up another notch, I feel Erica’s hand clamp down on mine like a vice. Her face has gone pale, a sickly green tinge creeping into her cheeks.

“Oh god.” she mutters, tugging me towards the door. “Not again. We need to leave. Now.”

I let her pull me along, my brain still trying to process the sudden shift in the room’s atmosphere. As we stumble into the hallway, the sound of low, throaty laughter follows us out.

Erica practically drags me up the stairs, her grip on my hand so tight I’m starting to lose feeling in my fingers. We burst into her room, and she slams the door behind us.

Erica suddenly pushes me against the wall and kisses me deeply, her lips urgent and demanding against mine. As she pulls back, her blue eyes sparkle with dominance. “That’s your Christmas present.” she purrs.

My eyes roam over her face hungrily, taking in every detail, the slight flush on her cheeks, the way her blonde hair falls messily around her face, the curve of her full lips. I’m overwhelmed with love for this incredible woman. I nod, a dopey grin spreading across my face. “Thank you.” I breathe.

Erica’s eyes go wide, and she slugs my arm a little too hard, making me wince. “No, idiot.” she says, rolling her eyes. “I was joking.”

She turns away, rummaging in her closet for a moment before pulling out a poorly wrapped box. The paper is creased and wrinkled, held together with entirely too much tape. Little scraps of wrapping paper stick out at odd angles, and there’s a sad-looking bow perched precariously on top.

“Sorry, it’s not goo.” Erica mumbles, suddenly looking uncharacteristically shy as she holds out the package. “I’m not great at wrapping.”

I take the gift from her, turning it over in my hands. Despite its haphazard appearance, I’m touched by the effort she clearly put into it. “I think it’s nice.” I say softly.

Erica’s face lights up at my words, her usual confidence returning. “Well, go on then,” she urges, bouncing on her toes with barely contained excitement. “Open it!”

As I carefully peel away the layers of wrapping paper, my fingers trembling slightly with anticipation, I can feel Erica’s eyes on me, watching my every move. The paper falls away, revealing a simple black box underneath. I lift the lid, and my breath catches in my throat.

Nestled inside, gleaming in the soft light of Erica’s bedroom, is a pistol. It’s sleek and deadly-looking. For a moment, I’m frozen, unable to process what I’m seeing.

“Surprise!” Erica exclaims, her voice a mix of excitement and nervousness.

My eyes go wide in disbelief as I gingerly lift the weapon from its box. It’s heavier than I expected, and its weight is solid and real in my hands. I turn it over, examining every angle, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Erica.” I breathe, my voice barely above a whisper. “Is this... is this real?”

She nods enthusiastically, her blue eyes sparkling with pride. “Yep! It’s a Walther P99. The same gun from that Danielle Craig woman used from that movie…..Uhh… The one with poker scenes you made me watch.”

“Casino Royale?” I respond to her, but I can’t stop staring at the weapon.

“Yeah that’s the one!. Anyways You always mention how you wanted a gun, and i really wanted to make your Christmas special for you because I just love you so much Jason.” Her pupils are practically hearts as she stares at me. Affection practically bursting from her seams.

I’m touched by the sentiment, a warmth spreading through my chest. It’s true. I’ve often mentioned how I wished I could own a gun for protection, especially after the kidnapping incidents. But then reality crashes back in, and a cold knot of fear forms in my stomach.

“But Erica,” I say slowly, “isn’t it illegal for men to own guns?”

She nods again, this time with a mischievous grin. “That’s why I bought this one from a connection,” she explains, leaning in close. Her fingers trace over the grip of the gun, showing me where the serial number should be. Instead, there’s just a smooth, blank surface. “See? The serial number is filed off. Completely untraceable.”

I’m utterly horrified, my mind reeling at the implications. This isn’t just illegal. It’s dangerous. If we were caught with this... But at the same time, I can’t deny the rush of gratitude I feel. Erica went to such lengths to get this for me, to make me feel safe and protected.

“Erica,” I say, my voice a mixture of awe and concern, “I... I don’t know what to say. This is incredible, but... we need to be careful. Really careful.”

She nods solemnly, her expression serious for once. “I know, Jason. That’s why I got it from someone my mom said I can trust. But you’re right. We should be cautious.”

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I’m about to say. “Actually, Erica, I think maybe we shouldn’t involve ourselves with who ever sold you this.”

She shrugs, her blonde hair bouncing with the movement. “That’s fine.”

Before I could even blink, Erica’s hands moved over the gun with practiced ease. Her fingers dance across the metal, finding hidden catches and releases I didn’t even know existed. In a matter of seconds, the pistol is in pieces on the bed between us.

“Oh wow, your mom wasn’t joking when she said you were good with guns.” I breathe deeply.

Erica grins, pride evident in her sparkling blue eyes. “Pretty cool, huh? I’ve been practicing. Can’t wait to show you all the ins and outs later.”

She leans back, a dreamy look crossing her face. “Just imagine it, Jason. You and me, out in the woods come spring. The smell of gunpowder in the air, the sound of bullets tearing through targets.” Her voice drops to a husky whisper. “I can’t wait to see you handle this baby. It’s gonna be so hot.”

I nod, trying to match her enthusiasm, but I can feel the discomfort creeping up my spine. The image she’s painting, us alone in the woods with an illegal firearm, sends a shiver of fear through me. But Erica’s face is so full of joy, her eyes shining with excitement and love, that I can’t bring myself to voice my concerns.

“Merry Christmas, Jason.” she says softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to my cheek.

At that moment, looking at her radiant smile and feeling the warmth of her lips on my skin, all my fears seem to melt away. I pull her into a tight hug, burying my face in her nape.

“I love you so much,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. The words feel inadequate to express the depth of my feelings, the overwhelming mix of love, fear, and gratitude swirling in my chest.

Erica hugs me back just as tightly, her strong arms a comforting pressure around me. “I love you too, Jason,” she murmurs into my neck. “More than anything in the world.”