The Christmas Morning After: Chapter One - The Ghost of Christmas Past (Midnight)

They say Christmas is a time for family, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t what they meant.

I woke up in the wrong bed, smelling of cedarwood and bourbon, with my brother’s best friend’s arm draped over my waist. Last night was supposed to be a secret—a one-time release of years of tension fueled by too much champagne and a snowy walk home. It was supposed to be the perfect "midnight mistake" that I could sneak away from before the sun came up.

But Julian is holding my lace bra, my brother Leo is at the front door with a box of donuts, and my parents are on their way up with mimosas.

The "morning after" was supposed to be the end of the story. Instead, it’s just the beginning of the chaos.

Chapter One 

Elara 

The Ghost of Christmas Past (Midnight)

The first thing I notice isn’t the light. It’s the weight.

It’s a heavy, comforting heat draped across my hip—a broad hand, its thumb resting just above the lace of my underwear. For a few blissful seconds, I stay suspended in the warmth. The room smells of cedarwood, expensive bourbon, and the crisp, lingering scent of a winter storm. It’s a masculine smell, one that feels dangerously like home.

Then, the memories hit me like a bucket of slush, and my heart nearly stops.

Julian.

I squeeze my eyes shut, and a vivid flash of last night burns through my mind. It isn't a blur; it’s high-definition. We were standing in this very room, the only light coming from the streetlamps outside reflecting off the snow. Julian wasn’t the ‘best friend’ anymore. He had me pinned against the closed bedroom door, his breath hot against my ear as he whispered, "I have wanted to do this since the day you turned twenty-one, and if you don't tell me to stop right now, Elara, I’m never going to let you go."

I didn't tell him to stop.

I remember the way his hands felt—not polite and certainly not ‘brotherly,’ but desperate. He lifted me, my legs wrapping around his waist, the friction of my silk dress against his suit trousers creating a spark that felt like it could level the house. I remember the sound of his teeth grazing my pulse point, the low, guttural groan he made when I finally arched into him and whispered his name. Not like a friend. Like a prayer.

My breath hitches in the present. My skin feels hypersensitive, as if my body is still vibrating from the way he dismantled me piece by piece until the sun started to hint at the horizon.

Slowly, agonizingly, I turn my head on the pillow.

Julian is fast asleep. His dark hair is a mess, falling over his forehead in a way that makes him look younger, but the stubble along his jaw and the sheer breadth of his bare shoulders remind me exactly how much of a man he is. This is the man who taught my brother, Leo, how to throw a punch. The man who has sat at our Thanksgiving table every year for a decade.

And I am currently naked under his charcoal-grey duvet.

Oh, god, I think, the panic finally overtaking the pleasure. Leo is going to kill us. Or worse, he’s going to make it weird forever.

I begin the ‘Great Escape.’ It’s a slow-motion dance of terror. I lift his heavy arm, inch by agonizing inch, holding my breath until I can slide my legs out from under the covers. The air in the room is freezing, a sharp contrast to the furnace of his bed.

I spot my dress—a slip of emerald green silk—tangled heart-wrenchingly with his discarded tie on the rug. I scramble for it, my movements frantic now. I find my heels near the radiator, my coat tossed over a chair. I don't bother with the bra I can't find; I just shove my hair under my coat collar and zip it to my chin.

I make it to the bedroom door, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I risk one last glance back at him. He shifts in his sleep, his hand reaching out for the space where I just was, his brow furrowing when he finds only cold sheets.

I don't wait. I slip out, tiptoeing down the hallway of his apartment, my heels dangling from my fingers by the straps. I just have to get to the front door, get to my car, and spend the rest of Christmas morning scrubbing the scent of him off my skin before the family brunch at noon.

I reach the foyer. My hand grips the cold brass of the doorknob. I turn it, pulling the door open just as a key turns from the other side.

The door swings inward, and I stumble back, nearly tripping over my own feet.

Standing in the hallway, wearing a bright red ‘Sleigh All Day’ sweater and holding a cardboard carrier of four steaming lattes and a box of donuts, is my brother, Leo.

He freezes. His eyes travel from my messy, hair down to my bare, shivering ankles, and then to the door of the bedroom behind me.

"Elara?" Leo’s voice is flat, confused. "What the hell are you doing at Julian’s at seven in the morning?"

I stand frozen, the brass doorknob still cold in my hand. My heart isn't just racing; it’s a frantic rhythm against my ribs, loud enough that I’m sure Leo can hear it over the festive hum of the hallway heater.

"I—" My voice cracks. I clear my throat, trying to summon some semblance of the ‘composed little sister’ persona I’ve spent years perfecting. "I forgot my... phone. Last night. After the party."

Leo’s eyes narrow. He looks at the cardboard carrier of coffee in his hands, then back at me. "Your phone? El, I dropped you off at Mom’s at one in the morning. I saw you walk through the front door."

My stomach drops. Right. The ride home. The ‘safe’ goodbye. I had waited exactly ten minutes for Leo’s taillights to disappear before I’d grabbed my keys and driven straight to Julian’s. The memory of Julian opening this door, his eyes dark with a hunger that matched mine, flashes in my mind. He hadn’t even said hello; he’d just pulled me inside and crushed his mouth to mine.

"I must have left it here before the gala," I lie, my brain scrambling for a timeline that doesn't involve me being thoroughly ruined by his best friend. "I came by to grab it before you guys woke up. I didn't want to wake anyone."

So you decided to come get it at dawn? Wearing nothing but a trench coat?" Leo steps into the apartment, forcing me to retreat further into the foyer. He’s looking at me like I’m a puzzle with half the pieces missing. "And you’re not wearing your shoes, El."

I look down at my bare feet, my toes curling against the hardwood. My heels are still dangling from my fingers, mocking me.

"The snow," I stammer. "I didn't want to... track it in."

"Elara, you’re acting weird." Leo sets the coffee down on the entry table and starts to head toward the kitchen. "And why is the heat up so high in here? Julian usually keeps this place like a morgue."

He doesn't wait for an answer. He’s comfortable here. This is his second home. He heads for the kitchen to find plates for the donuts, and I’m left standing in the hallway, praying to a God I only talk to on Christmas Eve that Julian stays asleep for another ten minutes.

Naturally, the universe has other plans.

The floorboards in the hallway groan. It’s a sound I recognize from three hours ago—the sound of a heavy, deliberate stride. I spin around, my breath hitching in my throat.

Julian emerges from the bedroom.

He’s not wearing a shirt. His grey sweatpants hang low on his hips, the waistband dipping just enough to show the V-taper of his stomach. His hair is a vertical disaster, and his eyes are heavy with sleep—until they land on me.

A slow, predatory smirk starts to tug at the corner of his mouth. He doesn't see Leo yet, who is around the corner clinking coffee mugs. Julian just sees me, standing there looking wrecked, and his voice comes out in a low, gravelly rasp that makes my toes curl for a completely different reason.

"Found your bra, El. It was stuck behind the headboard."

He holds it out—a scrap of black lace dangling from his index finger.

I think I actually stop breathing. The world shrinks down to that piece of lace and the look in Julian’s eyes—the look of a man who isn't even slightly sorry.

"Julian?" Leo’s voice is a low growl from the kitchen doorway.

Julian freezes. His gaze shifts past me, and his expression goes from smug lover to caught criminal in approximately 0.5 seconds. He doesn't drop the bra. He just stands there, half-naked and holding my undergarment, staring at his best friend.

The silence is deafening. It’s the kind of silence that only happens right before an avalanche. Outside, a car honks on the slushy street, but inside this foyer, time has stopped.

"Leo," Julian says, his voice losing its raspy warmth and turning cautious. "You’re early."

"I’m early?" Leo walks into the foyer, his face turning a shade of red that matches his festive sweater. He looks at Julian. Then he looks at the black lace. Then he looks at me. "I’m early for the Christmas donut run, or I’m early for the part where my best friend tells me he’s been sleeping with my little sister?"

"Leo, it's not what it looks like," I blurt out, which is the stupidest thing anyone has ever said in the history of one-night stands.

"It looks like he's holding your bra, Elara!" Leo shouts, his hands flying up in the air. "It looks exactly like what it is!"

Julian finally finds his nerve. He drops the bra onto the hallway table and takes a step toward Leo, his hands up in a placating gesture. "Hey, man. Just take a breath. We can talk about this."

"Talk?" Leo’s laugh is jagged. "I don’t want to talk. I want to know when. When did this start? Last night? Or have you been lying to me for months?"

Julian’s eyes flicker to mine for a split second. In that look, I see the weight of the last few years—the hidden glances, the tension at every family dinner, the way we always seemed to end up in the same corner of the room. It wasn't just last night. Last night was just the explosion after a very long, very slow fuse.

"It was just last night," Julian says, his voice firm now. He’s lying to protect me, but the lie feels like a weight. "It was the party. We had too much to drink, and—"

"Don't you dare blame the drinks," Leo snaps. He turns to me, his expression hurt in a way that makes my chest ache. "Is that all it was, El? A drunken mistake with my best friend on Christmas Eve?"

I look at Julian. He’s watching me, waiting for my answer. If I say yes, if I call it a mistake, I might be able to save my relationship with my brother. I can walk out that door, go to brunch, and pretend this was just a holiday fever dream.

But then I remember the way Julian held me in the dark. I remember the way he whispered that he’d waited years.

I open my mouth to answer, but before I can speak, the buzzer for the apartment rings.

"Julian! Leo!" It’s my mother’s voice chirping through the intercom, sounding bright and far too cheerful. "We’re downstairs! We decided to bring the mimosas up to you boys instead of waiting at the restaurant. Open up!"

Leo looks at the door. Julian looks at the intercom. I look at my bare feet.

The "Morning After" just became a "Family Reunion."

The End. Come back next week for another story.

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

https://linktr.ee/authorlsphoenix

First Edition: December 2025

Cover Design by LS Phoenix