Without waiting for either agent to grant me permission, I push open the door and enter Chloe’s room. The haunting hospital smell and my memories of Christmas past continue to press in on me—and double up the moment I see her.
San Francisco isn’t known for temperatures that drop low enough for snow. But at seeing Chloe, lying on the bed, head propped up, an avalanche of frozen crystals crashes through my veins.
It’s not Sarah. It’s not Sarah…
I attempt to suck in enough air to fill my lungs, but they appear to have forgotten how to do that. All I see is Sarah’s crumpled body.
Chloe’s eyelids flutter open. Or at least one of them attempts to open. The other one is swollen shut due to the bruising on her face.
Her good eye gazes blearily at me, as though she’s trying to focus on my face, but it’s not quite there yet.
She’s not in a coma. She’s not going to die.
“Hey,” I say, willing my legs to walk over to her, trying to mentally defrost them.
“Hey,” she whispers back, voice hoarse, like it’s forgotten how it’s supposed to sound.
I feel my lips stretch into a soft smile, still unable to propel my body forward. “How are you feeling?”
The corners of her mouth attempt to twitch up, an epic fail as a result of the swelling. “I’ve felt better.”
The sound of her voice loosens something inside me, the same way driving over a deep pothole jars loose something vital—something that keeps the engine together, keeps it running smoothly.
“Agent Foden said you’re not interested in going into witness protection.” My voice comes out even, empty of the emotion churning inside me. Flat.
“I’m not throwing away everything I’ve accomplished so far because of one stupid accident.”
“Even though the next stupid accident might cost you your life?”
Might leave her in the same position her father, stepfather, and former boyfriend found themselves.
I resume pacing back and forth between the window and the door, the ice crystals starting to thaw.
“I’m not giving up everything I’ve worked hard for just because I was born into the wrong family.”
“Is this because of the Christmas concert?”
She doesn’t say anything; her eyes give away the answer.
“You’re risking it all for a stupid Christmas concert?”
She lifts her chin, an act of defiance and determination that normally I’d find sexy.
Not, so much now.
Now it makes me want to glare at her while frosty tumbleweeds roll across the room, a stare-down to rival all western showdowns.
“You know that the concert means everything to those seniors,” she says. “They’re looking forward to it. The kids are looking forward to it.”
“Are you telling me the concert’s more important than your life?”
She winces, but I can’t be sure if that’s due to my words or because she’s in pain. “I’m saying it’s important to me since it’s part of who I am. You need to protect people and feel like you’re in control. And I get that I’m not making your job any easier.
“I’m sorry, I really am. But I was born into a family that lives for money, no matter how they get it. I’ll never be able to make up for the pain they’ve caused, but I can try to make a difference in some people’s lives.” She sags farther into her pillow like a balloon that’s lost some of its air.
“It’s not your job to make up for everything your family has done, Chloe. That’s on them.” And the legal system.
“I know, but at least it’s a start. Besides, it makes me feel good to know that I’m making a difference, I’m making people smile. Do you really want to take that away from me?”
