Justin’s face swims in front of me for one disorienting second — smiling, calm, the same easy brightness as before.
Then everything goes black.
12
CAST
“Fucking hell,”I mutter, tearing down the white streamers of toilet paper hanging from the bunk bed. “Willow and Damien are never doing Elf on the Shelf again.”
The room looks like a snowstorm. Toilet paper looped around the ceiling fan, draped off dresser knobs, wrapped around the rocking horse’s legs in smug little bows. The Elf sits in the window with its plastic grin pointed right at me, like it’s proud of itself.
I drag a hand down my face, thumb pressing into the bridge of my nose until I see white. The air reeks of bubblegum toothpaste and that glittery apple shampoo the kids begged for. It’s too sweet and sits wrong in my throat. My head’s pounding. Damien’s call keeps replaying in my head. Penny’s sick. Pneumonia. My brain keeps jumping straight to every worst-case scenario and won’t let go.
“Next year,” I mutter, half to Vincent, half to the room, “we’re hiring someone to deal with this. I’m not cleaning up the three of your messes every other night.”
Vincent stands in the doorway with a trash bag in one hand. His sleeves are rolled to his forearms, tie hanging loose at histhroat. He looks stuck between home and somewhere else—polished face, dead eyes. The twitch in his jaw gives him away.
“Start with the ceiling,” he says quietly. “If you turn the fan on, it’ll make confetti.”
I glance up at the fan, toilet paper draped over the blades like streamers. “Fitting,” I mutter. “Everything else already looks like it’s falling apart.”
He doesn’t answer. Just stands there, somewhere far away.
The silence stretches. It used to be comfortable. Now it just hums.
I step onto the lower bunk. The mattress squeals under my weight as I climb up for the paper around the fan. It pulls loose easily, weightless. I can feel him behind me—close enough that I can tell he’s there, far enough that I can tell he might as well be on the other side of the world.
“You’re quiet,” I say, not looking down.
“Just tired.”
“Yeah.” I peel another strip free and let it drift to the floor. “We’re all tired.”
The paper lands on his shoes. He doesn’t move. Just stares at it like it’s one more thing he doesn’t know how to solve.
“You talked to Damien?” I ask.
He nods once. “He said Penny’s resting.”
“And?”
His jaw tightens. “And nothing. She’ll be fine.”
“You sure about that?”
His head lifts. “Cast.”
I look down at him. “You ever notice you only say my name when you’re dodging?”
He meets my eyes—dark, unreadable. “You ever notice you only ask questions you already know the answers to?”
The air goes very still. One of us is about to snap.
I pull the last loop free and drop back down. “You’ve been off,” I say, quieter.
“I’m fine.”
A dry sound leaves me. “Try not lying to the man who controls half of Mexico.”
