We stand there till our breath clouds together.Then he says, quiet, “I’m sorry for every time I made you doubt yourself.You were the only good thing in that mess, and I twisted it tryin’ to protect it.”
“That’s the problem,” I say.“You don’t get to decide how I’m protected.”
“Funny, I’m deciding now.”
“Doesn’t count.The danger is real, and you’re married to her.”
“The danger wasn’t real before?”He raises his eyebrows, bringing up the past.
“You know what I mean.”
“I know.”He steps closer, slow, deliberate.“Let me earn back the right to stand next to you, not in front of you.”
Something in me gives way.Maybe mercy, maybe exhaustion.I reach up and touch his jaw.“Then stop apologizing and show me.”
He does, by kissing me once, careful, reverent, like he’s memorizing the permission.The taste of smoke and winter cuts through the guilt.The ache in my chest feels alive instead of hollow, but I pull away.
Two weeks later, Frost hauls us both into the barroom.“You two,” he says.“Owe the club a toast.And I got somethin’ for the road.”
He slides a folder across the counter, news clipping inside.I read, Trina Winter, 34, Charged With Arson, Assault.Her mugshot is ugly as sin.
“Looks like your Ol’ Lady got herself caught,” Frost says.“Gasoline in the trunk, matches in the purse.Karma showed up early for Christmas.”
Humbug lets out a breath that sounds like relief and sorrow wrapped together.“She’ll do time?”
“County already booked her.”Frost grins.“Hell of a holiday miracle.”
I smirk at how Frost is stuck in the fantasy.It’s months until Christmas.The real Christmas.Realizing how silly I sounded before, I think of Blake for a brief moment.Sometimes he was right about me.I truly wish him well.Then, I study the picture.Humbug’s wife.The satisfaction that stirs in me isn’t kind, but it’s honest.
Humbug notices.“You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say.“Just feels like the world finally evened a tab.”
He nods, then looks at me, long and steady.“We got one more thing to settle.”
He reaches into his cut and pulls out a small box.Reminded of Blake, saying he planned to propose that horrible night in the bar, full of humiliation, I instantly back away.
“Not yet,” Humbug quickly says, tucking it away.“But soon.When you’re ready.”
My throat tightens.“That’s not how this works.”
“It is,” he says.“You have my promise.”
The brothers raise glasses.I hug my cocoa, warm as hope.Outside, snow falls slow and thick, muffling the world.I lean into Humbug’s side, the leather cold against my cheek, the heartbeat underneath steady and real.
“You didn’t want my ring tonight, but will you take something else?”Humbug hands me the journal.The one I took from the fire.
“I know you left it for me.I never got a chance to read it.”
“No time like the present.You can reply and hand it back to me.”
I roll my eyes.“You could just text or call,” I say, laughing a bit.
“Carol, you still have me blocked.”
He’s right.I take the journal.
The little tree lights flicker green and gold against the wall as I finally crawl into bed.And I’m too scared to crack it open.That’s why I didn’t ask him for the journal back before.
