I have to get back to her?—
My beast has me at the door before my thoughts have time to catch up.
Wait, I tell it.
I’m the last person she’ll want to see.
Mate needs help.
She needs light—that much I can give her.
I saw something at the back of the stable.
I root around… Lanterns and a bunch of candles.
I take the lanterns, stuff the candles in my pockets.
I’ll knock and leave them on the porch.
That’s all.
A small thing. The only kind I have left to give.
Snow drives at my face as I cross the yard.
The windows are dark. No shadow moving inside.
I set the lanterns on the porch and lay the candles beside them, one by one.
I hesitate, hand hovering over the door. Every part of me wants to knock. To see her face one more time, even if she slams it shut again.
But I promised myself I wouldn’t make it worse.
I crouch, slide a candle inside one of the lanterns and light it—just so she might see its fragile light if she looks out.
Then, heart clenching, I turn and walk into the deep snow.
8
Lila
The fire crackles low, throwing restless shadows across the room. The blanket Holt wrapped around me earlier lies crumpled on the arm of the couch.
I told myself for years that if he ever came back, I’d have nothing left to say. But the second he walked through that door, everything I thought I’d buried started clawing its way out.
I should feel relieved that I got it all off my chest.
But all I can feel is the echo of him standing there, eyes raw, words I didn’t let him say hanging between us.
I rub my arms, pacing the length of the room, still too wound up to sit. I pass the tree Holt brought in. The grocery bags on the counter—food, lights, tinsel—everything I bought in town, everything I thought might make this place feel less empty.
I let out a sigh. Now the tree’s been dug up, it deserves better than to sit there undecorated.
I tug open the first bag, pull out a strand of string lights, and start untangling them with grim determination. It’s silly and keeps my hands busy, and is absolutely what I need.
After a couple of minutes, I spot an ancient radio/CD combo on the bookshelf. I open the CD tray, find an Elvis Christmas album inside, and press play. The speakers crackle to life, and I’m immediately humming along.
By the time I’ve looped the lights around the little tree and draped tinsel along the mantel, the room is glowing softly, golden and a little uneven. The smell of pine fills the air.
