I was still his Hearthkeeper, after all.
28
NATE
"It's going to be okay," I whispered from the side of my mouth, bending to make sure Ember could hear me under the roar of celebratory cheers and holiday music.
I'd been trying, without success, to coax her out of the ball of fear and anxious tension she lived in since the second she woke up this morning.
My hand was firmly locked in her grip, something she almost refused but I told her was necessary.
I knew she needed the grounding, and it helped me too.
I was about to take on this entire crowd and all their nasty opinions of me in a speech I'd prepared for just this moment.
For months they tried to chase me off this pedestal, and I'd held my ground, and today was the day I intended to put my foot down.
I may have been naive in the beginning concerning Ember and what the media attention might do to us, but I was walking into this with eyes wide open.
I knew how to speak to a crowd, and I fully intended to walk her through this and show her that more people could have a change of heart just like my father if we both took this bold stand.
"Nate, I don't know." She tried to turn away, especially when the committee leaders took the stage next to us, but I held her hand tightly.
"Baby, it's now or never. I'm not going to let them keep hounding us. Please," I whispered, this time directly in her ear, "trust me."
Ember nodded, but she chewed the inside of her lip.
I could see her jaw working and watched her hand flutter to her belly unconsciously.
Her eyes darted up to meet mine when the jeers started, chants of "Daddy Claus" and other worse insults until someone outright booed us, probably expecting us to leave the stage.
But I stood there with my hand in hers and my shoulders squared.
They weren't scaring me off and I wasn't going to placate them by even appearing anxious.
I kept my broad, toothy smile and reached into my pocket to produce the key of light as Thomas Reed took the microphone and the crowd started to quiet.
"Thank you all for coming," he started, clearing his throat before continuing.
He opened with the history of the town’s tree-lighting ceremony, then dived into the representation of lights on Christmas.
His voice was stiff, and I could tell he held less enthusiasm this year than in previous years, but I kept my composure and waited for my moment.
And there, before I even stepped forward to light the tree and see the town's celebration of the holiday season begin, I felt pride swell.
I was so proud of Ember for not giving up, proud of myself for standing strong in the face of everything.
And I knew before I even took the mic that everything was going to be okay.
"And now, Dr. Nathan Bradley, this year's Lightkeeper," Reed said with a hint of distaste in his tone, "will you please step forward with the key of light and light this year's Christmas tree?"
Ember and I moved as a unit. I refused to let go of her hand as I moved to my position on the stage and put the key into the prop shaped like a lock.
When I did, the lights shot up the tree and across the courtyard, drawing a gasp from the audience, followed by oohs and ahhs.
It was spectacular the way such a small gesture could unify an entire community, and I seized the moment to step to the mic and adjust it to my height.
It wasn’t time for my speech, but it was the perfect time to say exactly what I had on my heart.
