“I mean it,” Julian says passionately.
Damian lets go of my hand, approaches his friend, my brother. “If we’re going to do this, there’s something I need to say too.” He rests his hand on Julian’s arm. “I forgive you.”
Julian turns his head to cover the glimmer in his eyes. I cover my mouth with my hands as emotion surges up inside me.
“I forgive you,” Damian says again, voice firm and heavy with feeling. “You were scared. You had the weight of the Family bearing down on you. And in the end, you made the right choice. So I’ll say it again, Julian, because we’ve been through too much to end things here. I forgive you, man.”
Julian turns back, eyes shiny. He nods. “Thank you,” he pushes the words out.
I walk over to them, knowing that many people would find this strange, not caring even a tiny bit. I wrap one arm around my brother and the other around his best friend and pull myself in for a hug.
It begins to snow as we drive out of the city, a blanket of it thickening on country fields. Damian drives, and Julian sits in the passenger seat. I hug my knees to my chest, trying not to relive what happened in the basement, trying – and failing – not to think about the fact I could lose them both if this goes wrong.
“I’ve called my contact,” Damian says. “When we leave you at the safe house, you’ll stay in the secure room. It’d take a nuke to get in there. There’s supplies, facilities, and everything you need. If we’re not back by a certain time, get in the car we left for youand drive west. We’ll leave the address in the glovebox. You’ll be safe.”
I bite my lip.
But I won’t be with you.
Even with Julian’s tentative approval, I don’t let these words out.
The safe house is a sleek home, all glass, beside a frozen lake, built so that it’s raised off the ground with a garage beneath it. The snowfall has picked up, becoming a thick shield that hides the scrub by the time we pull into the garage.
Damian takes me to the safe room at the rear of the house. It has a door like a bank vault and is built like a mini apartment. He nods towards the door. “It’s easy enough to open from the inside. Don’t open it for anyone except for us.”
I rush to him, throwing myself into his arms. “Please come back.”
He clings onto me desperately, pulling me flush against him so that there’s no space between our bodies.
“Whatever happens, you’ll be?—”
“No, Damian.” I lean back so that I can place my hand against his chest, clawing against his firmness through his shirt. “Don’t promise me I’ll be safe. Don’t promise me whatever happens, I’ll get out of here. I want you to promise that you’llcome back to me.”
He sighs, as if he’s debating saying it to me. He could say it even if he doesn’t mean it. If he doesn’t return, it’ll mean he’s dead–or worse, a prisoner of the mob, experiencing all kinds of twisted horrors. He won’t have to confront me after lying.
“I can’t promise you that,” he says. “But I’ll try with everything I’ve got. Because fighting to come back to you gives me more motivation than anything else possibly could.”
He kisses me like he’s scared of my reply, like he’s worried that it isn’t good enough. Maybe it’s not, but when our lips collide, I can’t argue anymore. I wrap my arms tightly around him and disappear into the reality-obliterating closeness of our kiss.
Nothing else–just this, just us.
“We’ve got a little time before we have to leave,” he murmurs, his breath sensually moving over me.
I turn away, guilt stabbing at me. “I’m not sure I’m in the mood…”
“Hey.” He touches my chin, turns me back to him. “I’m not an animal.”
Somehow, I laugh, jabbing him playfully. “Liar.”
“Okay, maybe I am.” He smirks. “But I was going to ask, Celine, will you do me the honor…”
Is he kidding? He’s not going to askthatquestion, is he?
“Of building a snowman with me?”
A surreal laugh grips me. “Are you serious?”
“Scared you haven’t got enough Christmas spirit for it, eh?”
