“One is for you and the other is for Sorrow. Open them at the same time.”
I hand Sorrow’s to her and sit. Reaching for her, I seat her on my lap. She squeals with laughter. I give her a knuckle sandwich. Mom looks from me to her with a smile. Dad isn’t so happy. He has a stern expression. Not sure why. I’m not the one cheating on my mom.
“Okay, on the count of three,” Mom says.
We count. On three, Sorrow and I rip into the envelopes. Her body shakes with excitement. My jaw drops open. I’m catching flies with how open my mouth is. “Sydney? We’ll be in Sydney for New Year’s?”
“Yes, buddy.” Dad is grinning from ear to ear. “Your friends Leigh, Malice, Rue, Seven, and their parents are coming too. Six Shanahan is using his family’s jet to get us all there.”
Six Shanahan. Oh, fuck. Seven’s dad is rumored to have connections to the McCabes from being one of their enforcers before he retired.
Seven told us about how he found a stash of fucking stuffies in a locked chest in one of the guest rooms in their house. Leigh broke into it, then relocked it. Inside the chest was a picture of a girl I recognized. We met her at Midnight’s Friendsgiving party. What does Seven’s dad have in common with Ever Moretti? She’s a friend of Midnight’s on again, off again girlfriend and Rue’s sister, Riley Lee. If Sorrow is Ian McCabe’s daughter, does that mean she and Seven are related? It’s too much to unpack, and I concentrate on the moment unfolding before me.
“Wow, thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Saints. This is . . .” Tears stain my girl’s face, and my chest aches in a good way. They are tears of happiness rather than sadness. She gets off my lap and hugs my parents. “How can I ever repay you?”
“You already have.” My mom hugs her tightly. “You make our son happy, Sorrow. He’s always disliked Christmas. Now look at him.”
Their attention swings to me. I must look like the biggest doofus, with a string of blinking lights around my neck and a Santa hat on my head.
“Merry Christmas, Mom, Dad, Sorrow.” My chest aches in a good way. All because of this small, thin woman in my arms. Overcome with emotion, I kiss the top of Sorrow’s head.
If my parents put more into that small gesture, they don’t show it on their faces or in their voices when they wish us a Merry Christmas.
Sorrow holds my hand and squeezes. “Merry Christmas.” She looks up at me. Happiness shines in her eyes. She’s holding the pendant with her other hand. “Best Christmas. Thank you.”
Yes, best Christmas, but do I want this to be my last with her?
26
Sorrow
The rest of Christmas break goes by fast. We spent New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day in Australia, played hooky from school, and then life went back to normal.
Except everything isn’t normal. I have feelings for Trace, and I refuse to tell him. It was nice of Phoebe to be interested in my situation and look further into it, but I will not stand by and watch Trace put his mouth on hers.
No way in hell.
The week back in class is like we never went on a two-week break. Or that Trace and I progressed from enemies to friends. Will it be lovers next? I can’t. I won’t be one of his hookups.
I wait for Trace by the dumpster in the back of the school. We have to keep up the pretense that he hates me, and hating me means he drives around to where they put out the trash to get me rather than having me wait in front of the school with the rest of the kids.
Deep in thought, I don’t hear the snickering from behind me until it’s too late.
I’m shoved hard. I fall forward and land on my knees with my hands catching my fall. My palms sting from hitting the pavement. Sharp pains shoot from my kneecaps to my hips. Jesus. I turn to look over my shoulder, but I’m grabbed by the hair and yanked up until my scalp burns and tingles.
“Let the fuck go!” I reach back for the girl’s hand. Small hand, not a large one, like a guy’s.
“Saints fucking you is soiling your pretty mouth.” One of the guys who has said horrible things to me gets in my face.
“Why do you care?” I’m tired of being someone else’s punching bag because my tragedies and dirty laundry are out in the open for the town to judge and analyze. “Why can’t you leave me alone?”
He looks up at whoever has a firm grip on my hair. The person releases me. The guy lifts me as if I’m weightless, wraps his arms around me from behind, and presses me against his body. I struggle to get out of his hold, but he’s too strong.
The girl who had me by the hair steps in front of me.
Surprise is an understatement.
“Phoebe?”
