Noelle just nods, pats my shoulder, and slips back into the hallway.
Krampus has usurped me this time, grabbed the reins and taken my mind on a sleigh ride straight to hell. I lose all sense of time and space, vision growing hazy at the edges. Fingers tingly.
I don’t even notice I’ve grabbed my things and pushed back into the Great Hall.
I thought I had tamed my past, but now my brain is on the run again and so am I. My fast feet carry me away from here. The tinny sounds of “Matthew, what’s going on?” ring out behind me, but I don’t place the voice.
I’m convinced that everyone has seen this. Everyone is looking at their phones and laughing.
Hector. Hector. Hector.
My mind flips on repeat mode. If I find him, he’ll know what to do. He has to. Even if he doesn’t, he’ll talk to me. He’ll calm me down. He’ll…he’ll…
Searching for him among the chaos of the Great Hall is a losing game of Where’s Waldo? Fuck, why didn’t I think to dress him in a striped candy-cane suit when I had the chance?
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I push out into the entryway. The Past exhibit, a former wonder, is now a snowstorm of overstimulation. The lights, the pictures, everything funnels together into a blurry mess until I’m barreling forward through the crowd without a sense of direction, no regard for who I’m shoving out of the way to clear a path.
I only stop when a manicured hand finds my shoulder. Mom is behind me, coat-check ticket in hand, worry creasing her forehead.
Without thinking, I collapse into her arms. A rush of relief comes, but doesn’t stay. I tilt my head up at her, eyes seconds away from becoming waterfalls. I say like a little boy, “Take me home?”
She ushers me outside, sensing the urgency in my hiccupping voice. Probably embarrassed by my hysterics.
Counting. Breathing. Fake-event planning. All of it goes to shit as I stumble down the front steps. Coping is not in the cards. Surviving this moment is all there is left.
Wendy’s Christmas lights are far too bright, so I shut my eyes—but the darkness waiting behind my eyelids scares me even more.
I’m not safe anywhere. That realization causes the truth to come out: “Island Gate leaked.” I brace for the firm hand of disappointment to come crashing down on me.
“It did? I mean, it did.” Mom’s voice is distant, faraway, caught in her throat, but her expression is a neutral mask.
Fresh tears spring up to my eyes like a geyser. I’m trembling out here in the cold. Mentally and physically frostbitten. “Yeah. I don’t know. I don’t understand how it happened. I was careful. Sosocareful. I promise.”
There’s a millisecond where I fear she won’t let me in the car. She’ll get in, drive off, and leave me to sort through this myself. Instead, she nods for Maxim to open the door and allows me to slide in first. It’s not the panic room I need, but its walls, leather seats, and tinted windows are enough to calm my senses.
“Give me a moment,” she says, underscored by the door shutting. She’s already got her phone out, looking at an email, lower lip becoming a chew toy.
“Is that Sarah? Does she know how it happened?” I’m frantic, needing every ounce of detail possible. Some nugget to help this all make sense.
She ignores me. “We’ll handle it, Matthew.”
“I didn’t tell Bentley.”
“We always handle it,” she says.
“Baz and Spencer didn’t know I was here.”
“All right. Good. That’s good.”
I hug my coat tight to my chest to try to mute the relentless thumping. “How, then? I can’t explain it!”
“Matthew!” she shouts, an unexpected burst of energy that fizzles out with a few deep breaths. “Sarah says a…young man contacted her stating that he had information regarding our family that they’d go to the press with if funds weren’t paid promptly,” Mom details slowly. “You must understand, we get threats like this all the time, and they’re almost always toothless.”
“But not this time?” I ask, sounding stupid but needing to hear it.
“No, not this time it seems.”
