“Get hurt again?” he whispers.
Raf totally disappears through the doorway and I want to do the same. I want to duck back out the way I came in and race up the stairs and pack up my stuff and go.
Go, go, go.
Being the one to leave is so much better than rejection. Than being replaced.
“I know,” Colin says from way too close. And then closer. “I know, love. I know. I’ve been the same. Well, different, but the same.”
And then his arms are around me and I’m forced to nuzzle into the warm safety of his chest and I resent him for feeling so much like what home should be. So right I can’t breathe without smelling it, can’t move without touching it. And if I look. If I let myself see past the fear…
“No,” I tell him through my sniffles. “I can’t stay.”
“All right, love. That’s alri’.”
“Why do you sound like that?”
“Like what?”
“So…so sweet?”
His chest shakes with what’s got to be laughter, though how he can see humor here when everything’s so terrible, I can’t begin to understand.
“Because you reminded me, darling. Of how sweet life can be. How good it is when I let myself live it.”
I sniff again and let out the kind of shaky, exhausted breath I don’t think I’ve taken since I was a kid, since before Mom went and died on me, leaving me alone with a father who didn’t want me as much as his new kids. “Idid that?”
“Yeah. Yes, you did. You. And the creepy magic lift, I suppose.” Another laugh. “Raf over there, too, actually. All of it. It’s a miracle, isn’t it, love? A bloody Christmas miracle.”
I sniffle again and shake my head and try to press myself into him, to shut my eyes, and return to the darkness that brought us together and, in doing so, showed us the light. At least there, I could see all the things so clearly.
In the bright day, with his smile lighting everything up, I’m not sure I can deny what my heart truly wishes for.
I’m not even sure I want to.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
Colin
I walk her up to her flat and wait while she gets into something appropriately festive and when she tries to put on a pair of warm boots by the door, I shake my head and point at the sparkly shoes from last night.
“I believe the absurd torture devices are in order.”
“I can’t walk far in these,” she says, swiping at the red tip of her nose.
“No need. Just a trip downstairs, then—”
“I’m taking the steps.”
“Fair enough. Then a quick hop over to the pub. That’s all it is.”
“Your pub?” Her eyes light up. “I always avoid it, but the fireplace looks so cozy.”
My belly tightens. “Well, why the hell did you avoid it, then?” The look she gives me is baleful. And who can blame her? “You’re right. The barman can be a right prick.”
She rolls her eyes in response and steps into her shoes, using my shoulder for support. A new warmth curls deep in my belly. I take her coat off a peg and hold it out for her to slip on.
“But the word on the street is that he’s turned over a new leaf. Only a prick now on Sundays.” I grin. “And to wankers who order a single coffee and park their arses all day.”
