You can’t fix the town. Or the gossip. Or the fact that I’m the girl who broke up a family. People will think you took advantage of me.
This time, the dots don’t appear at all.
I wait. One minute. Two. My stomach twists itself in knots.
Flint: Let them think what they want. We know the truth.
Tears sting my eyes. I clutch the phone to my chest, my heart splintering all over again.
Maybe it’s best if the truth stays with us.
Goodbye, Chief.
I hit send before I can change my mind.
The screen stays dark. No dots. No reply.
And even though the staff room’s warm and there’s a bunch of people at the Dockside Grill who care about me, I’ve never felt so cold and alone.
Chapter Eighteen
FLINT
“Do we have to have that damn Christmas music playing all bloody day?” I say as I slam my empty coffee mug into the sink.
Bear stretches from behind the desk, the buttons on his shirt about to pop with the amount of festive candy he’s been eating. “I hate to break it to you, Chief. But it is Christmas in what? Five days.” He glances at the desk calendar we had made to raise money. Drake got the idea when Ember called him Mr. October.
I roll my eyes. “Thanks for reminding me.” The tinsel garland draped over the whiteboard catches in the light. A reminder of my firecracker and what’s left of her nan’s decorations.
I try to ignore the constant ache in my chest without Sera around. It’s been eight days since she left. Eight days, three hours, and twenty-seven minutes since she sent that goodbye text. The same number of days since I last saw my son. He won’t reply to my texts. Even when I asked if he needed money. I thought that was sure to get him to talk to me.
Hollywood jingles as he walks by the kitchen wearing a Santa hat. Drake’s got reindeer antlers on. Even the damn coffee machine is covered in tinsel.
“Morning, Chief,” Hollywood calls, tossing a bauble in the air. “You’re just in time to pull your Secret Santa.”
“I already got one.” I grab a cookie from the counter.
“A week’s worth of heartburn with the amount of cookies he’s eaten.” Bear chuckles.
He’s not wrong. But these store-bought cookies don’t taste half as good as Sera’s. “Says the man who ate his weight in candy,” I fire back.
Phoenix leans against the table. “You want us to cheer you up, Chief, or just leave you to brood with your coffee?”
“Neither.” I take another bite of the cookie, crumbs falling onto the floor, and I don’t even care. “I want you to get the ladder maintenance done before Christmas Day.”
Hollywood mock-salutes. “Yes, sir, grinch sir.”
Phoenix strolls in, brushing snow off his jacket. He stops as he takes in the scene. “Who died?”
“Chief’s heart’s shrunk two sizes,” Hollywood says. “He’s running on caffeine, cookies, and regret.”
Laughter ripples through the crew. Normally, I’d bite back. Today, I just shake my head and check my watch. “Drake, you’re with me. We’ve got a safety inspection at the mall.”
“Copy that, boss.” He grabs his clipboard and follows me out.
The world outside is white and blinding. Frost coats the truck, and the air smells like chimney smoke and saltwater. We drive in silence for a while, the only sound the crunch of snow under the tyres and the radio playing some overplayed Christmas song about miracles.
I try my son again, hoping one of these times he’ll pick up the phone, even if it’s to vent at me again.
