Page 7

There’s no containing the laughter. Collin may have the reputation, but Sadie is without a doubt the funniest person I know. I pull her to me and kiss her, leaving flour prints on her cheeks.

“Cut the shit, Reeves.” I reprimand myself out loud in the empty apartment. I’m losing it. Have to be. Why else would I continue to torture myself like this

You can’t keep waiting for him,” Gavin scolds me from across the dinner table like I’m a love-struck teenager. I really want to throw something at him. A knife, preferably. But I’m twenty-three years old. I can’t keep letting him get to me, even if he’s memorized every one of my buttons.

My mother discreetly glances at the ring that I still wear on my right hand. Not discreetly enough.

My engagement ring isn’t a traditional design, which is probably why she hasn’t insisted I take it off. But she hasn’t told me what to do since I was eighteen. She’s actually been pretty good about allowing me to make my own decisions. And mistakes.

“Gavin, leave her alone,” my father interjects. “It’s none of your business.”

“None of my business?” Gavin argues, raising his voice. Something he’s never done to my parents, ever. Everyone stills. He points accusingly at me. “He left her. It’s been eight months and nothing. Yet she continues to wait for him like a fricken…” His frustration steals his words. “You know what he did. To me. To them. He’s a fucking—”

“Don’t you dare!” I scream. “Shut your mouth, Gavin Trenton Prescott!”

“What? You can’t face the truth? That the guy you were planning to spend the rest of your life with is a piece of shit! He’s not the only one who got hurt. But he sure as hell knows how to keep hurting you!”

“It’s my life!”

“You’re a Prescott!” Gavin stands and throws his cloth napkin on his plate. “Have some damn self-respect.” He sounds disgusted, like he doesn’t understand how I can look at myself in the mirror each day.

“Gavin.” My mother’s voice is low, but its strength could be felt across the house, forget about the table. She meets his darker blue eyes. Words aren’t needed.

“Excuse me,” Gavin finally says. “Merry Christmas.” He leaves the dining room. A moment later, we hear the front door slam.

“I’m sorry,” I tell my parents, my voice quiet and weak. “I didn’t mean to ruin dinner.”

“You didn’t, sweetie,” my father assures me, setting a hand on mine. Then removes it when he feels me stiffen beneath his touch. He clears his throat. But I can’t stick around for whatever he’s about to say. The tears are coming. I can feel them building in the back of my throat as it swells shut.

I shove my chair back and run out of the dining room. I slam my door just as the first sob erupts. I collapse onto my bed and let my pillow have it. Tears. Snot. And full gasping breaths.

And then I call Collin.

“Where is he?”

“Santa? I think he’s over France right now.”

“Collin!” I say, laughter crackling in my chest despite my determination to be sad.

His voice softens. “You know where he is. Every time you ask this, you know where he is. He’s where he’s been since he left us in April. He’s not far. And that’s a good thing. He’ll come back… when he’s ready.”

“You really think that?” I need to believe it.

“Of course,” he replies, the cocky tone returning. “I’m a genius. Have a certificate verifying it and everything.”

“You are.” I take a deep breath and blow my nose.

“Dude! Right in my ear!”

“Sorry.” I laugh. “Merry Christmas, Collin.”

“Eve. Merry Christmas Eve. We still have four hours until Santa arrives, according to the reindeer tracker.”

I laugh again, my heart already feeling a little lighter. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

As soon as I end the call, I pull up the messages I sent Jonathan after he left. All unanswered. I don’t know if he ever read them.