Raquel’s eyes drop to my phone when it vibrates in my hand. It is playing the ringtone I set for Alex:“Consequences” by Camila Cabello. “How many calls is that today?”
My thumb hovers over the decline button as I whisper, “Three.”
Raquel grabs ahold of my hand, stopping me from declining Alex’s call for the third time today. “Answer him, Regan. He’s been calling you non-stop the past four days.”
Biting my lower lip to hide its quiver, I shake my head.
Her sigh ruffles my hair. “Why not? It’s Christmas. Don’t be mean.”
“I’m not being mean.”I’m protecting my heart.
“Regan. . .”
Ignoring the plea in her tone, I stand to my feet and enter her kitchen. With mom busy making her famous Christmas feast, I doubt she’ll have time to grill me like Raquel. I could skip their interrogations altogether if I wasn’t crashing at Raquel’s apartment. I’m not hiding from Alex; I’m just. . .hiding.
There is no plausible solution for our predicament. Alex wants to take down the man I’m contracted to protect, and that’s not the worst of it. Even if I weren’t Isaac’s employee, I would still protect him. That’s the part Alex can’t understand. Isaac is my friend as much as he is my employer. He deserves to have me in his corner when he’s fighting the battle of his life, because he stood in mine when I faced the same challenges.
I’d give anything to have both Alex and Isaac in my life, but Alex would never allow that. He wants me to choose. Since that’s something I’ll never be able to do, I’m left with no choice but to ignore both him and Isaac right now. If I can’t have both of them, perhaps I’m better having neither of them?
“Everything okay?” I ask my mom, who’s flapping around the kitchen like Alex did when Pat chased him out of the chook coop all those months ago. The memory awards me my first honest smile of the week. I thought losing someone via death would always trump losing someone via choice, but this week has proved that isn’t true. My mood has been so low the past four days, matching the emotions I handled the weeks following Luca’s accident.
My mom stops rummaging through Raquel’s scarce pantry to lock her eyes with mine. “I forgot to get the sherry for the forager’s pie.”
Her brimming-with-panic eyes enlarge my smile. She makes the same pie every Christmas because it’s my dad’s favorite. “I’m sure it will be fine without it.”
“No!” my mom shouts as if I suggested she replace the meat with tofu. “Your dad will notice if it’s missing the sherry. It gives the dish a nutty flavor.”
When she snatches a set of keys off the kitchen counter, I step into her path. “You can’t drive. You’ve been drinking. This isn’t Texas. They’ll arrest you here.”
I step back when her brow arches high in silent question.
“No—”
She drops her lower lip. “Please, you know how much Daddy loves this dish.”
I throw my hands into the air. “It’s shepherd’s pie, Mom, not a Thanksgiving turkey.”
She takes on my stealthy stance, showing who I learned my sass from. “How do you know what we eat for Thanksgiving dinner? You haven’t been home for one in over nine years.”
Now she has me by the throat, and she knows it.
After weakening her glare, she switches tactics, “Please, Aunty Rae-Rae. Don’t you want Axel’s first Christmas to be the best one ever?”
Stick me with a fork. I’m done.I’ll do anything for that little guy.
With a huff, I grind out, “Fine. But I’m adding a bottle of Henri Boillot onto your tab.”
“Grab anything you want.” She hands me her credit card, having no idea the bottle of wine I’m referencing sells for between $300 and $1300 a bottle.
After smothering Axel’s cheek with sloppy kisses, I make my way to my dad’s truck. No matter how many times I assured him he and his giant ass would fit in a first-class seat, he was adamant it wouldn’t. He’d never admit it, but I’m reasonably sure a fear of flying was the reason he drove here, not the love of his truck.
With the roads isolated, I make it to one of the scarce few convenience stores open today. They have the bottle of sherry my mom needs to make her dish, but no bottle of Henri Boillot. Instead, I settle on a fruity red that will wash down the two Xanax I’m planning to take tonight.
What?They’ll help me sleep. . . and hopefully make me forget I have a broken heart.
I won’t rely on them like I did after Luca’s passing, but they’ll numb the ache enough I can function like normal—for the most part.
My quick steps down the cracked sidewalk slow when a familiar voice rings through my ears. “Ready, Addi; run and I’ll catch you.”
