Then Blake’s hand lands on my thigh, creeping up until he grabs my pussy.
Inhaling sharp, I push his hand away like it’s fire.
Ignoring my reaction, he unzips his pants.“I could use something to take the edge off.”His dick is out before I can protest.
I stare at his cock like it’s something foreign as he grabs the back of my neck.
“You’ve not given me a present.How about a blow job?”
“Blake.Not tonight,” I say, firmly, pulling away.
Huffing, he stuffs his erection away.“I have to go in early.”
“Yeah, and I want to be alone, so it all works out.”
“But aren’t you scared?”
“No, you have work tomorrow, and I’m fine.I just need to rest.”
“Carol…” His voice softens like we’re halfway to an argument.“You don’t have to push me away every time something happens.”
I look at the tree instead of him.The lights blink red-green-red, like a heartbeat pretending to be festive.“I just need one night without anyone talking, touching, fixing things.Please.”I don’t know if that’s a lie or truer than anything I’ve ever said to him.
Blake exhales through his nose, the sound of a man swallowing pride.“Fine.I’ll go.”
“Thank you.”
He stands, gazes at me for a long second like he’s searching for the girl who used to chase him.“Merry Christmas, Carol.”
When the door shuts behind him, I whisper it back, too late, to an empty room.The lights blink once more before the timer clicks off, and the silence feels earned.
I hum under my breath, the same tune that slipped out in the dark hours before morning.“O Holy Night.”
The sound of it makes my chest ache.
Because no matter how wrong it was, no matter how hard I try to forget, I can still feel Humbug’s whiskey-soaked breath against my skin, whispering my name like it meant something.
Chapter 7
Humbug
Snow softens the garage, making the steel look merciful.It isn’t.Steel is honest.It does what it was born to do, hold or hurt.Steel and I have a lot in common.I roll that thought around like a bad tooth while the heater coughs and the Shovelhead ticks itself awake under my hands.
There’s blood dried in the webbing of my knuckles.Hers, mine, the world’s, hard to tell anymore.I don’t wash it yet.Consequences should sting.
My brother Frost shoulders in from the cold, jacket dusted in white, breath smoking.The Executioners make Lucas Winter my brother, but the fact that our no-good fathers were first cousins makes our blood even thicker.He kind of smirks at my hands, but his eyes don't show it.
“Word’s out,” he says.“Sno-Globes was a rodeo.You ride all three clowns or just the loud one?”
“Two fell on their own,” I say, tightening the primary.
“Mm.”He toes a milk crate and sits.“Sheriff’s sniffin’.Wants names.”
“He can want.”
Frost nods like I passed a test.“Girl all right?”
I keep my face flat.“She’s not my business.”
