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It’s the first mention of Hank, and although it still and will always hurt to know that I’m responsible for his untimely death, I don’t feel like I’m about to break down with no hope of ever resurfacing without tears.
I guess this is what acceptance feels like because I know what denial, revenge, and regret taste like. They were the emotions that animated me through my quest for retribution on my father and Phil.
But now, all I want to do is remember the good times with him and not associate those two assholes with Hank. I want his memory not to be that of his death but of his wonderful life. And everything he did for me.
“That’s my girl.”
I cock my eyebrow at him, and he shrugs with a smirk. “You’re the one who said I’m always right.”
I knew that comment would bite me in the ass.
Alberta is huge, but I still can’t help watching over my shoulder, always on the lookout for my dad.
I feel human after my long shower, and now my rumbling stomach alerts me to the fact I’m famished. We decide to eat at a quiet diner because even though we’re not being hunted by the local police, I still don’t want to flaunt our presence.
As I decide what to order, I hear “Jingle Bells” humming over the speakers for the tenth time today.
“What’s up with the Christmas carols being played so early this year?” I ask, placing my menu on the tabletop and pointing at the speakers in the ceiling.
Quinn smirks before taking a small sip of his steaming coffee. “Christmas is next week, Red.”
It is?
Being on the run has jumbled my days, weeks, and months, and I can’t stop my frown. Christmas is the time to celebrate with your loved ones, and sadly, my loved ones would rather I didn’t exist.
Well, that is, except for Quinn.
I would be completely content to wake up on Christmas morning with him sitting under my tree. But I realize how selfish that is because, unlike me, Quinn has a sibling who likes him.
“Sorry you can’t spend the holidays with Tristan.”
“It’s okay,” Quinn replies, reaching forward and clasping his fingers through mine. “I have you instead.”
As I try not to melt at his adorable confession, I ask, “What did you want to do for Christmas?”
Quinn shrugs, running his fingers over my knuckles. “Nothing. And besides, every day is Christmas with you.”
I playfully roll my eyes at his tongue-in-cheek response.
“I’m serious,” I say after he’s done chuckling. “I know I’m not a very good substitute for Tristan, but I can try.”
Quinn smirks, and his dimple will forever make me swoon. “Are you serious? You’re even better. At least I can kiss you under the mistletoe.”
He dodges my flying straw wrapper.
I know he’s trying to make light of our fucked-up situation, but I don’t want him to sacrifice his Christmas because of me.
Suddenly, I’m struck with a brilliant idea, and Quinn arches an eyebrow, obviously clueing in on my plan.
“We could have our own Christmas? I mean, it wouldn’t be much, seeing as we’re stuck in a shithole motel, but we could make it ours.”
I go quiet. As much as I hate to admit it, I really want this. This is the first Christmas I’ve ever wanted to celebrate.
Usually, Christmas was the busiest time for me as I was run off my feet, delivering gear to festive junkies who wanted to spend their bonuses on Phil’s merchandise.
They say Christmas is the time for giving, and I sure as hell gave to the point of falling into an exhausted heap on Christmas Day. And it all started again a few days later as people got ready to bring in the new year with a bang and a bag of blow.
“Let’s do it,” Quinn says, interrupting my messed-up trip down memory lane.
