Page 42 of Christmas With the Jerk

In the quiet of the room, with the sound of our breathing slowly returning to normal, he begins to speak. His voice is soft, almost hesitant, as he opens up about the pressure his father puts on him—expectations of success, the weight of the family name, the fear of never being enough.

I listen, my hand tracing small circles on his chest, offering silent comfort as he bares his soul. It’s a side of Thorne I never expected to see, a vulnerability that makes him all the more endearing.

Our connection deepens with each word, each shared secret. And as sleep finally claims us, I realize that this trip has becomeso much more than a fight for survival. It’s become a journey of discovery, a testament to the power of human connection.

SIXTEEN

Thorne

Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree, for me.

Friday, December 22

8:17 am

I wakeup to the soft sound of breathing beside me, the warmth of Woodley’s body pressed up against mine. For the first time since this trip began, I’m not feeling the usual surge of irritation or restlessness that’s been gnawing at me since we left Chattanooga.

Instead, there’s this quiet contentment, like everything has settled into place, even if just for a moment.

I look down at her, her face relaxed in sleep, and something stirs in me. Something that’s been building ever since we got stuck in this trip from hell on Wednesday, something I didn’t expect. Feelings. Real ones.

Only, I didn’t realize it. Looking back, I can see it unfolding, ever so discreetly. If I didn’t look at how far we’ve come from start to finish, I might have missed it all together. But we have covered a lot of ground in less than seventy-two hours.

I turn my head slightly, watching her sleep. Her hair is spread across the pillow, her face relaxed in a way that fills me with affection. In this bubble we’ve created, away from the deadlines, the stress, and the chaos outside, I appreciate the simple calmness.

What that will mean once we leave this place, I don’t know. But right now, here in this little pocket of magic, I’m not in a rush to find out. Because here, in this moment, this is good.

Carefully, I slide my arm out from under her, trying not to wake her as I reach for my phone on the nightstand. I glance at the screen, squinting against the early morning light filtering through the curtains. Christmas is just three days away.

Weather improving. Airport tentatively reopening today, flights delayed, thousands of travelers stranded could make it home for the holidays.

My stomach tightens a little. The idea of leaving this place is bittersweet. I'm ready to get home. I have been looking forward to getting home before I even got on the initial flight to come here. But now with everything we've been through, knowing she will be alone for Christmas, I'm not as eager to get out of here.

I lower my phone, glancing back at Woodley. There’s something magical about this, being stuck here with her in this winter wonderland—cut off from everything else. Once the storm clears, once we’re back in the real world, what will happen? Will there even be a scenario we could continue this? I had plannedto try to get transferred to D.C. but now that is the last thing I want, if it could mean seeing if this could work in the real world.

I shake off the thought and scroll down to the news. There’s a new article about the bombing at the airport. My eyes narrow as I click the link, curiosity pulling me in.

I scroll through the article, my curiosity getting the better of me. The headline reads,Bombing at Terminal A: Targeted Attack on Cargo Operations Linked to Sensitive Government Contracts.I skim the details.

Authorities have confirmed that the explosion in Terminal A was not aimed at passengers, but instead, targeted a logistics division tied to sensitive cargo operations. This division, identified as“Faber-Ward Transportation,” handles transportation for defense contracts and other government-related materials.

The motive behind the attack appears to be focused on disrupting these operations, but the investigation is ongoing.

I sit up, scanning the rest of the article, but nothing stands out. It blows my mind that I was there when this all went down. This world is getting crazier by the day. Thank goodness there were no fatalities. Still, I'm shaken that I was there when a freaking bombing happened at the airport

Woodley stirs beside me, stretching and blinking herself awake. She looks peaceful for a second, but then her gaze sharpens when she sees me holding my phone.

“Morning,” she says softly, her voice still thick with sleep.

“Good morning, beautiful. Looks like the airport is most likely going to open back up today.”

“Are we going to get out of here or what?"

“It appears that the nor'easter is subsiding. The word is they will ‘tentatively’ open this afternoon if the weather continues to improve."

"That's good news, right? I'm wondering if we should reach out to Thom Vicars to see if they want to meet before we leave?"

"Couldn't hurt."

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