Page 23 of Silent Night

Saint returns after a couple of minutes to find me partially dressed and staring glumly at the tree, the memory of what we did in front of it replaying in my head. This really has been the best Christmas I’ve had in a long time, and while I’m sure a psychologist would love nothing more than to pick that tidbit apart—that my happiest holiday is with a criminal over my family—it doesn’t make it any less the truth.

He scans me once, frowns, and then comes for me, one arm beneath my legs, the other around my back and he lifts me, carrying me from the living room. Silently and swiftly, he carries me up the stairs, but instead of going to my bedroom, he stops at the first door in the hallway: the bathroom. The light’s already on, and soapy water fills the tub.

He prepared a bath for me.

While I’m finding the words, Saint peels off what little clothing I managed to put back on and lowers me into the tub. The water is hot, but doesn’t burn, and immediately muscles I hadn’t realized were tense unknot. My head falls back against the wall while my eyes fight to stay open.

Saint takes a seat on the edge of the tub and walks his fingers from my chest to my neck. He bends and presses a kiss to my lips, and then my forehead, sighing before pulling away, his dark eyes a shadow of themselves.

“This is it, isn’t it?”

He nods, pressing his lips together. “I didn’t expect this job to go anything like how it had, but I have no regrets. Anyway, you’re going back to school soon and I don’t like to hang around one place too long.”

Suddenly, being naked around him feels too much, and thankful for the bubbles he’s filled the tub with, I pull them close to me, shielding myself from his gaze.

He watches me, frowning but not stopping me. “I’m sorry for ruining your holiday.”

“You didn’t.”

His next smile doesn’t meet his eyes, like he doesn’t believe me. “You’re still too innocent. Don’t feed the next strange man who tries to rob from you.”

Only you.

He stands, moving to the doorway. “Goodbye, my sweet girl. Remember what I said.”

With that, he’s gone.

Again.

A few minutes later, I hear the front door shut.

I wonder what else he took from beneath the tree.

And decide I don’t care.

It’shours later when I finally get out of the bath, long after the water has cooled and when I realize it’s now nine at night, and Bentley could be back soon. I dry off and head to my room, dressing in the first pyjamas I find in my suitcase and then sliding into bed, doing my hardest not to look out the window and wonder where Saint is. No doubt, off on his adventures, getting far away from here. At the last second, I part the curtains, needing to feel that much closer to him.

I try not to let it hurt. Try not to cry on Christmas. Try not to feel anything about the stranger who snuck into this house and into my life and gave me a taste of what I’d been missing. How he saw me in ways few others have, even after only a day.

The door thumps from way down below and I turn over to face the window in case Bentley decides to check if I’m awake or not. Wherever he’s been and whatever he has to say about my surprise boyfriend can shove it.

Heavy, threatening steps tread up the stairs, and I think about exactly how heavy he’s walking for me to hear them over the staircase’s carpet and behind my shut door. They approach my door before disappearing into the one across, and with a sigh, I shut my eyes, thankful I won’t haveto deal with him tonight. Or for much longer. One more day and then I’ll be heading home and he can return to the fancy condo he crawled out of.

I’m dozing off to the thoughts of Christmas lights and a particular wicked boy in the nighttime when my door abruptly slams open, the knob hitting the wall hard enough it probably left a dent.

A light switches on, blinding me, and I’m barely upright, a shout of, “What thefuck, Bentley?” scarcely out of my mouth before he’s beside me, bearing down, his arms on either side of my body.

I recline on the bed to get away from him, realizing my mistake a second too late because I’m exactly where he wants me. He crowds me even more, ensuring I have no way of escaping.

“Who the fuck is he really?” The scent of stale beer wafts off him, his crazed eyes narrowed. He staggers slightly, like even the grip he has on my sheets isn’t enough to stabilize him. “He’s not your boyfriend, so don’t give me that bullshit.”

“Bentley!” I push into his chest, but he doesn’t budge. “Get the hell off me, you maniac!”

“Who. Is. He?” His teeth bare beneath his curled lip.

“Believe me or don’t, but it’s none of your business either way.”

It must have been the wrong thing to say because he rips the blanket off me, but I don’t give him the chance to do anything before kicking a leg into him and rolling to the other side of the bed. Another mistake, since now I’m farther from the door. He might have strength and size on his side, but he’s wasted and unfocused, so hopefully that works to my benefit.

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