Page 29 of Christmas With the Convict

He pulled a knife after I hit him. He slashed down my jaw. Cut me wide open. Almost cut my throat. I tasted my own blood. I saw red everywhere. I screamed without sound. I took the knife. I stabbed him. I kept stabbing him. It’s so fuzzy it feels like a dream. It haunts me, that look on his face. The death in his eyes. My blood pouring into his open chest. It scares the hell out of me. When it does, I think of you…

The sun is rising when I exit Highway 50.

I pass the yellow sign—Do not pick up hitchhikers—and pull into a nearly empty parking lot. A squat building sits in the twilight of dawn, warm lights calling to me. In one of the windows, Chase Oliver sits in a booth.

His journal is sitting in my passenger seat, open to his last entry.

This isn’t going to end well, Wendy. After today, I know your father is hunting for a reason to get rid of me. He’ll find it. I don’t want your family to be torn apart. I don’t want youto lose them. But, I’m selfish. I refuse to lose you without a fight. When it happens, when your father wins, I’ll tell you to read this journal. I’ll let you see me, all of me, no matter how ashamed I am. And if you’re reading this, if you’ve reached this page and still want to be with me, I’ll be waiting for you. There’s a diner right off Highway 50. By the prison. I’ll get myself there. I’ll wait for you.

I love you, Wendy.

He’s sitting there with a cup of coffee, fingers wrapped around the mug.

For a while, I just watch him. It’s like before, but different. He’s not caged anymore. He’s free to go wherever he wishes and do as he pleases. It’s Christmas, and he’s waiting for me in a lonely diner drinking shit coffee at sunrise.

I don’t make him wait a moment longer.

I lay on the horn and Chase comes running out of the diner.

He rips me out of the car and into his arms, twirling me around the damp, gray parking lot. In his arms, it feels like the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. The faded, blinking lights of the diner’s sign are warmer than any fire, more beautiful than any Christmas tree I’ve ever seen.

“How did you get here?” I ask.

“Truck drivers.” He shrugs.

Before Chase can kiss me, I slap him across the face.

“Asshole!” I cry, and then I take the kiss with much more force. “Why didn’t you just tell me you would be here?”

Chase smiles and sets me down on the hood of my car. “You had to know everything first. Everything in that journal. You had to really know me before you made your decision.”

“And what if I hadn’t read it?”

“Are you kidding?” he laughs. “You’ve been eying that thing since the day you picked me up.” To my surprise, he actually blushes. “I hope my handwriting wasn’t too messy. I took the lastpart very slowly. I had to be sure you could read it. And I know I’m not a great speller. I just—“

“It was beautiful,” I say, holding his rough face in my hands, running my fingers over the scar, and feeling his story in the healed tissue. “Chase, your writing is beautiful.”

“Only because I wrote it for you.”

“It’s not just that. It’s real. I couldfeelyou on the pages. Your life… How could I not love you after reading all of that? I think you could really turn that journal into something amazing. Once we fix all the spelling and grammatical errors and—”

“Don’t change the subject.” Chase puts his hands playfully over my lips. “Did you just say you love me?”

With my legs around his waist and my arms over his shoulders, I press my nose against his and lose myself in those perfect hazel eyes. “Baby, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

We sayI love youwith our lips, our tongues, our hands.

My skirt rides up my legs—I wore it just for him.

And just when I think we’re about to jump into the backseat and steam up the windows, someone calls out from the diner.

“Hey! Are you going to pay for that coffee?”

An old waitress is standing at the door, rubbing her arms against the cold.

Chase growls before turning and throwing a hand up. “Sorry! We’re coming back in.” He turns to me and shrugs. “Breakfast?”

“Starving.”

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