Page 3 of Christmas With the Convict

He seems taken aback. His eyes scan my Range Rover, my clothes, they even seem to lose themselves in my hair.

“You’re rich,” he finally says.

“I suppose. My family is well off.” I shrug. “I don’t see why that matters.”

“It matters.” His face is set cold and hard again. Those arms tense and bulge. “You think your family will welcome a convict into their fancy home?”

“You’re not a convict anymore...”

“I’m a felon.” He smiles, head tilting a little. “Do you even know what I did?”

That question has been plaguing me since I started teaching this writing class. Not just with Chase, but with all the men. What crimes were committed by the hands I’ve been guiding? What might any of those men have been able to do with their pencils if I had ever broken the rules and gotten too close? I was forbidden from crossing the bold red line on the floor. The guard always passed out supplies for me.

But I swore I would never ask any of them about their crimes, and I refuse to ask Chase. He was sentenced and served his time. He was even released early for good behavior. His future means more to me than his past.

“I don’t care what you did.”

Chase blinks as if I stabbed him in the chest. His mouth hangs open.

“Your time has been served,” I say, patting the leather passenger seat. “You’re about twenty minutes into your new life. What will you make of it?”

The road ahead is barren.

The city cut down most of the trees and cleared out any brush. It’s easier to spot escaped prisoners in open fields. A half-mile down the road, there’s a lonely diner that mostly serves truckers.

Chase steps back and my heart drops.

If he wants to keep going down that road, alone, there’s nothing I can do to stop him. Maybe I’m foolish for trying. He’s been locked up for years, and I’m asking him to come along to a different—albeit more jolly—sort of prison.

“Look,” I say, closing my eyes. “If you don’t want to then I can at least give you—“

My car’s weight shifts.

Chase settles into the passenger seat and shuts the door. “Could you roll up the window?” he asks. “It was spring when I got locked up.”

“Of course!” Joy floods from my heart and out my lips. “Oh, don’t worry. You can borrow some clothes once we get there. You’re a bit bigger than my dad. And my uncle. And my brother-in-law… But we’ll find something that fits! You’re gonna love the house. There’sTONSof snow already, and—“

Chase moves so fast that I shriek. He’s got me by my wrist in a grip that’s far too gentle for so swift a move.

“I’d like some quiet,” he hums. “It was loud in there. Always loud. Someone was always… I missed the quiet. Please, just for a while.”

Slowly, his fingers slide up my wrist into my hand. They’rerough, and Chase starts to pull back as they grate against my smooth palm.

But I lace my fingers in his and squeeze tightly.

“Of course,” I whisper. “Sorry, I just got a little excited.”

I’m suddenly very aware that our breathing has matched pace. Our chests are heaving and our gazes are locked together as tightly as our fingers.

“It’s five hours to Aspen. Plenty of time for some peace and quiet,” I say through trembling lips. “And that’s probably for the best. The house might be louder than even you’re used to…”

Chase exhales pleasantly as if the idea of driving all day is the best news he’s ever received. He sits back and closes his eyes without a word.

Reluctantly, I let his hand go.

My fingertips buzz, desperate to feel his touch again.

Chase is either fast asleep or deep in thought. For a moment, I just stare at him. I let myself look deeply into that face, taking in all the details that stolen glances in class never afforded me. He’s gone a few days without a shave. Thick, dark hairs are poking out in an even grow along his strong chin and cheeks. A thin scar cuts down the right side of his jaw, curving dangerouslytoward his throat but stopping just short. I giggle quietly when I notice that he doesn’t have earlobes.

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