Page 29 of A Guardian for Christmas

Sagan is strangely quiet by the time he walks me back up to the room as I chatter about how much I liked Die Hard.

“I can’t believe nobody ever made me watch that before!” I say.

And yes, I’m filling the silence with noise. The familiar anxiousness and sadness build as we climb the spiral staircase. By the time we reach the top, I can’t shake the feeling that he’s changing his mind about me. He needs to get back to the tattoo shop, and to his life, and I have no way to fit into that world.

Sagan follows me in.

Still yammering, I go to my closet, digging for my favorite pajamas. He’s already seen everything there is to see, so I don’t bother closing the closet door while I change.

When I’m finished, he hovers in the closet doorway, looking dangerous and tempting. “You know, the longer you stay, the harder it is going to be for me to say goodnight,” I say, playing with the button at the front of his shirt, eager to take another look at what’s underneath.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says darkly.

Heat floods my core.

“And go where?”

“I don’t know, but this place already gives me the creeps at night. And I don’t trust that guy,” he says.

“Who? Dr. White? He’s not here, silly.”

“Him, yes. But also Frye.”

I take a step back. “I told you, Frye’s gone home for the day. And that man has been with our family for decades.”

“Like the doctor has?”

I steel my shoulders. “Look. I appreciate what you’re doing to help me, but you have no idea the history here.”

He blinks, waiting for me to say more. We both know I’ve gone right up to the edge.

“Keep talking,” he says gruffly.

“We come from two different worlds. You can’t possibly understand what it’s like to be a part of this family,” I say. “I mean this legacy…this…this…all of this is a lot of responsibility.”

Sagan is unflappable, even as the most condescending things come out of my mouth. “I know,” he says.

“You’re telling me I can’t trust a man who’s been working for my family since before I was born. My family is…well, I don’t have any family anymore but…”

This should not hit me the way it does. My parents have been gone for over five years. Grandmother, for ten years. I haven’t been in touch with my cousins since the funeral.

My shoulders begin to twitch as grief descends on me.

I turn away and head back to the closet, not wanting Sagan to see me like this. Why am I going to the closet? I don’t remember, but lightheadedness takes hold and I collapse on the chaise just as a noise rips from my throat. I’m heaving and sobbing uncontrollably, my face in my hands. My body curls into a fetal position, and the sobs keep coming.

“I don’t have a family,” I rasp.

Sagan says nothing, but keeps one big, reassuring hand on my back.

He remains here with me until the heaving stops.

“He loves this house. He cares about me.”

“Okay.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe.”

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