Page 70 of Texting My Secret Santa

“You didn’t have to say anything,” Brianna mutters.

“Snowflake has decided, Mom,” Asher says. “Don’t put dangerous ideas into her head.”

Yeah, like those ideas weren’t there already.

“I’m not saying you’re wrong, Brianna,” I murmur. “This isn’t about Asher and me. This is about my brother.”

“Speak of the devil,” Asher says, glancing at his phone. “He’s calling me. Maybe he wants to know why I’ve gone AWOL.”

My belly swirls with nerves as he answers the phone, and his expression changes. He clenches his jaw.

“I can’t deny it,” Asher says. “No, it’s not a deepfake.”

I rush into the hallway to the bathroom and keel over the toilet bowl. By the time I’ve returned from puking my guts out, Asher is no longer on the phone. He stares at his cell on the table, his hand clenched into a tight fist on his knee, bobbing up and down as his foot taps.

“What did he say?” I whisper, tears in my eyes.

“Derek sent him the recording. I think he got drunk after our meeting in the park earlier, hence the emails to Mom’s church. God knows who else he’s messaged.”

“What did my brother say?” I ask desperately.

“He said we’ve ruined Christmas, betrayed him. He said not to think about returning to the office or going home tonight. You better send him the recording of Derek, Holly. At least that prick will get what he deserves.”

Asher’s voice is numb as if he’s disconnected so that he can handle this.

Screw that.

I take out my phone and call my big brother. He rejects the first, second, and third calls. On the fourth, he finally answers.

“Dan, don’t hang up,” I blurt.

“How could you?” he snaps. “And for how long? He called youhiswoman. You don’t say something like that unless it’s serious. Lie to me, sis. Tell me nothing’s happened.”

I swallow a lump of pained emotion. Tears blur my vision and slide down my cheeks. “I can’t,” I admit.

“Then I’ve got nothing to say to you I haven’t already said to Asher,” he snaps. “Oh, and sis? Merry Christmas.”

He hangs up. I drop onto the couch, sobs escaping me, pain tearing through my soul.

“I’ve never heard him like that before,” I whisper between sobs that tighten my chest. “He’s never spoken to me like that. We’ve always been so close. What happens when he tells Mom and …”

Suddenly, I’m trembling all over, tears flooding my eyes. I don’t know what’s happening to me. Every worst-case scenario plays in my head simultaneously, immediately translating to sensations in my body.

All the Christmas warmth accumulated until this point gathers into an enormous ball and turns bleak.

I lie on the couch, shaking, finding it difficult to breathe. Any time I attempt to suck in air, it’s like my lungs are deflating.

“Just breathe, Snowflake?—”

“Don’t touch me,” I croak.

“Mom, help her, please.” Asher sounds more desperate than I ever could’ve imagined before this.

Brianna sits on the edge of the coffee table and takes my hand, cradling it. “Breathe with me, dear. You’re having a panic attack.”

Is she right? I’ve never had one of those before.

“Breathe with me,” Brianna says gently. “We’re going to inhale for two seconds, hold, and then exhale for two seconds. Can you do that for me, dear, please? I bet you can …”

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