Page 32 of Mistletoe Misconduct

“I spoke with the doctor overseeing her inpatient management yesterday morning,” Kai says, looking over his shoulder at me as he bends to stuff empty soda cans in a bag.

“Yeah? How’s she doing?”

“Good, actually. He says she has a long way to go and can’t give me a timeline just yet, but he says after the holidays, so long as things continue the way they have been, she’ll be allowed visitors.”

My heart swells, and my hand absentmindedly slips over my chest, clutching the small silver pendant that’s hanging around my neck.

“That’s incredible, Kai,” I tell him, turning my attention back to the massive stack of boxes he has me clearing out.

“Thanks, Lea,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Another hour passes by the time I make it to the bottom of the pile. I take a seat on the couch, dragging it into my lap and slipping my fingers under the lip.

Please don’t be a dead mouse, please don’t be a dead mouse,I chant in my head.

It wouldn’t be the first time today.

A thin layer of dust covers the folded letters inside.

My brows furrow in confusion, but I decide to close the box since there’s nothing to clean up. A name on the front of one of the letters snags my attention before I can put the lid back in place.

My fingers trail over the letter, plucking it from its place.

I turn it over in my palm and realize the letter’s never been opened.

“Hey, Kai,” I call over to him.

“Yeah?” he asks, making his way around the coffee table to sit beside me on the worn couch with cigarette burns littering the woven fabric. I hand him the letter addressed toMalakai Davis.

He sucks in a breath, his pupils dilating and nostrils flaring.

“What the fuck?” he mutters, running a finger over the return address.

Jamal Davis.

“Who’s Jamal?” I ask.

His eyes flit up to meet mine.“My father.”

I hold my breath, unsure of what to say.

To Kai’s knowledge, his dad left him and his mom when he was ten without saying a single word about where he was going or how to contact him.

But this?

This doesn’t look like he left without a word.

Kai tears into the envelope, pulling a white, lined piece of notebook paper out.

His eyes skim across the letter before he tosses it onto the table, his large hands gripping the side of the box and hoisting it off of my lap and into his.

He frantically starts combing through the letters.

My fingers and toes start to tingle, and my hands feel clammy as I watch and wait to find out what the hell is going on.

Each of the envelopes, of which there must be hundreds, is addressed the same way.

All of them to Kai, and with the same return address.

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