Page 76 of A Pen Pal for Christmas

“Tommy,” Grace said, rushing over to us as we stared each other down. “Just let him go. He’s gonna do it anyway, but fighting about it will only make everything take longer.”

I stared at Tommy for a beat, wondering which way he’d go. The second he nodded, I was moving around him and heading for the street. I didn’t even have a car here yet, but I could take Sofia’s. Though, the amount of time I’d waste getting her keys from the room?—

“My car’s right here,” Dane said, jingling his keys as he came up behind me.

I whirled on him, but he didn’t even give me a chance to speak before lobbing the keys in my direction. I snatched them out of the air, my fist tightening around the cold metal. I stared down at them for a beat before meeting his eyes.

He raised his hands. “Take it. It’s the least I can do.”

My first instinct was to shove them back at him and go for Tommy’s patrol car. I wanted nothing from Dane. Indirectly or not, all of this was his fault. But doing anything other than accepting his help now would only slow us down. Sofia didn’t have time to wait.

I jerked my head toward Tommy. “You coming?”

He nodded once, and then his hand snaked out, clasping the back of Grace’s neck before planting a fierce kiss on her forehead. With one last lingering look at his wife, he jogged my way, pulling out his phone as he went. “I’ll call the station.”

I turned to Jack, who was watching the whole exchange with narrowed eyes. “Don’t let him out of your sight,” I said, pointing at Dane as I rounded the vehicle.

Jack nodded, stepping up to block Dane’s path like a boulder. “Got it.”

By the time I slid into the driver’s seat, Tommy was already rattling off details to the dispatcher. I barely heard him. The thought of her alone in that house, scared and vulnerable, made my stomach churn.

And worse, the location was another gut punch. I was supposed to bring Sofia to our new house in the morning so I could show her where all of our future Christmas mornings would be. This wasn’t how she was supposed to see it for the first time.

The tires spun briefly on the icy pavement before gripping, and I slammed my foot on the gas. The SUV shot forward, the familiar streets of Snow Hill blurring past. Tommy’s voice was a low hum in the background, but I couldn’t focus on his words. All I could think about was her.

My mind was a blur of fragmented images—Sofia smiling at me during our dance, the way I’d brushed her hair behind her ear, how she’d rested her hand on my arm as we talked.

I’d promised to keep her safe. And now she was in danger because I’d let my guard down—trusted that we had time, that I could enjoy one night with her without looking over my shoulder.

The guilt sat like a stone in my chest, heavy and cold.

“She’s tough,” Tommy said suddenly, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts. He must’ve noticed the way I was gripping the wheel, white-knuckled and silent. “Sofia’s tough. Always has been. She’ll hang on until we get there.”

I nodded once. I couldn’t bring myself to speak. My throat felt like it was closing up, and I wasn’t sure how much sense I’d make if I tried to form my thoughts into words.

But Tommy was right. Sofia was tough. She’d fight, hold on, do whatever it took to make it through this. And I wasn’t going to let her face it alone. Not for a second longer than she already had.

As the SUV roared down the dark road to the outskirts of town, the house loomed in my mind—a place that should’ve been our future, filled with light and laughter. Not this. Not fear. Not danger.

I gritted my teeth, pushing the SUV harder. Whatever waited for us at that house, I’d deal with it. I’d tear it apart with my bare hands if I had to. Because Sofia needed me, and nothing in this world could stop me from getting to her.

CHAPTER 25

Sofia

The first thingI noticed was the pounding in my head, sharp and insistent. The second thing was the floor beneath me—cold, hard. Not my bed at the inn.

I blinked, forcing my eyes open. Everything was blurry at first, swirling in and out of focus. My shoulders ached. I tried to move, but my arms didn’t budge. Shifting, I realized why—my hands were tied behind my back. Thin cord, or maybe a zip tie, bit into my wrists, and every tug sent a fresh wave of pain up my arms.

Where was I?

I dragged my gaze around the room. Empty. The kind of empty that made it clear nobody lived here. There were no pictures on the walls, no furniture, no signs of life. Just bare floors, peeling paint, and a jagged line of shattered glass on the floor near the back door. A cold draft slipped through the hole in the window above the doorknob, making me shiver.

Okay, I was in a house. But whose? And how?

The memory hit me like a slap—the rag over my nose and mouth, the sickly sweet chemical smell. Just thinking about ithad the smell coming back to me, and my stomach clenched. Breathing through my mouth, I fought the urge to throw up.

I wriggled my fingers, testing the strength of whatever was binding my wrists. The verdict was not great. Not hopeless, but not great. My feet were free, which was… something. Small mercies.

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