Page 102 of The Love Losers

I’d only wanted to help Anthony…and then I’d only wanted to love him. But I’d screwed both things up. I wasn’t the cherry on anyone’s sundae. I was the blistering sun that melted the ice cream.

Claire must have asked me what was wrong at least eleven times, but my brother avoided the topic as if it were gonorrhea. Because I’d told him first thing that I’d go to New York with him. He was getting what he wanted, and he probably worried she’d talk me out of it.

Midway through the day, Joy hustled me out of the living room and asked if I wanted to make a jailbreak.

I’d denied it.

“This is about the movie star, isn’t it?” she’d asked.

I’d admitted it was, and she’d sighed and patted my hand. “I’d forgotten how much angst is woven into new love. It feels like barbed wire, doesn’t it? Well, don’t you fret. If you don’t fight, you can’t make up, and what fun would that be?”

“I don’t know if there’ll be any making up,” I’d said, the words like ash in my mouth.

“Very well. I’ll know for both of us.” Then she’d smoothed a hand down my hair and insisted that I let her run a comb through it.

I’d suggested more spiked wine, and the two of us had spent the better part of the evening more or less wasted, singing Christmas carols in the living room. We’d called Seamus, and he was in some kind of bar, or a house that looked like one. Leave it to Seamus to find a bar that was open on Christmas.

“You’re tanked, Rosie girl,” he’d said.

“Takes one to know one. Want to sing with us?”

He’d shrugged and then sung a few carols with us, but there was a glimmer of something in his eyes. I could tell he knew I wasn’t all right, even if he didn’t know why. I suspected he wouldn’t let it lie permanently, but I was content to leave that problem for another day.

Then I’d gone up to bed, slept for an hour, and spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, exhaustion and sadness pulling me under in short spurts.

I jostle awake again when a knock lands on my door. A hangover is lurking at the edges of my skull, my mouth is dry, and I’m wearing an over-sized shirt with a Christmas tree on it.

Sighing, I lift the corner of the blinds, then frown at the sky beyond it. Pretty dark still. What the…

Fear blossoms like a corpse flower in the pit of my stomach. Because I can’t imagine any good news arriving in the middle of the night.

The middle of the night is for bad news, like my parents’ accident. Like Declan telling me we needed to leave town because my uncle was dead, and someone might be coming for us…

I climb out of bed, my breath coming in fast pants that don’t give me enough oxygen, and pad over to the door. It’s dark, but my eyes have adjusted enough that I can make out the furnitureand the few piles on the floor—a discarded sweater, a few books. Holding my breath, I open it. And…

I have to press the flat of my hand against the wood of the wall, because it’s Anthony. He’s wearing what looks like a thick jacket, heavy pants, and boots, and there’s a ski hat pulled over his thick brown hair.

For a second I just gape at him, because he can’t be here. Is this a dream?

But I pinch the flesh of my arm, and it hurts like a motherfucker. So I pull Anthony into the room and carefully shut the door behind him.

His gaze burns into me. I go for the light switch, but he stays my hand. It’s his right hand, bandaged to protect his injury, but his bare fingers glance off mine, and I feel them down to my bones—as if his mere touch can shake me, change me. “The electricity’s out.”

He reaches for me with his other hand, the one that’s uninjured, and I give it to him, my throat tight. His touch overwhelms all of my senses even though he’s just holding my hand—his skin freezing against mine.

What is he doing here?

How did he even get here in the snow?

My whole being seems to quake as I wait for him to tell me.

“Rosie, I’m so, so sorry,” he says, his voice thick. “I lost control in front of you, and I’m struggling to forgive myself. I’m ashamed. But when you told me that Nina was behind all of this... That you were in trouble because of me, I couldn’t bear it. But that’s no excuse for what I did or for the things I said to you. I needed to come here tonight because I had to at least wish you a merry Christmas.”

He releases me and fumbles into his coat pocket, a pair of gloves falling out, then emerges with a little wrapped box. “I got it for you at the store the other day, while you were busy lookingfor Claire’s gift. It’s just a little something that reminded me of you.”

My emotions stumbling over themselves, I silently take the present and set it aside. Because it’s too dark to open it, and because I have questions.

My voice shakes as I ask the first of them, and he reaches for my hand again. “Howare you here? The roads haven’t been cleared.”

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