Page 99 of The Love Losers

“You think he left it out?” I ask, my heart thumping.

She gives me a withering look. “If you steal it, I’ll never hear the end of it. And he’llneverstop taking my newspaper.”

“I wouldn’t even know how to go about doing something like that,” I say, “but maybe he’d be willing to lend it to me.”

“I doubt very much that I can stop you.” From the way she says it, I can tell she’s not inclined to try. She’s willing to let me make a fool of myself, and I’m grateful for it. “I’ll tell you how to get there. Bundle up before you leave.”

I listen to her explanation, then put on outdoor layers. I head next door buzzing with purpose, but no one answers the door.

I circle around to the garage, but the door is locked. Of course it is. I could Google how to break the lock, but my phone is still lost and dead.

It hits me like a brick in the face that I’m trying to steal a snowmobile in the middle of the night. What is happening to me? Other than drinking and smoking pot as a teenager, I’ve never done a single illegal thing in my life.

But there’s no time for self-reflection, because I hear a loud rumbling from down the road.

A snowplow. I have no idea what time it is other than dark. Is it possible it’s already technically morning?

I hurry to my feet and run toward the road, waving my hands over my hand manically as the lights from the plow come into view. I’m either about to get buried in a drift of snow or I’m going to hitch a ride for the first time in my life.

To my amazement, the driver, an older man with a long, thick beard like Santa Claus, stops and waves back. Rolling down the window, he leans his head out. “Are you in distress, sir?”

“Yes,” I say honestly. “And I could really use your assistance.”

Funny. I’ve always wanted to ride in a snowplow.

“What’s the problem, friend?” the driver calls to me.

“Love.”

It’stwo a.m. by the time we roll up outside of Rosie’s brother’s house. Pat, the driver, turns to me in his seat as his plow rumbles to a stop. His thick caterpillar eyebrows lifting, he says, “Go get your woman. I’ll circle back this way in forty-five minutes so you don’t freeze if no one answers. Now, I’ll lay on the horn two times. If you don’t come outside in five minutes, I’ll honk one more time before I continue on my way.”

“Thanks, man,” I say, filled with gratitude. He didn’t need to stop. He definitely didn’t need to go off his scheduled course to bring me here, but he did it anyway. For a stranger.

“I was young once, too,”he told me.“My wife and I were the same way. Her father hated me, but it only made us try harder. She’s gone now. I lost her two years ago, but believe me when I tell you it was worth it, son. Every minute.”

I get out of the plow, stepping into the bracing cold, and Pat salutes me. “Thank you for letting me be a part of your Christmas miracle, my friend.”

I walk toward the wooden cabin through the snow, my footfalls leaving small caverns. All the lights are switched off inside, and even the Christmas bulbs on the front banister are dark. Snow is clinging to me everywhere. It’s still fresh and covered with a new inch that accumulated while we were on the road.

Christmas miracle.

It felt like one, when I saw Pat’s truck, but now that I’m out here, doubt is curling around the edges of my mind and my chest. What if Rosie’s freaked out that I’m here in the middle of the night? What if her brother reallydoescome to the door with a shotgun? If he’s the one who answers the door, there’s agood chance he won’t even let me see her. I have every reason to believe he won’t want her getting involved with a man whose ex-fiancée has threatened her.

Maybe I can find her window and get up there…

I circle behind the cabin, my heart beating hard, my clothes covered in snow, and study the back of the house. There’s a trellis with dead vines clinging to it that’s close enough to two of the windows that I might be able to climb up and knock. If it’ll hold my weight.

There’s also a good chance one of those windows belongs to the master bedroom, and I’ll get Declan’s fist in my face. I’ve seen him before, and that would not end well for me, but I’m here. I’m here, and Rosie is so close, and I’m not going to give up now.

Breathing deeply, I take the first few steps onto the trellis, which groans. I should definitely get down, but I continue climbing the old wood, feeling it try to give underneath me. My injured hand aches and throbs. Adrenaline buckets into me, and I feel…

I wouldn’t say I feel good, but I feel much better than I did at Smith House, waiting for something to change without doing a damn thing to make it change.

I lean over to try to peer into the window to the right, feeling like a creep. But I can’t see inside anyway, so I have to suck it up and knock. So I do, my knuckles landing against the chilled glass.

It feels like an eternity passes before I hear anything from the other side. There’s a faint rustling, and then a face appears.

Joy’s face.

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