Page 17 of HoHoHo for You

They were both smiling.

Dad disappeared around the back of the house.

I didn’t move.

Not even when the gun noises happened again, and he came jogging back to the car.

And as we drove away from that house a little too fast, Dad looking back and forth across the street and over his shoulder, I realized… Christmas was still happening. But I wasn’t going to be the only kid who wished it wouldn’t—

“Bridget—”

Suddenly I was thirty again and in my own back yard as Sam’s deep, warm voice broke through the memory from my childhood. I tried to push it away. Tried toturnaway, but I couldn’t. Sam stood at my side, his hand on my back.

“I forgot,” I breathed. “I forgot they… I should have thought—”

“No, Bridget, I should have thought. I’m sorry.”

He grabbed my hand and pulled me away from the lights and it was a good thing he did because I was as trapped by them as I had ever been by my father.

But then Sam’s eyes swam into view, his thick warm body close to mine, his hands on my face, pulling me away from the lights.

“Focus on me,” he rasped…

My heart pounded as I pushed the memory away and practiced breathing so it would slow.

During the night I’d rolled so my back was to Sam. I didn’t want to move because I didn’t want to wake him. Let the man have some fucking peace and not constantly have to manageme.I hated that I did that to him. Hated that his whole life had to revolve around me and my fear.

I hated myself for keeping him trapped inside during a season when everyone else was out having fun. But I also didn’t want to try and fix it anymore. It was too hard. I’d tried for too long. It was time to accept that I was broken in this way.

I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to doanything.I just wanted the world to stop for a while.

“Babe?”

I blinked and jerked around, because the voice didn’t come from the bed. It came from the doorway.

It took a second to understand Sam hadn’t been laying behind me. He stood in the doorway in that fucking Anti-Santa suit, with the bag slung over his shoulder, his eyes piercing and brow furrowed.

“You awake?” he asked quietly.

I blew out a breath and nodded, but slumped back on the pillow. “Yeah, but… I want to lay here for a while.”

I stared at the ceiling, praying he’d go. Praying he wouldn’t take on my darkness. That he could go eat something he liked, or work out, or something. Do something that made his day better. Because I wasn’t going to be able to, and—

The bed at the end, near my feet, sank down and I looked quickly.

Sam and his fucking stalking. When he decided to be quiet, he was imperceptible.

He sat on the end of the bed, one hand on my knee, staring at me like he was worried, andgod,I hated that.

“Don’t,” I muttered, then cursed myself for being an awful person. He was trying so hard—

“It’s time for your next present.”

I blinked. That wasn’t what I expected. I’d thought he would try and talk to me about last night. Or about the Christmas thing in general. Probably push me to go see Gerald, or something else.

Cautiously, I met his eyes—his worried, pleading, half-nervous eyes. “Sam, what are you doing?”

“I told you, I’m the Anti-Santa. And it’s time for your next present.”

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