Page 55 of The Crush of Christmas Past
“Isla,” I start again, my voice coated in regret. My whole body vibrates, fingers itching to reach for her, but guilt anchors me in place. “I didn’t—”
“It doesn’t matter,” she cuts me off, shaking her head rapidly.
The storm turns feral, snow slicing sideways, wind shrieking as it claws at our skin. The world around us echoes the chaos between us.
She shivers, breaths fractured and chest rising in shallow bursts as white puffs curl into the cold.
Her fuzzy sweater and jeans are no match for the weather. I curse myself for not grabbing a jacket.
“Here.” I rip off my hoodie and hold it out to her. “Put this on.”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Quit pretending you care.”
“I’m not pretending.” The admission is immediate. Firm. “Either you put it on, or I’ll do it for you.”
Her mouth pops open. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.” The challenge rumbles from my chest, but before I can take another step, she’s bolting again—long curtain of hair whipping behind her like a matador’s flag.
I pause, watching her reckless sprint into the woods behind the house. For a fleeting moment, it’s just her. A wild, untethered force of nature.
A beat later, I give in to the chase, my feet devouring the space between us.
She throws a glance over her shoulder. Our eyes lock—mine narrowing with intent, hers flaring with panic.
Her steps falter at a tree, but she doesn’t veer. Instead, she slams her palms against the trunk and spins to face me.
“What the—” The rest of her sentence is cut off as I yankmy sweatshirt over her head.
“Theo!” she sputters, my name muffled by cotton. “You can’t just…” Her huff is so vigorous it makes her bangs flutter. “I don’t need you to be my hero.”
She’s obviously not talking about the hoodie that’s now swallowing her whole.
“In fact, I don’t need anything from you!”
Her arms jerk beneath the fabric as she fights to free herself from its restraints. After some frantic tugging, she succeeds.
“I know you don’t need me,” I say. “I came to apologize. For my silence. My selfishness. I made decisions without considering how they’d affect you.”
“You rejected me when I was young and stupid. A teenager in love. It fucking hurt.” Her voice cracks, but she powers through. “You know what, though? I got it. Eventually. Once the heartbreak and humiliation faded, I realized it wasn’t about me. It was aboutyou. And I accepted that. Even if it ripped me apart. That’s where it should’ve ended.”
She lifts her chin and glares at me. “You didn’t have to seek me out at AdCraft. Haunt me. Hover at the edges of my life like a ghost. You became a shadow I couldn’t shake. Smoke that kept filling my lungs. You made me choke on your presenceandyour absence. I hated you for it. But I hated myself even more for still caring when you left.”
Her cheeks are flushed, lips parted, chest heaving with each furious word. From the tension in her shoulders to the fists she has balled at her sides, every inch of her is wound so tight.
She’s rage and radiance.
So fucking beautiful it hurts.
“You torture me with a year of silence, then crash Christmas, tossing out mixed signals and leaving me to brace for your inevitable exit.”
She’s not wrong. I’ve been reckless, tearing through every boundary I’d built six years ago. At first, I planned to tread lightly. Test the waters. But the moment Asher put his arm around her, that controlshattered.
“I summon the courage to try again, to offer you something simple—my body, one time, no strings—and you shoot me down.Again. I don’t get it. I don’t get you. What do you want from me? Because it sure as hell isn’tme.” Her bottom lip trembles, and my chest tightens in response.
“I’m pissed, I’m confused, and I’m so damn tired of you, Theo Thorne!” Her words fall out in a fractured rush. “Tired of wanting someone who doesn’t want me. Tired of hoping you’ll give me anything more than heartbreak.” She laughs bitterly. “But I guess that’s on me, right? I’m the idiot who doesn’t know when to quit. I’m so freaking stu—”
“Don’t.” I step closer. “Don’t turn my mistakes into your faults.”
