Page 99 of That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe
Not that a person always has a choice in the matter. Some losses are beyond anyone’s control. Cruel illness. Random accidents. Old age. Nobody’s fault. So I try to hold on. Really I do. But the stupor slides in anyway.
Don’t let go, I hear above me.
A heart-shattering command.
Then only darkness closing in as Three hauls me from the water.
The next stretch of time is more like a twilight sleep. I don’t know that I ever fully lost consciousness, but waking up fully doesn’t sound appealing either. Not when the absolute numbness gives way to nonstop prickling of my skin, and I can’t generate any real movements on my own. I’m a soaked rag doll. Heavy and limp. Three lays me gently by the couch, and my teeth chatter and my bones quake—a clatter of noises and sensations alerting us both to how close this call was.
The pain of it all makes me moan.
I’m so weak and chilled, I barely register heat from the fire Three rushes to build. Or the moment he peels off my sodden clothes, stripping me down to a sports bra and underwear. Before any modesty floods in, he’s already wrapping me in a blanket. And when he pulls me into his arms, cradling my body to his chest, I press myself against him, absorbing the warmth of his skin.
When did he take off his jacket and shirt?
It doesn’t matter. His heat is whatI need. All that I want.
“You’re all right, you’re all right, you’re all right,” Three whispers into my hair, his breath a promise of life against the freeze. Over and over. “You’re all right.”
I try to speak, but my tongue is too thick and slow. All I manage is a sigh. His response is a quiet, “Shhh. It’s okay, Sara. Just relax. You did it, my sweet girl. You did it.”
I did it?
What did I do?
It doesn’t matter.
You’re his sweet girl.
“I’ve got you, Sara.” His heart pounds against my cheek—a jackhammer of emotion—and he draws me even more tightly to him, like he’s trying to suck me inside his body to speed up the thawing. As we rock together in the silence, he rubs my legs through the soft wool, probably trying to jumpstart my circulation. When I finally stop quivering, my limbs melted into his, Three pulls another blanket from the back of the couch and around me. Then he begins to disentangle himself, but I clutch at him, clawing to keep him close.
“No.”
“Sara.” He pulls away from me gently. “I need to call for help.”
“Don’t leave me,” I groan. My lips vibrate against the sheen of his bare skin.
“But—”
“Just keep holding me.” I snuggle more deeply into his embrace. “You’re the one making me feel better right now. I don’t need a doctor. Or an ambulance. Or anyone else. I just want to stay like this. Here. Now. With you.” I try lifting my chin to look into his eyes. But I can’t bend my neck enough from this angle, so I give up and drop my head back down onto his chest.
A low rumble of protest sounds in his throat. “You know, when you beaned me with that fire extinguisher, I didn’t want to go to the hospital either. But you and Ford ganged up and forced me to go.”
“So did Kenny.” I snake an arm around his back, all the better to cling to him.
“Exactly. I was ambushed.”
“And I’m not sorry about it.”
As the warmth from both the fire and Three’s body seeps through me, I start to imagine how different things would’ve been if Three hadn’t gone to the hospital. The doctor wouldn’t have told him he couldn’t get on an airplane. He might’ve flown to California that same night. He could be on the cruise right now, and I’d be here alone. Not frozen, not at risk of having my heart broken again.
But there would be no popcorn strands on the Christmas tree.
There would be no Christmas tree in the first place.
No Henry out front.
No white lights along the bookshelves.
