Page 30 of The Holiday Fakers
I’m caught like a fish on a line, wanting to escape but can’t.
“John!” Erica yells, never once taking her eyes off me. “John! Get out here!”
Then she reaches my side, her fingers brushing my cheeks as if she can’t believe I’m real, and bursts into tears.
CHAPTER 6
PIPER
“Thank you, Lord, for bringing our Brody back to us!”
My mom’s a regular churchgoer, but I’ve never heard her invoke God so openly.
Brody’s still as Mom touches him, but I notice the tension in the lines around his eyes.
I should have known this would happen. How could it not? My mom’s the most loving and forgiving person I know. Not that any of us need to forgive Brody. We know why he wanted to go, even though it cut like a knife.
My feet finally get the memo, and I rush around the hood to rescue him.
“Mom—”
“Brody, Brody, you sweet boy. You’re back. You’re finally home!”
Tears are ruining my mom’s makeup. Still caressing Brody’s face, she reaches her free hand to my shoulder, pulling me closer.
“My baby. My baby and Brody. Oh, thank you, Lord. Thank you!”
“Son?”
My dad is still as strong and straight as an arrow. His face is severe under the porch light, but I know it’s because he’s holding back his own emotion.
“John! Look! Look who our baby girl has brought home!”
Brody clears his throat and holds out a hand stiffly as my dad approaches.
“Mr Locke,” he begins. “Sir.”
Dad takes his hand and pulls him into a hug that lasts long enough for me to know he’s struggling to keep his own feelings in check.
“Call me John.”
Tears flow fresh down my cheeks as Dad clears his throat. I’ve never loved my parents more than at this moment.
“I can’t believe it! You’re both here! This is going to be the best Christmas ever!” Mom continues, pulling Brody away from Dad so she can hug him again. “You’re the most perfect gift!”
She wipes her eyes. “Oh, my, just look at me, crying on the street! John! Get their bags. Let’s go inside. I need my glasses and a proper light to check that Brody’s still as handsome as ever.”
“Mom. We’re not?—”
“I can’t see through these tinted windows.” She peers into the back of the SUV. “Or are your bags in the trunk? Isn’t this fancy, John?”
She’s got one hand gripping Brody’s arm, the other gesturing at the car as if Dad wouldn’t have noticed it before.
“Mom—”
“Did you choose black to blend in? Avoid the paparazzi?”
Dad opens the trunk. “Let’s get you both inside.”
