Page 149 of A Very Merry Enemy
Lucas
Are you okay?
The three dots appear, disappear, and appear again. Each second feelslike an hour.
Holiday
I’m fine. I pushed him off the porch.
That’s my girl. Always has been.
Lucas
You what?
Holiday
Long story. Can you come over? We need to talk.
The last three words make me feel like I’ve missed a step in the dark. Nothing good comes from awe need to talkconversation. But she needs me, and that’s the only thing that matters.
Lucas
On my way.
I grab my keys, and head for the door, then stop with my hand on the knob. If I pull into her driveway, her parents will know I’m there. They’ll see my truck, invite me in for small talk and hot chocolate, while Holiday wants to discuss something. She needs privacy.
A memory surfaces. Me at seventeen, sneaking through the woods to climb up to her window because we couldn’t get enough of each other. Back when everything was simple and we believed love could conquer all. That was before the world proved us wrong.
I slide my phone into my pocket and head to the garage. The old golf cart sits in the corner, buried under Christmas decorations that never made it into the yard. I haven’t touched it since earlier this year.
The engine sputters, then catches on the second try. I navigate out of the garage and turn down the back road that leads through the woods. The headlights barely cut through the darkness. The trail is overgrown now, branchesscraping against the cart’s sides like fingers trying to pull me back. But the path is still there, still connecting my property to hers like a scratch that never quite healed over.
The December wind freezes me through my jacket, and my hands are already going numb on the steering wheel, but I don’t care. All I can think about is Dominic being at her house and putting his hands on her. That’s the only reason she would’ve pushed him, if he touched her.
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache.
What did he say to her? What did he do? The questions loop through my head as I wind through the trees, following the trail from memory more than sight. Branches slap against my arms, but I don’t slow down.
The cart finally breaks through the tree line behind her house, and I kill the engine, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. The Patterson house glows with warm light, Christmas decorations twinkling in every window like something out of a catalog. It looks peaceful.
I approach the side of the house where Holiday’s bedroom window is located. I look up at the second floor, my breath coming out in clouds. The white lattice is still there, painted fresh and looking sturdy. Mr. Patterson keeps it maintained, probably not realizing he’s preserving the very thing that helped his daughter sneak out for years.
I test my weight, since I weigh so much more than I did in my teens, and the wood creaks but holds. My hands are freezing, and the frost makes everything slippery, but muscle memory takes over.
The curtains are drawn but light glows behind them. I tap gently on the glass at first, then a little harder when she doesn’t respond. My heart is hammering against my ribs.
The curtain pulls back and Holiday’s face appears. Her eyes are red and swollen, her hair falling out of its bun in messy waves, and she looks absolutely exhausted. When she sees meclinging to the side of her house like some kind of deranged Romeo, her mouth drops open.
She shoves the window up and cold air rushes inside. I climb through less gracefully than I used to in my teenage years, nearly knocking over a lamp on her desk.
“Lucas, what are you—” She’s staring at me like I’ve lost my mind, and maybe I have.
I shove my hands in my pockets. “Surprise.”
Something shifts in her expression, and surprise melts into appreciation. Her chin trembles. “Blast from the past.”
“Remember when I used to sneak into your room?” I close the distance between us in two steps, framing her face with my frozen hands. Her skin is warm, and I can feel her pulse racing under my thumbs. “Are you okay? Tell me what happened.”
