Page 12 of Snow Storm

“What is wrong with you? Are you gonna snap again? Am I going to get some call to drag my happy ass through the snow to pick you up because you freaked out on the staff?” Wes demanded.

Harley’s eyes narrowed, and he dropped his hand to his lap. “You know what? I can get my own things. Have a nice holiday.” He got out without waiting, ignoring the fact that he’d left his coat in the back seat and it was currently dusting snow all over him.

The wind chill was just short of the last circle of Dante’s hell, freezing Satan’s balls off in the pit.

“Don’t do this,” Wes said, slamming his door and hurrying after him. “You’re acting like a child.”

Harley’s head whipped over to stare at him. “I’m not acting like a child. My fiancé fucking dumped me for our couples therapist two weeks before the anniversary of Dad’s death. Then my agent threatened to ruin me if I didn’t show up to a booksigning where a reader went unchecked and started harassing me about my sex life, whether or not I’m actually gay, and whether or not I’m an actual author. Then, when I demanded respect and protection, my agent laughed in my face, told me that I was the one acting out of line, and said he should have fucked my ex. How is my current mood not warranted, Wes? Because after going through all that, I’m being dumped in the middle of nowhere to spend Christmas by myself because I fought back and lost in the court of public opinion.”

Wes reared back, then let out a heavy sigh. “You didn’t lose, Harley. I promise. But you’re right. Fuck. Look, let me call Mom and tell her you’re coming to?—”

“No. I don’t want to see her. She’s going to be shitfaced on Frangelico and coffee all week, and she won’t be able to stop talking shit about Dad and blaming me for what a mess my life is. I can’t…I can’t hear that right now, okay? I’m fine being here. Just don’t talk to me like I’m being immature for being on edge.”

For all his faults and cruelty as children, Wes at least understood why Harley was hurting. He held up both hands in surrender. “You know Carla and the girls will be fine with Mom if you want me to stay with you. I feel like I owe you at least that.”

“I’m not going to be the monster who took a dad away from his kids on Christmas. I’m going to sleep, and wallow, and maybe learn how to meditate. I have that massage you booked tomorrow, and the website said there are cows here. Maybe I can go pet one.”

“You hate cows.”

“I don’t hate them. I’m terrified of them. But maybe I’ll overcome one of my fears while I’m here.”

“You’ll end up thrown off, gored in the stomach or something. Stick to the spa treatments and bar food, okay?” Wes chanced a smile, and Harley managed one back. He knew hisbrother loved him. Life was just…complicated. “And call me if you need me. You might be physically alone, but I will be here for you however you need me.”

Harley wasn’t expecting that, and he felt his shoulders unwind a little. “Thank you. But I’ll be okay. I survived all that, I can deal with all this too.” Then he turned and started toward the entrance, not bothering to go back for his coat as they dragged his cases inside.

He had enough clothes to last a month—thanks to his habit of overpacking. He had his favorite fuzzy socks and swim trunks in case he lost his mind and actually did decide to try the hot pool in the spa room.

He had his laptop in case inspiration struck and his iPhone dock so he could play music. He had movies downloaded and an expense card so he could spoil himself. And goddamn, if there was any time he deserved to spoil himself, this was it.

Wes held the door for him as they approached the building, and Harley took a deep breath as he walked inside. The lobby was very warm, but not the sort of heat that sent his body into a shock after being out in the cold. Warmth slowly flooded his limbs, and he was taken by a very faint, almost comfortable scent of spices. Like warm cider or mulled wine. It was festive, but it wasn’t the smack-you-in-the-face sort of holiday joy.

Normally, hotels perfumed the lobbies to the point it made his eyes water and his head hurt, but this was different. It was quiet. There was a water feature somewhere he couldn’t see, but he could hear the gentle flow over rocks. The floors were polished tile, and the ceiling was high, but not enough that it made it feel vast and unfriendly.

He instantly liked the place.

“May I help you?”

Harley looked up to see a woman leaning on the desk, smiling at him. She was very tall with tawny-brown skin, andshe wore a salmon hijab that matched her button-up, the pocket adorned with a name tag he couldn’t read, even with his glasses on.

Her voice sounded a little tense, and he bristled a little, wondering how much the staff knew about his freak-out. Was he the pariah already? The social outcast who couldn’t keep his shit together? The viral, author-losing-his-mind sensation that was sweeping social media?

“He’s here to check in.” Wes nudged him toward the desk, and Harley’s feet unstuck from the floor, dragging only a little as he followed his brother. Luckily, he didn’t have to say anything. Wes pulled out a credit card—one of those matte-black ones most people couldn’t get access to.

Harley had decent money from his royalties, but he got paid twice a year, and taxes ate up so much of it that he would have had to keep writing until he died to pay his mortgage. His father’s estate changed that, but he wasn’t ready to face what that meant: a world where he could live comfortably but without the one family member who loved him unconditionally. A year later and he still wasn’t ready to face it.

He swallowed heavily, his throat going a little tight, and he wondered if he was ever going to be done mourning. He supposed he would. He knew plenty of people who had dealt with losing someone close to them, and they weren’t wobbly, leaky messes all the time.

But he never thought to ask how long it would be before he stopped having random moments where it felt like the walls were closing in on him, and the only way to stop it was to let out a soul-deep scream.

“…Mr. James?”

He realized the woman at the desk had been speaking to him for a minute. He glanced at her badge, and he could read it now that he was at the counter: Aminah. He looked into her eyes.They were very dark brown and very kind. “Sorry. Got lost in my thoughts.”

Her smile wasn’t the typical, icy customer service kind. It was polite, yes, but there was also empathy there. She probably knew what he’d done, but maybe she didn’t think he was a ticking time bomb the way his brother and everyone else did.

“It’s no problem. I just asked if you’d like me to put you down for a dinner reservation tonight or if you’d like to have it in your room.”

“Oh. That’s…a nice option,” he said. He’d stayed at a lot of hotels, but they were always more “give me your money, now fuck off and don’t call if you need anything, we have an app for that.” “I think in my room would be good.”

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