Page 6 of My Rival for Christmas

Austin is just as much at fault for my hasty escape from the city and my problems as I am.

The cold bites into my skin as I step off the shuttle, exhaling for the first time in what feels like days.

I sink into the relief that deflates my body, savoring in the sensation for about two seconds before the frigid cold penetrates my thick jacket.

“Ohmygod.” I shiver, watching as my breath plumes in a cloud before me. I always loved seeing it as a kid, pretending it was smoke from a cigarette I knew I would never kiss. But I do not love it now, as I am very quickly solidifying into an anxious-depressive popsicle—guaranteed to not taste good.

I’m barely aware of the resort staff coming out to load our bags up on trolleys before I snatch my suitcase from the mix and make a run for the lobby doors, careful not to jostle the carry-on slung over my shoulder as I do.

Coldcoldcoldcoldcoldis the only coherent thought in my head as I race through the threshold, charging into the lobby, where I’m quickly cocooned in the most blissful heat.

But it’s not enough. It’s not defrosting me fast enough.

I stomp and shake and rub my hands together to get my blood flowing, but it probably looks like I’m on the verge of a medical emergency.

Once I’m able to bend my fingers without feeling like they’re going to break off, I undo the zipper of my carry-on, peeking inside.

Two beady, red eyes glare at me.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” I whisper, careful to not draw any further attention to myself by alerting people that I’m talking to the inside of my bag. “I didn’t know it was going to be so cold here.”

Snowball, my albino hedgehog, remains unimpressed. His tiny shivers only add to his annoyance.

We’ve traveled to a lot of cold places together, thanks to my job, but something feels different about this place.

Maybe it’s the altitude. I’m not quite sure how high up we are, but it was enough for my ears to pop on the shuttle ride from the airport. Or it could be because there’s a storm coming.

At least, according to the woman who sat next to me on the bus. She also mentioned her last therapy session, and as someone who has had some of her most humiliating moments publicized on national news, there are just some things we don’t share with strangers.

Snowball keeps glaring at me, persistent in his wants.

“Okay,” I tell him, quickly glancing around at the busy lobby bustling with enough people that I feel like I’m here for a competition, “but we have to be quick.”

He stomps his short leg down on the array of blankets and scarves I lined his carrier with, as if to say,Hurry up, lady, I’m cold as fuck.

With one more glance around, I slip him into my oversized coat pocket. His little body slinks right in, his favorite place to nest. The fact that I made him stay in his carrier for both the flight and ride here is a crime he will punish me for months to come.

But for now, he’s happy.

I’m about to take out my phone and text Kylie that I’ve arrived when an old lady wearing a name tag and a uniform similar to the bellhops outside walks over. Her wrinkle-laden face creases with concern and a tightness cinches my chest.

“Hello,” she says in a practiced, aged voice.

Suddenly, my pocket feels very, very heavy. A voice in the back of my head whispers,This is it.

For the last four and a half years, I’ve smuggled Snowball into almost every hotel I’ve had to travel to for my figure skating competitions.

There are no kennels for hedgehogs to leave him at, and I can’t trust my neighbor’s daughter to watch him again. Not after the one and only time I trusted the little spoiled brat with his care, I came home to his light, cream-shaded fur dyed an array of pinks and purples. His poor toenails were even painted blue.

So I bring him with me now, his stowaway passport getting stamped as much as my real one, and despite always knowing there has been a risk in getting caught, it’s never happened.

Until now.

“Um—” I scramble for what to say.He’s my emotional support animal?What if they ask for his certification? A certification he doesn’t actually have because I’ve never been particularly motivated to fill out the paperwork?

“I noticed you standing here,” the resort’s employee starts, and I nod my head along.Yes, yes, you did.The apology, excuse, explanation ripe on my tongue. Her wisdom-filled eyes meet mine. “You look absolutely freezing. Do you want some hot chocolate?”

I blink, unsure if what I’m hearing is what she actually says or just my wishful thinking because I wouldkillfor a hot chocolate any day of the week.

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