Page 48 of Ghost of Ex-mas Past
And for a moment, I see emotion cross his face—a flicker of something. Pain? Anguish? Everything softens, and my stupid little heart feels light as air for a moment. It’s just long enough that I think,No, of course not, this time is different. We’re all grown up now.
But then Charlie’s face hardens again. “Bea,” Charlie says, his voice cracking, as if the emotions that were suppressed have to get out some way and they’ll take any path they can get. “Please.”
I squeeze Lance’s hand and force myself to move. “Fine.”
Everyone knows this is anything but fine. I feel immensely stupid, and the looks of pity I’m getting from the rest of the room make me feel about two feet tall.
I let go of Lance’s grip and walk to the entryway. Next to the stairwell, there’s a shallow bowl where we’ve taken to keeping our keys so that anyone can shuffle the cars around and get out when they want to. I find the clicker, with its green rental-car tag, and drop it into Charlie’s waiting hand.
“I thought this time was different, Charlie.”
And I just keep walking. Past Charlie, who flinches and avoids my gaze. I’m an apparition floating by, up the stairs in my reindeer onesie and into the silence of the hallway.
Half an hour later,my phone rings. I’m lying on my bunk bed, staring up at the ceiling, and don’t even glance at the screen before I answer it. It’s Nash’s ringtone.
“Hello.”
“Bea, how’s your Christmas going?”
I stare up at the wooden bed frame. Something’s broken inside me. I haven’t cried. I guess I haven’t been up here long enough for my family to send a delegation (probably Mom), so I’ve been completely alone.
“Fine,” I say.
There’s a pause, and when Nash’s voice returns, it comes back skeptical. “You don’t sound fine. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called. But is everything okay?”
“It’s personal.”
Nash snorts. “I think we passed personal a while ago, Bea. After all, you got me through the Great Food Poisoning Incident of 2023 and helped me woo Clara.”
I laugh. “I know. And you went out and bought tampons for me in Taiwan. I guess that makes us friends.”
“Definitely,” he returns without missing a beat. There’s a muffled shout. “Clara says she’s your friend too, whether you want her or not. I guess we are a package deal,” he says, teasingly apologetic. More shouting, and then Nash chuckles. “And everyone else here says Merry Christmas. Now, can you tell me what’s going on?”
I sigh. I was expecting one of my sisters or my mom to come up, but the universe sends me Nash? “You remember my ex, the founder of Rivrse?”
There’s a pause. “Yeaahhhh...he’s the reason I’m calling you.”
My eyebrows draw together. “What?”
“I take it you didn’t see the article yet?”
I sit up and immediately whack my head on the bunk bed and yelp. “Ow. Fuck.”
“Bea, you okay?”
I aggressively rub my forehead and give my brain a minute to stop reverberating. “Yes, I’m fine. What article?”
“I’ll forward it to you. Read it and call me back, okay?”
We hang up and a few seconds later my phone pings with a link. It’s an article inThe Wall Street Journaltitled “How These Virtual Reality Headsets Are Using Your Data—and Why You Need FTC Protection More Than Ever.”
I click the link and read. By the time I’m finished, my hands are shaking. I call Nash back.
“Did you read it?”
“Yes. So our advertising team was right.”
“Yup. This journalist was months ahead of us. If he’s right, either ImmUniverse or Rivrse is in a breach of terms of service not just with us but with Facebook, Google, any other advertising platform they’ve been using. There’s going to be an investigation and probably lawsuits. ImmUniverse’s stock value dropped fifteen percent today. This is huge.”
