Page 93 of Santa's Girl
But later? I didn’t know who I’d be when it got quiet again.
Truth? I couldn’t face her. Couldn’t bring my pain into her light.
I poured a drink. Then another.
I was stuck between past and present, fighting to move forward but paralyzed by grief I never finished feeling.
And now? I didn’t know what the hell to do next.
21
BECCA
The boys canceled the snowmobile races for Sunday. Something about road conditions, and Bear just said the weather was getting bad. Margie and Caroline and I were disappointed, but I didn’t push. He said he’d try to see me early this week. I felt uneasy but we did go in fast and deep in a short amount of time.
Then the phone rang.
The voice on the other end was firm and elegant—one of the town’s matriarchs, asking if I could represent the community center at a black-tie charity gala in Charlotte Thursday night. A fundraiser for pediatric cancer. This year a young boy from Pigeon Forge was being honored. The gym at the center was built in memory of Grady Pearson, a local nine-year-old little leaguer who never made it to ten.
“Of course,” I said. “Can I bring a plus one?”
“Absolutely.”
I texted Bear.Thursday. Charlotte. I have to go to an event for work… Can you come?
He replied a few minutes later:Busy Thursday. Club business.
Caroline, who had plans to head back to Charlotte soon, overheard my muttered disappointment, looked up from her mug. “Need a hot plus one?”
I laughed. “You volunteering?”
She winked. “I clean up well. And hey—I haven’t been to a good gala since college.”
“Done,” I said, already picturing Bear in a tux and trying not to pout.
But he said he couldn’t.
And I couldn’t help but wonder why that stung more than it should’ve.
Wednesday,and finally, the roads were clear. I was knee-deep in prepping the gym for the Nutcracker “Toddler” Version when the door opened and in walked Bear—gruff, quiet, and holding a holiday latte and a sugar cookie shaped like a tree.
"Thought you might need caffeine," he said.
His voice was low, almost unsure. His eyes didn’t meet mine for too long. Something about him felt… off. Not distant, exactly. Just like he wasn’t all here.
"Thanks," I said, taking the cup, our fingers brushing.
He asked if I could take lunch. I said yes.
We drove in silence most of the way, the latte warming my hands but not my stomach. At the café, we sat in a corner booth, and he asked about my work. About Caroline. About the weather.
All safe. All surface.
My gut churned. Something was wrong. Maybe Jess was right. Maybe I was just a holiday fling and he was already phasing out.
But then—outside, as I was unlocking my door—he grabbed me.
Pressed me fast and hard against the brick wall.
