Page 66 of Mistletoe and Mayday
Through the partially open curtain, Sebastian ends his call. He looks my way, and for a moment, I seemySebastian. The one who collected pinecones for Christmas decorations, who laughed at my snow globe stories, who held me like I was something precious. His eyes hold mine across the distance, a moment of connection amid the chaos.
Then his phone rings again. His head jerks toward the sound, and the moment shatters like Vegas on frozen ground.
My phone vibrates against the hospital bed rail. Mom’s face lights up the screen.
“Bailey? Oh, thank God, honey. We’ve been so worried!” Her voice breaks on the last word.
“Hey, Mom.” Through the space between the curtained partition, Sebastian glances my way, brow furrowing. I turn toward the window. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
“Fine? You crashed in Alaska! I’m booking a flight right now—Gabriel’s already looking at options. We can be there by tomorrow morning.” Keys clack in the background; she’s probably hunched over her ancient laptop, squinting at the screen through her reading glasses.
“Mom, no. Don’t do that.” I lower my voice, conscious of Puppy Scrubs hovering nearby. “That’s way too much money. I’m okay, seriously. I’ll be home before you can even pack your good sweater.”
“Bailey Monroe, you nearly died.” Her voice cracks with the particular blend of worry and determination that only mothers can perfect after decades of practice. “I’m not letting you go through this alone.”
“The hospital’s releasing me soon. Seriously, it’s just a sprained ankle. Save your money.” I catch Sebastian staring atme, his brow furrowed in that way that means he’s solving a problem in his head. Great. “I’ll see you soon enough, I promise.”
“I don’t care about the money. Your father and I have some savings, and?—”
“Mom, please. It’s ridiculous to fly all the way up here just to turn around and fly back with me. I’m really okay.”
I didn’t realize Sebastian had moved closer until his voice interrupts my argument. “Excuse me, is that your mother?” He gestures to my phone, his voice carrying that authoritative tone that probably makes boardrooms fall silent and stock prices fluctuate.
“Yes,” I say, covering the microphone with my palm. “And she’s being stubborn about flying up here.”
“May I?” He holds out his hand for the phone, fingers expectant, used to being obeyed.
Against my better judgment, I pass it to him.
“Mrs. Monroe? Sebastian Lockhart here.” His professional voice has taken over. “I want to assure you that your daughter is receiving excellent care. ... Yes, ma’am. ... Actually, I’d like to arrange flights for you and your family to come to Alaska. ... No, I insist. It’s the absolute least I can do after your daughter saved us from a much worse crash. ... Yes, my assistant will call you within the hour to arrange everything. ... First class, of course.”
I stare at him, mouth hanging open, as he commits what must be thousands of dollars to bringing my family here without so much as blinking. When he hands the phone back, his expression is unreadable.
“You didn’t need to do that,” I admonish him, covering the microphone again.
“You need your family here.” For a moment, his perfectmask cracks—just a hairline fracture—and cabin Sebastian appears again. “After everything you’ve been through, it’s nothing.”
Before I can argue further, he’s walking away, already on his own phone, making arrangements. My mother’s excited voice filters through my phone as I stare at Sebastian’s retreating back, the way his shoulders set in that determined line.
“Bailey? Are you there? Did you hear what he said? He’s flying us all to you. We’ll be there by morning. Bailey?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” I drag my attention back to my mother. “Told you, I’m fine. Just tired.” Through the reflection in the window, I watch Sebastian take another call, his free hand gesturing in tight, controlled movements. “Look, I should go. They need to do some tests or something.”
“Bailey—”
“I love you, Mom. Bye.”
I hang up before she can hear how my voice cracks on the last word. Before she can ask why I’m crying. Before she realizes that “fine” sounds an awful lot like “falling apart.”
The hospital bed next to mine creaks as Sebastian reaches for the water pitcher, his movements stiff from last night’s battery of tests.
Outside our shared room’s window, morning light reflects off the snow-covered parking lot, casting our little medical prison in a harsh glow that does neither of us any favors.
I glance over at Sebastian’s bed beside mine—his insistence on sharing a room had caused quite the administrative scramble last night. The hospital staff caved when they realized who he was, though not before suggesting at least fifteentimes that someone of his “status” might prefer private accommodations.
“Sleep at all?” he asks, voice rough with morning.
“Between the hourly vitals checks and someone snoring in the next bed? Barely,” I tease, though we both know I spent most of the night watching him breathe, reassuring myself we’d made it.
