Page 69 of Mistletoe and Mayday
But I’m not prepared for what I find.
Sebastian has undergone a transformation in my absence. His wilderness stubble is gone, hair neatly styled, wearing what must be the fresh clothes his team brought. Every trace of our cabin days methodically erased, replaced by the polished CEO I met at the airport—what feels like a lifetime ago.
Just as I adjust the thin hospital blanket over my legs, the distinctive click of heels echoes down the corridor.
Rebecca sweeps in like aVoguecover come to life, all golden hair and perfect makeup, not a designer thread out of place. The room seems to brighten around her, as if even the lighting knows to make her look perfect.
“Sebastian!”
My stomach lurches as she throws herself into his arms, her perfume mixing with his mother’s in a toxic cloud of feminine territoriality. She’s crying—perfect, delicate tears that don’t smudge her mascara. The performance is flawless, down to the slight catch in her breath as she sobs. Oscar-worthy.
He doesn’t push her away.
His arms hang at his sides for a moment, but then they come up to steady her as she sobs into his chest. The same chest I slept on the night before last. The same arms that held me through wolfhowls and nightmares.
Bile rises in my throat, bitter and burning. I swallow it down, tasting acid and regret.
Tell them, I silently beg him. Tell them what you found in that hotel room. Tell them about the other man. Tell them it’s an act. Stand up for something—for yourself, if not for me.
But he stands there, rigid and silent, while she performs her perfect girlfriend routine. His mother beams. His father nods. And I think I might actually throw up all over their Italian shoes.
The new thread I’ve been worrying snaps, leaving an ugly pull in the blanket. Just like the ugly truth unraveling in front of me. He won’t tell them. Won’t shatter their perfect picture. Won’t admit that their golden couple isn’t so golden after all.
Rebecca’s tears slow right on cue, and she pulls back just enough to gaze adoringly up at him. “I was so worried,” she whispers, her voice carrying just far enough for everyone to hear her devotion. “When I heard about the crash...”
The oxygen in the room thins with each calibrated sob. My lungs constrict, throat tightening like I’m breathing through a coffee straw. One more second in this room with these people and their performance, and I’ll shatter into something they’ll need to sweep under their imported Persian rugs.
“Well, this has been fascinating.” I grab the crutches propped against the bed, my movements jerky with suppressed emotion. “But I’ve reached my daily quota for family theater.”
The floor tilts as I try to stand. The crutches slip on the polished hospital floor.
Strong hands catch me, steadying me. Sebastian. His touch burns through my hoodie, hot enough to leave scars. For a heartbeat, we’re close enough that I catch his scent—no longer pine and snow, now cologne and antiseptic. Hospital Sebastian. Public Sebastian. Stranger Sebastian.
“Where are you going?” His eyes are stormy, saying things his perfect mouth won’t form into words. Begging for understanding he hasn’t earned, for forgiveness he hasn’t asked for.
“Out.” I adjust the crutches, putting distance between us. “Try not to need rescuing again, Mr. Lockhart.”
He flinches at the title like I’ve slapped him. But what else can I call him? His arms are full of his sobbing girlfriend, his parents are already planning their PR strategy, and I’m standing here in clothes that smell like our cabin. Like wood smoke and broken promises and things that were never meant to last.
Rebecca slides her manicured hand around Sebastian’s arm, her grip possessive as she guides him toward her. His entourage falls into formation around them—the assistant with his pressed suit, the private doctor with his silver hair, the security personnel creating a barrier between them and the rest of the world. Between him and me.
Sebastian’s eyes find mine over Rebecca’s head, something unreadable flickering across his face.
For half a heartbeat, he looks like he might pull away, might say something. His mouth opens slightly, words forming and dying unspoken. But then Rebecca tugs his arm, and his mother’s hand settles on his back, steering him toward his people. His real people. His permanent people.
No one notices me hobbling past. I’m a shadow in a hoodie, invisible against their designer backdrop. The cargo pilot who doesn’t fit in their story.
My crutch catches on a floor tile, and I stumble, catching myself against the wall, palm slapping against the institutional paint. The movement draws zero attention. They’re all focused on the Lockhart family reunion, Rebecca’s performance of devotion captivating her audience while Sebastian stands there,trapped in his own life like a snow globe figure unable to break free of the glass.
His mother’s voice carries down the corridor, “Darling, we need to address the engagement announcement. Rebecca’s been so understanding...”
I turn away, pushing through a side door into a quieter hallway. I need air that isn’t perfumed with expensive scents and falsehoods. I need space where I don’t have to watch him become someone I don’t recognize.
Some stories write themselves, and this one was always going to end with a perfect ring on a perfect finger in a perfect world that has no room for messy, loud, too-much Bailey Monroe.
I can’t help looking back. Just once. Like picking at a scab, knowing it’ll bleed but doing it anyway. A form of self-harm I can’t resist.
He looks...perfect. Hair styled now, suit pressed, every inch the CEO they expect him to be. But his jaw is tight. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes—those eyes that crinkled at the corners when I told him about naming my planes. Eyes that now look hollow, surrounded by people but completely alone.
