Page 109 of Don't Shoot Me Santa
A small pile of post sat on the welcome mat. Not many people had their address. A few did. Jack and Fraser, Mel, Jayden and Rick, and the local Chinese takeaway that always wrote “Happy Holidays” in gold pen. But they’d already sent their cards. And there was one now. Among the bills and junk mail.
Aaron crouched and picked through the pile, stopping at the thicker envelope. He froze. The blood in his veins glacial. The name on the front was written in old-fashioned cursive. Archaic. Spelling out a name that didn’t belong to him.
Cain Howell.
The card slipped from his fingers and hit the floor.
Aaron staggered back, retching, bile burning his throat. It was reactive. Post- traumatic response bollocks. Kenny would have some clinical term for it to file under. All Aaron had was rising nausea at seeing his deadname.
Getting himself together, he crouched. Picked the envelope back up.
Stared at the name.
No mistake.
Cain fucking Howell.
Chaos whined, wagging his tail, stationed by the door. Aaron ruffled the dog’s head, clutching the envelope in one hand, brain on overdrive. He bit his thumbnail, nerves crawling under his skin. Then he fished out his phone from his jeans pocket and dialled Kenny. Straight to voicemail.
Still teaching.
No signal in that college. They didn’t want the kids distracted by TikTok, SnapChat or people actually trying to reach them before they fell apart.
He staggered into the living room. The fire was off. The rug a tangled mess in front of it. Evidence of last night’stwosessions. Aaron sank onto the sofa, eyes fixed on the envelope as if it might bite. Chaos barked beside him, sharp and expectant.
“All right, boy.” Aaron scratched under his chin. “Give me a minute, yeah?”
Chaos licked his nose and sat, patient but watchful.
Aaron opened his phone again. Scrolled. Stopped. Closed his eyes, then hitcall. He held the phone to his mouth like a lifeline.
It rang twice.
“Hey.”Jack was understandably surprised.“You okay?”
Aaron went straight to it. “Did you forward a card to me?”
“Uh… Fraser sent one back in November. To both of you.”
“No. I mean me.Meme.”
A beat.
“No.”
“You haven’t…” Aaron swallowed. “You haven’t toldherwhere I am?”
He rarely called hermother. Usually Roisin. But right now, even that felt like giving her too much. The word made his skin crawl.
“No,”Jack said.“I wouldn’t. Not only is that breaking protocol, risking my entire career, but, Aaron, come on, you’re a friend. You know that. Why?”
Aaron looked down at the envelope. He let the wordfriendslide past without catching on it. Too heavy. Too much to hold in his head. The idea that DI Jack Bentley thought of him as one and not just the hanger-on to his ex who he refused to cut out of his life was difficult to comprehend right then. So it was easier to keep his eyes on the card. On what that meant.
“I’m holding what I assume is a Christmas card addressed to…” His voice faltered. “Cain Howell.”
Silence.
“Shit,”Jack said.“What does Kenny think?”
