Page 78 of The Twelve Days of Christian
“You could say that.”
“Fucking Ollie,” Rachel mutters.
I might be imagining it, but I get a strange feeling these two could be taking my side here. But even if they are, the last thing I want is the pair of them going in there, guns blazing. Dealing with Ollie is my responsibility. Although it’s kind of nice to think they’d want to.
“Look, would you mind…” It’s a big ask because it’s freezing out here and what was a glimmer of rain has thickened to sleety splats on the pavement. “Would you give me a few minutes?”
“Sure,” Sam shrugs, surprisingly compliant.
“Two. No more.” Rachel holds up elegant gloved fingers. “In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s fucking snowing.”
“Thank you.” At the top of the steps, the huge wreath on the front door reminds me of the girl who placed it there, my sweet crazy Christmas loving girl. The one I’m about to go into battle for.
I bang the door knocker with three sharp taps. It swings open immediately, and there she is. There’s my little Santa Baby, wearing the set of Christmas pyjamas that have become my favourite—both to see her in and take off. She stands in the hallway, mouth dropped open. The sight of her red-rimmed eyes and wild hair stabs at me.
“Oh my god, you came back.” Her lips tip up in a delighted smile and small arms wrap around me, tiny fingers lacing across my neck, pressing me to her.
“Of course I did,” I murmur, guilt washing over me, knowing things I’ve done today have caused her doubt. “No dogs?” I ask, noticing the absence of feet pawing at me.
I expected at least they’d be pleased to see me. I’ve missed the pair of them sitting alone in my too-quiet apartment this afternoon. Being dogless is not a happy state, one I’d like to do something about.
“Outside. Squirrels.” She hums against my ear, her breath tantalising.
“Who is it?” Ollie’s voice carries over the sound of the television.
“Tell him it’s carol singers.” I smile into her hair, inhaling the fresh smell.
She pulls back from me, emerald eyes glittering with mischief. “It’s carol singers,” she calls, giggling softly as Ollie’s lack of reply signals he’s bought the lie—and never watchedLove Actually.
“I’m so sorry, Haley,” I begin, smoothing back her untidy hair, tucking one of those wayward strands behind the dainty shell of her ear. “I suppose I knew all along he wouldn’t be happy. But, coward that I am, I just put it out of my mind, and hoped that by the time he came home, we’d have planned how to break the news to him.” I regret ignoring the prospect of Ollie’s arrival while hidden away in our little bubble. “And he was always a bit vague about when he’d be back. Damn, I wish I’d asked the question.”
“Me too.” She sighs. “I should have guessed he’d react this way. He feels responsible because he’s the one who brought us together. And scared because that’s exactly what happened with Jack.”
This reminder only makes my anger flare brighter. Knowing Ollie has lumped me in with the douchebag dentist, making assumptions I’ll treat Haley the same as that piece of shit fires me up again.
“I’m going to sort this out with him, Haley. Fight for us.”
“Good luck. That’s what I’ve been doing on and off for the past couple of hours. Fighting with him. But he’s still being a stubborn pain in the arse. Maybe when he sees us together.”
There’s an uncomfortable niggle of shame, knowing I left her to face Ollie on her own, to defend the two of us in a way we’d never expected would be needed. Although pride and gratitude also surge.Haley has put us first, put me first, not flinching away from the hard stuff. Underneath, she’s just as gutsy as her two bolshy friends, who right this moment announce their arrival with a clatter of heels on the steps. Rachel and Sam bustle in, pushing past us.
“Time’s up.” Rachel says.
They strip off coats and gloves and make a beeline for the lounge. I feel sorry for Ollie. I’ve got unexpected backup. He’s outgunned this time.
We follow them through. Ollie’s seated on the sofa, eyes widening at the sudden invasion of people. Sam slides in on one side of him and Rachel on the other. He shuffles uncomfortably under their twin death stares.
“What’s this, an intervention?” He’s looking a little intimidated. Can’t say I blame him.
“Hmmm, maybe more of an interrogation,” Rachel says, with that low voice that harbours a touch of menace.
“How about an inquisition?” Sam suggests brightly.
“Maybe not,” Rachel argues. “Wouldn’t that involve torture?”
“Probably.” Sam presses a finger to her lips, eyes to the ceiling, as if mulling over exactly how she’s going to torture Ollie. “Maybe not,” she agrees after a beat. “Could get messy. Why don’t we settle for a nice cross-examination since we have a kick-arse lawyer in the room?”
“Perfect. Cross-examination it is.”
