Page 25 of The Twelve Days of Christian
My voice is hoarse at the memory of how, even though I found Jet, I still came so close to losing him. Even though I’d managed to carry him home, stumbling through the forest, my arms aching with the weight. Even though I convinced Dad not to put a bullet in him around the back of the barn. I fought for Jet. Like I’m going to fight to ban this barbaric invention, for him and for all those other animals.
“That’s what Dad said she should do. I’ve never forgotten that vet. She totally ignored him. She looked at me and said, ‘This isyourdog. What doyouwant, Christian?’ Even though Dad was right there. God, he was pissed off with her. Insisted I pay the bill. He never knew she waived most of it.”
Haley slides back, releasing me from her embrace, but I’ll carry the warmth with me for a while.
“We’re going to fight them, Christian. For Jet.” There’s fire in her eyes.
“We are,” I say, my heart leaping at that little word ‘we’.
Me and Haley. In this together. And maybe from this, something more could grow. The possibility ignites a flutter of hope in my chest.
“Right now, I thinkweneed a drink,” she announces. “Name your poison.”
She’s right. A little numbing solution would be welcome. Might help me sleep, given the anger that pulses inside me every time I think of the way those arseholes atWild For The Winhave stitched me up.
“I’m sure Ollie’s got a decent whisky stashed somewhere. How about that?” I suggest.
My friend, exposed to the good things in life, now considers himself a bit of a connoisseur. Haley’s already rummaging in an antique drinks cabinet, and who knows what expensive plonk she’s going to find.
“Good idea,” she says. “Payback for the radio silence, too. I haven’t even had a single text for days. Serves him right for ignoring us if we drink his whisky.”
“To be fair, Ollie did warn me he’d be off grid most of this trip.”
“Me too.” There’s a sly grin on her face. “More fun if we pretend he didn’t and we’re drinking his whisky as punishment.”
While this should rank up there as one of the worst nights of my life—since millions of people have now seen me portrayed as an aggressive arsehole on national television—it doesn’t.
With a clink of glasses, we toast to fighting the bastards atWild For The Winand settle back onto the couch. A good whisky in my hand, a beautiful girl leaning into me, the two of us flanked by dogs—it’s a perfect picture. I grab the remote and within minutes, the opening scenes ofHome Aloneare rolling across the screen. Haley grins up at me.
“Great choice. Thank you,” she says.
Now it’s a perfect picture.
By the time the movie ends, we’re both sleepy, lulled by the fire and the whisky. Reluctantly, I stand, immediately feeling regret at the loss of her warm body against me. I extend a hand and help her to her feet.
With the other, I grab at my phone and ram it into the back pocket of my jeans. It’s on silent and that’s how it’s going to stay after the steady stream of texts and calls lighting it up for the past three hours. I didn’t bother to read any, or even check who they’re from. I know who will have been hunting me, and I know what they’re going to say: you fucked up Christian. Big time. Tell me something I don’t know. Better still, tell someone who cares.
“Don’t worry about this.” I survey the rubble of empty glasses, a half-eaten packet of crisps, and the pieces of stray popcorn littering the couch.
Haley insisted we have an interval in the movie so she could make a bowl of popcorn, salty and dripping with a decadent helping of butter. We scoffed it down in handfuls, but as always, some escaped. Strangely, after leaping to vacuum it up, the dogs screwed up their noses and left it littering the rug. Fussy little shits.
“You’re sure?” she says, brows slanting in a small frown.
“Of course, and I’ll take the dogs to my room again, too. You have work tomorrow.”
“Yep, and that’s why I shouldn’t have had three whiskies,” she says, swaying a little.
I slip an arm around her waist and guide her down the hallway to her bedroom door, as the dogs make a beeline for the back door to the garden and sit there waiting expectantly for a toilet stop.
“You’ll be fine,” I say, smiling at her beautiful upturned face, the faint glow of the alcohol painting her cheeks a delicious shade of pink.
“So will you,” she says, stepping in and folding herself against me.
My arms come up to wrap her tight. It feels so damn good, and I stand there drinking in the comforting press of her small weight. It’s not lust that grips me—though god knows if we stand here like this much longer, my eager cock will decide to make its presence felt—but a deep need for this person, for everything she is and everything she could be.
Something has shifted between us tonight. And it’s not only the whisky. It happened before that. Somehow, these things Haley and I are going through together have brought us closer. We may bedifferent in so many ways, but in the ways that really matter, we’re the same.
I sigh, wishing we hadn’t drunk that whisky. Because if we hadn’t, I would risk taking this further. But I’m not prepared to, not while there’s any doubt she’d be going into it fully aware. I’m not a guy who takes advantage of a girl, especially one whose guard is down after a few drinks. Especially not this girl. Ollie would have my balls.
