Page 114 of Perfectly Complicated
“He won’t answer my calls, Tate. And I know if I call the booking office, they won’t hand out his personal information. I just have to go there myself.”
Tate pauses. “But it’s late. You’ll be driving in the dark on Christmas Eve.”
I peek behind a blind. The sun is setting, the empty trees rustling against heavy gray clouds.
I bite my lip, watching as Aria plays on the floor. She’d probably fall asleep in the car. And I already know I won’t be sleeping tonight until I find out where Rourke is.
“Well, I guess that means I need to leave now.” I’m already picking up Aria, moving toward my room, mentally cataloging what we’ll need for a quick trip.
“Janie, are you sure about this?” Tate asks nervously. “Can you handle taking Aria by yourself? Lauren and I can tag along with you.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I can’t interrupt your Christmas too. Lauren told me you were planning on spending the day with her family.”
“We were, but we’d drop our plans to help you.”
I fling open my closet door. “I appreciate that, Tate, but I can do this on my own.” I take out a small overnight bag and throw my clothes and Aria’s inside. “If we’re going to spend our first Christmas together, then I need to take her. And I already know the way.”
Tate pauses. “Uh, Janie, what will you do if you don’t find him?” It’s the question that’s already been circling in my mind. “What if you drive all that way and…”
“I’m wrong?” I finish for him before tossing a packageof diapers inside the bag. “Tate, finding Rourke isliterallymy only shot at saving Christmas.”
I absolutely won’t let him spend it alone. Not after he brought so much light into our lives or the way he looks at us like we’re his everything. He gave us his heart. I’m not letting him think he doesn’t get ours in return.
“I have to go,” I say quietly. “I need to find him.”
“Good luck, Janie. I hope Rourke knows how much you love him.”
“If he doesn’t yet, he will. I’m not giving up on us.”
I grab my keys and head for the door, then pause. There’s something I need first. A few somethings, actually. Starting with Christmas.
I can’t take the actual tree, so instead, I grab the Christmas plant, all the gifts, and at the last minute, the Christmas star ornament.
Then I remember the most important thing of all: the Carolina Crushers jersey with “Riley” printed across the back. Setting Aria on the floor, I take off my shirt and slip on the jersey. It overwhelms my body and is not at all right for Christmas, but for this trip, it feels strangely perfect.
When we’re finally ready, I tuck Aria into her car seat with her Crushers teddy bear before hanging the star ornament from the rearview mirror.
For a few seconds, I just sit there, tracing its edges, the glass smooth against my fingertips.
“Let’s hope this will be our North Star.”
Then I turn the key.
Time to find my grinch before Christmas.
THIRTY-TWO
Janie
Aria gurgles from the backseat as we head north on pure adrenaline and stubborn determination. I crank my Christmas playlist to keep me inspired and awake, and for the first few hours, everything feels like a Christmas movie. The roads are delightfully empty, Aria’s content, and with carols filling the car and Christmas lights twinkling in the little towns we pass, I feel hopeful we’re going to find Rourke.
But my optimism starts to fade around hour four when Aria wakes up and begins to fuss. It’s clear she’s tired of her car seat and wants me to hold her, but all I can do is hook my arm over the seat to stroke her cheek while keeping my eyes on the road.
After twenty minutes of crying—hers not mine, although I’m on the verge of tears too—she finally cries herself to sleep, but it doesn’t help my frayed nerves. With every mile, the darkness feels like a black hole, and I start questioning this entire plan. What if I’ve guessed wrong? What if he’s not in Santaville?What if…
That’s when I hear it: a distinct hissing noise under the hood, followed by a bright red warning light on the dashboard.
“No, no,noooo,” I moan as the engine gives one final shudder before dying completely.
