Page 30 of Decked By The Grumpy Golem
"I can't," I whisper, pulling my hands free. "I'm sorry, but I can't."
Minutes later, headlights cut through the morning gloom as Dad's truck crunches up the snowy driveway. He climbs out slowly, his breath forming clouds in the frigid air, and takes in the scene. Me crying on the Flintman porch, Martha comforting me in her nightclothes. His expression is unreadable, but there's no judgment in his dark eyes, just sadness.
I hug Martha one more time, breathing in her familiar scent of lavender and that mineral undertone that all golems have.
"Take care of yourself, dear," she whispers against my hair. "And don't close your heart completely. Some things are worth the risk."
I walk to Dad's truck on unsteady legs, not looking back at the house where I left my heart scattered across stone walls and tangled sheets.
Dad doesn't ask questions as I climb into the passenger seat. He just reaches over to squeeze my shoulder before putting the truck in reverse. The cab smells like coffee and aftershave and safety, and I sink into the worn bench seat like it's a life raft.
As we pull away from the Flintman house, I catch a glimpse of movement in Gideon's bedroom window. It’s just a shadow but the sight tears something inside me to shreds. The sob breaks free before I can stop it, raw and devastating, and I bury my face in my hands.
Through my fingers, I watch the house shrink in the rearview mirror until it disappears completely, taking with it any chance of the happy ending I was foolish enough to want again.
"You want to talk about it?" Dad asks quietly, his eyes on the snowy road ahead.
I shake my head, not trusting my voice. How do I explain that I just ran away from the only man I've ever truly loved because I'm too much of a coward to risk being hurt again?
Instead, I press my forehead against the cold window and watch the familiar landscape of Saltford Bay blur past through my tears. Every landmark we pass feels like another mile between me and the life I could have had if I were just brave enough to reach for it.
By the time we reach my parents' house, I've made my decision. I'll pack my things, make my excuses, and drive back to New York Citythe day after Christmas. I'll finish my book, meet my deadline, and pretend that last night never happened.
I'll go back to being the woman who writes about love but doesn't believe in it for herself.
But as Dad parks in the driveway and I see my mother's face pressed against the kitchen window, worry etched in every line, I can't shake Martha's words.
Some things are worth the risk.
Chapter Fourteen
Gideon
TomorrowisChristmasEveand the entire world seems lost to holiday cheer.
Not me. No, I sit in my truck outside the Reyes house, heart hammering like it's prom night all over again. The lights in the living room glow warm and golden, shadows moving inside. Her family together, safe, while I stand out here like a ghost at the window. Snow falls in thick, lazy flakes that catch in my headlights and melt against my windshield, but I barely notice the cold seepingthrough the cab.
All I can think about is this morning. Waking up to empty sheets still warm with her scent. The way my chest caved in when I realized she was gone.
I deserve it, for what I did to her. Still, I’m not ready to give up this easily. Not this time.
It’s still a crazy-ass plan, my mind whispers to me in that tone I know too well, one that sounds reasonable, yet with underlying fear.
My boots crunch through the snow as I walk up the familiar path to the front door, each step feeling like I'm walking toward either salvation or complete destruction. The Christmas lights strung along the eaves cast everything in a soft, festive glow that would be cheerful under any other circumstances.
I knock, three sharp raps that echo in the cold air.
Footsteps approach from inside, and then the door swings open to reveal Ernesto Reyes. His dark eyes narrow when he sees me standing on his doorstep, snow dusting my shoulders and desperation written across my face.
"Gideon." His voice is flat, unwelcoming. Behind him, I can hear the warm murmur of family conversation, the twins' laughter, the clink of dishes being cleared from dinner.
"Mr. Reyes," I say, fighting to keep my voice steady. "I need to see Lucia."
His jaw tightens, and he steps outside, pulling the door closed behind him. The move is deliberate, protective, putting his body between me and his daughter like a shield.
"She doesn't want to see you," he says bluntly. "She came home this morning in tears, Gideon. I had her car towed here, for goodness’ sake. Whatever happened between you two, whatever you did toher—"
"I didn't do anything," I interrupt, heat flooding my skin despite the December air. "I woke up and she was gone. I didn't hurt her."
