Page 477 of The Parkers' Handsome Holiday
“Where are you?”
A muted sound fell over the line, and I had a feeling she’d covered her speaker with her thumb. I waited, desperate for her to answer, as a feeling of dread crept in on me.
“Say something,” I said. “Tell me where you are. I’ll come to you.”
Background noise returned. Wherever she was, she was near traffic. A car horn honked. Brakes from a large vehicle like a truck or a bus squealed.
“I’m…” She trailed off. “I don’t know where I am. Not far from the estate.” She sniffled, and I knew it wasn’t from the cold. “I can’t see any street signs and it’s kind of dark.”
“Open your maps and take a screenshot. I’m on my way.” I stepped away from the bar and clipped the shoulder of Armie’s father.
He stumbled and I caught him.
“Look where you’re going, lad,” Humphrey barked.
I swerved around him and strode to the doors. Outside, I collected my keys from the valet. All the while, I listened to Tinsely’s thumbs clicking on her phone screen as she opened her maps app and took a screenshot. Seconds later, my phone chimed.
“I have you,” I said. “Stay where you are. I’ll be there in seven minutes. Is there someplace you can wait inside for me?”
“N-no.”
Fuck.
Outside, I found my car boxed in by the vehicles of other guests. I growled in frustration, rushed back inside, and ducked into the garage, which was secured with a passcode lock. Only my father and I knew it. I grabbed the keys to his Range Rover, opened the garage doors, and pulled out onto the long driveway where some guests milled about smoking cigarettes. They rushed to get out of my way while I listened to Tinsely’s teeth clacking together as she shivered.
“I’ll stay on the phone with you,” I told her.
“Okay.” She sniffled. “How far are you?”
The desperation in her voice made my chest hurt. Something had happened, and I wasn’t there when she needed me. Her voice sounded pinched, and I knew she was doing everything in her power to stay in control and not break down in tears.
“Six more minutes,” I told her. “Some asshole blocked my car in. I had to get my dad’s out of the garage.”
“Six minutes,” she breathed. “I can do six minutes.”
I stepped on the gas. Maybe I could make it in four if I hurried.
About thirty seconds passed where neither of us said anything. Then she whispered so quietly I hardly heard her. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I was stupid.”
And then it happened.
She started crying.
My grip on the wheel tightened. I took a right-hand turn and opened up the throttle. “Tinsely,” I breathed.
She cried harder.
I drove faster while I listened to her sob. Every passing second drove a little knife deeper into my heart as I rushed to her. The miles passed under my tires until finally I rounded a corner and spotted her standing on the sidewalk with her bare arms wrapped around herself. Somehow, she’d ended up on a poorly lit residential street. All she had on her person was her small purse. I pulled over, glad I had taken my dad’s Rover because I had to drive through a snowbank to get close to the curb.
She had her face in her hands and was still sobbing when I hung up the phone, got out of the SUV, and hurried through the shin-height snow onto the sidewalk.
I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her in. She fell into me, clung to my jacket, and cried harder.
“I’m so embarrassed,” she managed between sobs.
