A Down and Dirty Christmas by Lili Valente

Author:Lili Valente [Valente, Lili]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Self Taught Ninja
Published: 2019-12-03T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Jane

I hurry along the deserted sidewalk, squinting into the mad swirl of snow that whips my face, stumbling through drifts that are up past my ankles. Hot tears flow down my cheeks, but by the time the drops have rolled down to my chin, they’re ice cold. It isn’t long before my cheeks begin to burn.

I’m probably going to end up with frostbite. The doctors will have to carve away little pieces of my cheeks to save the healthy skin and from now on every time I look in the mirror I will be reminded of how stupid I am.

Stupid for walking home in a blizzard, stupid for crying while I did it, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid.

I pause at the end of the block, searching for signs of life, but there isn’t a soul out in this mess, or a yellow cab in sight. The only real light comes from the windows of a four-story brownstone that must be running on a generator. The rest of the world is shadowed, illuminated only by the glow of freshly fallen snow. I should admit defeat, go back to the office, and get warm before it’s too late, but instead I hug my arms more tightly around my shivering body and cross the street.

I can’t go back. I can’t face Ten. Not now, not ever.

Sometime during my flight down the stairs and out into the night, my shame crawled into a chrysalis, metamorphosed, and emerged as a spastic butterfly of acute, irrational fear. On some level, I realize that being terrified of facing Ten with the memories of tonight living between us is ridiculous to the point of lunacy, but I can’t seem to help myself. I will walk five miles in the snow to get home before I will turn this ship around, even if it means losing a toe or a morsel of cheek or anything else.

I move farther down the block, stopping seconds before I step onto a sheet of solid ice. I see the source—a hose burst outside a darkened flower shop, sending a steady stream of liquid dribbling across the sidewalk toward the street—and realize I’ll have to retrace my steps. Or jaywalk across Eighth Avenue to the other side. I’m usually too much of a rule follower, and too afraid of NYC traffic, to risk an illegal crossing, but the street is empty and I’ve already ventured way out of my comfort zone tonight.

Might as well dance a few inches closer to the edge of the cliff.

I turn, searching for the least snow-filled path between the cars parked along the street. But before I can make a move toward the curb, a deep voice shatters the stillness of the night.

“Stay right there, Jane.”

I spin, catching sight of Ten moving swiftly down the sidewalk toward me. He’s still wearing just his dress shirt, but he doesn’t look cold. He looks strong, powerful, and pissed.

I realize I’ve never seen Ten looking quite this angry, and instinctively I step back.

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