Chapter 6
Frankie
A winter wonderland, except I’m stranded
Today is the day; it’s happening. I get to go home to see my family. My suitcase is full of gifts, matching pajamas for the whole family, even my tiny nephew, and I can’t wait.
When I step outside, I freeze at the sight of the snow piled high.
It fell in a matter of hours. I’d been too wrapped up in packing and finishing S.B.
Taylor’s audiobook again. Not my first time with it, but rereading keeps my mind busy.
I hadn’t even thought to glance outside, and now I’m dumbfounded by how much the storm left behind.
“Not today. Everything is going to be fine. That’s what snowplows are for,” I mutter to myself as I wrestle my suitcase down the snow-covered porch steps, the wheels useless against the thick drifts.
The biting wind cuts through my coat, but I barely notice.
My mind is focused on Boston, on getting to my family, no matter what.
I’ve been counting down the days for weeks, and I’m not about to let a little snowstorm ruin my plans.
As I reach the car, the suitcase handle slips from my glove, as the wind carries more flakes directly into my face, and I mutter a curse just as the wind takes my breath away.
Okay, a big snowstorm, but still, I remain hopeful.
Fumbling with the trunk of my car, just about managing to push it open, my cheeks feel as though they’re icing over.
I glance up at the crunch of boots on snow. Sam’s headed my way, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat, a hat pulled low, but I can still see the deep set of his brows through it all.
“You’re not seriously driving in this, are you?” he calls, his voice barely audible over the wind.
“I don’t have a choice,” I shout back, hefting the suitcase inside. “I have to get to Boston.”
He steps closer, his eyes narrowing as he looks at the state of the road. “Frankie, this storm is no joke. They’re already advising people to stay off the roads. You shouldn’t be out here.”
“I’ll be fine,” I say, brushing him off as I slam the trunk shut. “It’s not far to the airport, and once I’m there, I’ll be inside, warm, and waiting for my flight. No big deal.”
Sam steps into my space, stopping me from opening the door. “It is a big deal. The roads are bad now, and they’re only going to get worse. What if you get stuck? Or slide off the road?”
I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the nervous knot forming in my stomach. Why does he care so much anyway? I thought he’d be glad to see me leave. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. I’m not staying here. My family’s waiting for me, and I’m not missing Christmas with them.”
“Frankie,” he says, his voice softer now but no less insistent. “It’s not worth the risk.”
I hesitate for a moment, as I think about my dad carving the turkey, Mom making all four of our favorite potatoes. I shake my head. “I’ll be fine, Sam. Really.”
He places a hand on my arm gently, but there’s something else written on his face. There’s no way he’s annoyed with me; he doesn’t have the right to be annoyed. “You’re being reckless.”
“And you’re being a buzzkill,” I snap, brushing him off and pushing him aside to climb into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut before he can argue further. God, what is his problem today? I’m more than capable of driving in the snow for a few miles. Once I’m on the plane, it’ll all be fine.
The roads are worse than I expected. My car creeps along at a snail’s pace, the tires struggling for traction as the wind howls around me.
The wipers thud across the glass, smearing more than clearing.
Headlights bounce off the swirling white; the world reduced to two feet of visibility.
I should turn around. I should. But every mile I push forward feels like admitting Sam was right, and I can’t—won’t—give him that. I need to try.
My phone rings through the car system, but I can’t take my eyes off the road to even answer; it’s too risky.
The call stops, and the radio comes back on…
“Flights across the region, including Denver International, have been canceled due to worsening conditions. All flights are grounded until further notice, with additional storms expected over the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Canceled? I grip the steering wheel tighter, my heart sinking, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. This can’t be happening. “No. No, no, no,” I sob.
I pull over to the side of the road, my hazard lights blinking feebly against the storm. The wind rocks the car, and I sit there for a moment, staring at the snow piling up on the windshield. The announcer’s voice continues, listing delays and closures, but I tune it out.
It’s a winter wonderland, but I’m stranded. Alone for Christmas.