22. Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty
Roman
C edarworld is packed—like everyone and their mother is out here grabbing food and doing last-minute Christmas shopping. I move down the aisle, noticing she’s low on cash, and with just a hundred bucks in this economy, I’m limited. I really should dig up that extra cash I set aside. Cedarworld blares Christmas music, and of course, it’s that damn Mariah Carey song, "All I Want for Christmas." Did I ever mention how much I hate this song? Ten years later, and it’s still the same lineup every single Christmas. It grates on my nerves.
As I finish in the aisle, my gaze drifts over to the jewelry kiosk. My eyes linger on a necklace left out by one of the employees. Like I’ve said before, I’m not a good man, and that necklace? It’s the perfect gift for my little snake. A thin silver chain with a snake wrapped around a red rose—dainty and delicate, just like Xena.
I glance to my sides, then pocket the necklace and hurry the hell out of the store. I double-check like crazy that there aren’t any cameras. Should’ve done that first, but if memory serves me right, the guy who owns this place is a cheap bastard. And bingo—no cameras in this area, at least.
A smirk spreads across my face as I picture that necklace around Xena’s beautiful neck. Then it hits me—my Xena senses start screaming. Something’s wrong. Anxiety creeps in, and I rush to pay. It took me a while to get here, and it’s going to take me even longer to get back home .
"Shit," I mutter, realizing I should have brought her with me instead of leaving her behind. Her phone vibrates, and that’s when I know—I’ve done it. The gut feeling intensifies. I can feel it in my bones. Something’s wrong.
I hurry to pay, avoiding the self-checkout because I don’t have the time or the patience to figure it out. But this cashier? She’s killing me with how slow she’s going. Even though there are only three people ahead of me, it feels like a hundred. To make it worse, the couple in front of me has two carts full of toys.
Biting my lip, I start tapping my fingers on the cart, more anxious than I’ve ever been. Something is seriously wrong.
After what feels like twenty minutes, it’s finally my turn. The woman at the register flashes a smile, showing off a toothy grin and a smudge of red lipstick on her front tooth. She isn’t unattractive, but no one compares to my little junkie. I guess I shouldn’t call her that anymore, but no one will ever be as beautiful as Xena—maybe our future daughter. I smile at the thought, which the cashier mistakes for friendliness.
"Hi, handsome. Shopping for the storm?" she says, her voice practically purring. I cringe.
My smile is forced as I reply, "Yes."
She smiles again. "I’ve never seen you before. Are you from around here?" she asks, fishing for more. I pretend not to hear her. I’ve got no time for small talk. The only person I care to talk to is definitely not this brunette standing in front of me. Finally, she finishes scanning my groceries, and thankfully, she’s quiet until she reads my total.
"Ninety dollars and fifty cents," she says, almost bored, chewing her gum loudly.
I hand her the hundred-dollar bill, pack up the groceries, and wait for her to hand me my change, which she does slowly—way too slow. The second I have it, I bolt for the exit.The cold air hits me like a wall when I step outside. It’s freezing, and the entire parking lot is blanketed in white. Snow is everywhere and falling harder by the minute. I need to get moving, fast. I pack up the truck and start it up again, but all I can think about is getting home.
The feeling of urgency radiates through my body. Something’s wrong. My Xena senses continue tingling—and not in a good way. My girl isn’t feeling frisky; she’s in danger. That’s all I can think of. Maybe it’s just my anxiety from being away from her, especially since she’s been so fragile lately, but the feeling is there. Loud and clear.
I speed out of the parking lot, but the truck swerves on the snow—these tires are fucked. No grip. I slip and slide, forcing me to slow down.
"FUCK!" I yell, feeling powerless, the gnawing feeling clawing at me. I slam my fist against the dashboard. "Fuck… fuck…" I repeat like a mantra.
I need that damn money. Xena needs new tires, and I need a goddamn phone. It’s going to take me forever to get to her under these conditions, but I can’t crash. If I do, I won’t make it to her at all. I feel it deep in my bones—something’s wrong. That feeling intensifies with every slow, agonizing mile in this piece of shit truck.