25. Glad tidings of great fuckery
BIG AL (AKA: SANTA BOSS DAD)
W hat in the fresh holiday hell have I walked into?
Bedlam has befallen the waiting room.
Music is playing from a phone, judging by the tinny sound. My eyes seek out the source, landing on Sue’s brother, Nick, holding out his cell toward two of my employees. I close my eyes, praying that when I open them, they’re not bringing shame upon the Redleg name.
No such luck.
Jonesy and Aaron are dancing with their dick boxes bouncing around in front of their waists.
To nobody’s surprise, Cort Amos has joined in. Although he doesn’t have a dick box, he’s got a baby hoisted to his chest, so I suppose he’s improvising. It’s like they say: necessity is the mother of invention.
Lettie pulled me aside earlier tonight to make me watch a video of the dick box skit from Saturday Night Live, so I recognize the song playing.
My chest tightens, signaling I’ve reached the maximum number of times I can think of the words dick box without having a heart attack.
Moving on, I shift my gaze, peeking further into the holiday hijinks.
Val’s holding court on the other side of the room, with all three of Archer Bliss’s kids hanging on her every word. She has a book open on her lap, reading it aloud. The odds that it’s an age-appropriate story are slim to none. More than likely, it’s the tale of Mrs. Claus dismantling the patriarchy.
The lanky teenager rolling his eyes in the background looks like Miles, if memory serves on his name. He and Junior are silently judging whatever story Val’s telling.
And oh, look. Val just flipped Junior off with the old eye-rubbing trick. Nice thing to teach the youth of tomorrow.
As if on cue, the little Bliss boy surges to his feet like he’s been zapped with a cattle prod. His bird finger is already extended toward his eye. Like he has pogo sticks for feet, he springs up and down in front of his eldest sister, trying to get her to notice that he’s flipping her off.
Thanks, Val. Another one making Redleg proud.
The acid eroding my stomach—my near-constant companion since I found out I’m a father the day after Madeline was shot—makes its presence known with a vengeance. If I had free hands, I’d grab some Tums.
For the love of God and all things holy, can I find one Redleg employee who’s not embarrassing me?
Shep, still wearing the ridiculous Cousin Eddie hat and robe, has Kri pressed up against the wall in the corner with his tongue down her throat. Fantastic. Love to see that.
My eyes roll aggressively around my skull with the energy of that Bliss kid who’s now on a chair, still bouncing. I flinch when he leaps onto the floor, landing like Spiderman. By the time I blink, he’s back on the chair, bouncing again.
Defying all logic, Brody is passed out in the chair beside the little hellion. His son is sprawled on his chest, also completely crapped out.
I whip my head to face the other side of the room, wishing I didn’t as soon as my brain comprehends what I’m seeing.
Tomer and Lettie are deep in conversation with a petite woman with jet-black hair and a scruffy-looking dude with shaggy hair. He resembles Archer Bliss enough to make me assume that he’s his brother, Andy. The woman on his arm is immaculately dressed. The handbag draped from her shoulder is probably worth as much as my boat. The two couldn’t be any more mismatched if they were dressed by a color-blind toddler high on a bowl of sugar.
Sadly, it isn’t the subdued conversation making me consider a lobotomy for myself. Lettie has her hands behind her, resting them on the small of her back. Tomer is gently threading a long strand of Christmas tinsel garland around her arms in an intricate pattern. I glance at the ceiling above him, finding long swaths of the shiny garland. There’sa blank space, which likely explains where he got the garland. Andy and the woman look on in rapt fascination. Tomer seems to be explaining each move as he works.
Holy shit , he’s giving them a demonstration. And dear little Lettie is nodding along and chiming in.
Jesus fucking Christ. I did not need to know this about the man I consider my son and my newly discovered daughter.Where was my trusty gut when I needed it most? It has forsaken me.
Just then, our former client Millie sprints across the waiting room, tugging her husband behind her. And they’re eagerly heading straight for the rope demonstration being conducted by my children .
This is a fucking disaster.
A few feet away, old Dickie Amos sits quietly, a sour look on his perpetually grumpy face. It isn’t hard to see why he’s pouting. His wrists are bound to the armrests of the chair by some of that tinsel.
It’s getting hard to breathe.
Where’s my best guy and his sweet wife? Surely, they aren’t wreaking havoc. Shifting my gaze five feet to the left, I easily catch sight of Lionheart and Sue standing side by side, arms locked at the elbow as if they’re making some type of barrier. All that’s visible behind them are a few sets of feet and a wisp of fiery red hair.
Morbidly curious, I shuffle a step to the side and crane my neck for a slight peek behind the curtain.
That was my first mistake.
The Amos grandmother is holding out a cup in front of her. Cara pours a burgundy-colored liquid into their cups from a large pouch that’s strapped to her waist under her shirt. That explains why she needed some privacy. Fifty bucks says it’s not cranberry juice. No one would take that bet, though. More than likely a margarita derivative.
Isn’t that the way to ring in the season? Boozing up the elderly in a hospital waiting room. What could go wrong?
And Leo and Sue are her accomplices. Fan-fucking-tastic.
I contemplate retreating into the safety of the room where Sammy gave birth. But she and Sawyer are preparing to move from the labor section into a regular room. And I came out for a reason. Yet, as I take in the chaos, I can’t seem to recall what it was.
As if reminding me of why I’m exposing myself to such pandemonium, little Logan Sawyer makes a gurgling sound. I smile down at him, where he’s nestled in the cradle of my arms. With all the commotion around us, no one has even noticed Maddie or me with the babies. Wearing an equally gobsmacked expression as me, she stands beside me, holding Laci. We came out here to introduce the babies to the troops while Sawyer helped Sammy get changed.
“Alan?” she asks, her voice timid.
I exhale a haggard sigh. “Yes, Maddie?”
“Is it too late to escape to Costa Rica for the holidays?”
“As soon as my hands are free, I’ll search for flights.”
Her soft chuckle, melodic and flowy, draws my attention away from the madness. Just as it did the first time I heard it.
And every time since.
She senses my stare and sways her gaze in my direction. Her lips, still upturned from her laughter, slowly part. She inhales delicately, somehow making the act of breathing seem graceful and elegant.
A lump of emotion clogs my throat.
“Thank you, Maddie.”
She knows what I’m thanking her for.
Thank you for letting me be part of this even though you’re furious at me.
I won’t compromise on her safety. And I won’t discard her to focus on other priorities like she keeps insisting I should do.
Because I can’t fucking quit her.
The dainty wrinkles by her mouth ripple along with the wobble of her chin. Unable to speak—or perhaps unwilling—all she gives me is a nod. Tears fill her eyes for the umpteenth time tonight. I hope they’re not tears of sadness because of me and the stress I’ve caused her.
I adjust the baby in my arms, freeing up one hand so I can trace the outline of her jaw and wipe the stray tear dampening her rosy cheek.
She eases every last one of my worries with a single gesture.Inching forward, she extends her neck and tilts her chin up.
I claim her lips for a chaste kiss, taking a brief moment in the midst of madness to recenter myself.
As I pull away, it’s as if I can feel the way her kiss has smoothed thejagged fissures of my heart.
Her face brightens as she readjusts her hold on precious Laci. After glancing down at the little bundle, she meets my eyes. I’m still unable to take mine off her.
In truth, I’m also terrified to resume surveying the room. I still haven’t found Mia or Klein, and I’m guessing there are a few missing Amos-holes as well.
Much safer to look at Maddie.
“Alan?” she asks.
I slope my head, raising my brows in silent response.
“Why is there a man tied to a chair with tinsel?”
“I don’t know, and I’m too terrified to ask. I’m guessing Tomer had a good reason for doing it.”
“Let’s hope so. I don’t want to add a trip to the county jail to our holiday adventures.”
“Given what I’ve seen so far, perhaps we start on the other side of the room to make introductions.”
She winks. “Good plan.”
Despite not wanting to look away from Maddie, my eyes land on Klein and Mia in the corner. While standing a few feet from his mother, they’re speaking with a tall, redheaded woman. Mama Klein is holding a young girl on her lap. What appears to be a fresh poinsettia blossom holds the girl’s wavy blond hair back.
My superior powers of deduction tell me the little girl must be Hudson and Chloe Langley’s daughter, given he’s standing beside them. That would mean his wife, Chloe— formerly Chloe Amos—is the female chatting with two-thirds of my intel team.
With Mia’s wavy, red hair, she could pass for an Amos sister. That’s a horrifying thought.
Nonetheless, I head in that direction because they’re the only ones not emanating nuclear levels of anarchy.
As I approach, I notice an alcove off to the left where a familiar couple sits quietly. I blink twice. A hospital waiting room isn’t the type of opulence I’d expect for the billionaires.Having done several jobs for them over the years, I recognize them immediately. Looks like Mr. and Mrs. Langley have found a spot away from the festivities .
Mr. Langley gives me a congenial nod and waves as I pass by. “Nice to see you, Lancaster.”
“Happy holidays!” I respond with a tip of my chin.
His wife waves, her facebrightening when she sees the babies.
She leaps to her feet, rushing over to greet us. “Look at these little angels. Oh my heavens .”
Her husband strolls up behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders and gazing over her head at our little bundles.
An odd sense of justice hits me. The first people outside of the immediate family who get to meet the babies are the ones behaving like civilized adults. Let that be a lesson to the others.
Most likely hearing the coos and excited words from Mrs. Langley, Mia turns around. Her hands slap her cheeks, and she raises her shoulders to her ears.
“Cal, look at this.” She taps him repeatedly on the shoulder until he turns around mid-sentence. “They’re so tiny.”
Klein’s entire body stiffens. His eyebrows launch halfway to the ceiling, and he inhales most of the oxygen in the room. Mia clamps a firm grip on his arm, shaking him vigorously. But Klein’s still inhaling.
It reminds me of the moment right before someone screams bloody murder.
He better fucking not.
Once Klein’s full of hot air—his resting state—he lets his frame go lax and wobbles side to side. He’s practically collapsing on himself with hearts shooting from his eyes.
When he’s done impersonating a deflating balloon, he holds his curved hands out in front of his face, aiming the tips of his fingers at Logan’s tiny face. “He’s. So. Adorable.” Then he shifts his gaze to Laci, repeating the same gesture. “She looks like Tinkerbell.”
He throws a hand to his chest, glancing northward as if praying for strength.
Jesus.
Mia’s bobbing on her toes, still shaking Klein’s arm. I’ve never been inclined to use the word gleeful, but she’s gleeful as fuck.
I predict there’ll be more Redleg babies in the future beyond the other two already cooking. Time to start plotting for leave coverage on the intel team. Tomer will need some soon, then these two.
It never fucking ends.
Mia and Klein’s over reaction soon draws a crowd, and a line forms. Redleg family and the Amos-holes.
Thankfully, the old pervert is still fastened to a chair, which makes the world a safer place.
Maddie and I follow Sammy’s instructions, keeping everyone’s hands off the merchandise. No telling where those hands have been. And I’ve seen enough in the five minutes I’ve been out here to have some well-earned suspicions.
I’m also careful to keep some distance between us so those with alcohol breath don’t give the babies a contact high.
Or to protect them from germs. Same difference.
By the time we’ve gotten through the masses, the babies are both crying. It’s the sweetest little sound.
An uninvited thought hits me, inciting the familiar twinge of anger under my ribs. I never had a chance to hear Lettie’s cries. Were they tiny like this, or did she come out wailing? Was she this size? Bigger? Smaller? Did she smell this sweet?
My mood sours instantly. Once again, I’m lost in the void. A space barren of memories that I should have but never will.
Because they were stolen from me.
The laughter and well-wishes quickly pull me from the dark abyss.
When I blink free of the fog, Lettie’s standing directly in front of me, tears spilling down her cheeks. It dawns on me she didn’t meet the babies when the others did. Tomer didn’t either.
I tip my head to beckon her close. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m looking into the future, seeing how you’ll look holding your next grandbaby in a few months. And then again a few months after that when this one makes its debut.” She pats her belly.
Her meaning hits me in the chest like a ton of bricks.
Son of a bitch . Now I’m a second away from crying too.
And when she strides up to me, rises to her tiptoes, and places a tender kiss on my cheek, the second is up.
Lettie pulls away, using the pad of her thumb to wipe it away. “There. Can’t have anyone know the head of Redleg has a soft side, now can we?”
“The bag!” a feminine voice rings out. “The bag. It’s time!”
My eyes track the source to find Mama Klein clapping and bouncing over with joy.
“That woman is a peach.” Lettie scrunches her shoulders up by her ears. “It is time.”
“For what?” I ask.
Lettie’s megawatt smile shines and sparkles.“Santa has some presents to deliver, doesn’t he?”
“Oh, shit. Everything’s back at Redleg.”
“Nope. That’s why I said Mama Klein’s a peach.”
I quirk my head to the side. “Huh?”
“When you all tore out of the party, she flipped out ’cause Santa left without his bag. So we brought it.” She points toward an unstaffed reception area. “It’s hiding behind the desk, waiting for you to do the honors. As soon as your hands are free.”
“These little angels need to go back to their parents, anyhow,” Maddie says.
As much as I’d love to pass out the gifts and end the night on the highest of notes, I won’t do it without everyone here. “We can’t do presents without Sawyer and Sammy.”
Lettie lets her eyes drift to the ceiling, twists her neck to the side, and pats her lips with a red-tipped fingernail. “Hmm. If only someone had already thought of that.” She balls her fists by her face, then flutters her fingers to mime a firework explosion. “Oh wait. I already did. I sent John McClane to get them.”
On cue, Sawyer’s voice echoes around the room. “Where are the fruits of my loins?”
Groans flow around the room in waves, accompanied by a few shudders.
Sue speaks for everyone when she exclaims, “For the love of St. Paddy, never call them that again.”
Sawyer laughs it off. Once again, wearing the Buddy the Elf hat, he pushes Sammy in a wheelchair. Both of them beam like the sun. With her fingers pressed tightly together and her hand cupped, Sammy demurely waves with tiny flicks of her wrist. She’s working overtime to earn the princess moniker.
As soon as she spies us, she thrusts stiff arms out. “Gimme my babies!”
We quickly get Sammy and Sawyer settled into chairs with their twins. Instead of rushing off, I back away slowly, eating up the sight of the four of them all cozy together.
Not to be the big softy I was accused of being, but the freaking love flowing around them is palpable.
On my left, Maddie does the same. Then she sighs, clasping her hands in front of her chest while blinking back the tears.
It’s the most Maddie gesture she’s made all night. I love it.
I could watch her for hours.
However, Lettie has other plans. She forks her fingers between her lips and whistles, capturing everyone’s attention. “Listen up, y’all. Santa Boss Dad is ready to bestow some gifts on us before the new parents and babies need to go rest.”
Tomer approaches, holding the red bag out for me. Once I take it, he reaches behind him to pull out the Santa hat I discarded earlier. “Can’t pass out gifts without this.”
I set the bag by my feet and use both hands to don the hat.Lettie appears, holding the Santa coat out for me.With everyone watching me like Grade-A creepers, I slip it on and button it up. Might as well do this right.
Clearly serving as Lettie’s accomplice, Tomer flings the beard at me next, thus completing my ensemble.
Did they just walk behind me all night, picking up the discarded pieces of my costume?
I’ll give my daughter this much—once she has her mind set on something, she’s tenacious as hell. And the look she’s flashing my way tells me she’s expecting me to make this memorable.
Fuck it. I’m all in now.
I heft the sack over one shoulder and throw an arm out to the side. “Ho, ho, ho!”
In his stupid Buddy the Elf impression, Sawyer sneers, “You’re not the real Santa. You smell like beef and cheese.”
At this point, I don’t even bother fighting back the laughter. Besides, I love that film.
Before I recover and start passing out the gifts, Lettie breaks out in song. Totally tracks.
Her angelic voice sails around the room, bringing a smile to every face in sight.
“You better watch out. You better not pout. You better not cry. I’m telling you why. Santa Boss Dad is coming to town.”
By the time she hits the second verse, the kids have joined in. And Klein and his mother.
We’re all singing by the third verse. Except Tomer. He’s too busy staring at Lettie with sparklers shooting from his eyes.
After the song ends, the gift-giving frenzy goes by in a blur. I don’t know how it happened, but some gifts for the Amos-holes made their way into the bag.
It had to be Lettie. Candy bars, most likely from the hospital vending machines. They were wrapped with more of that tinsel that’ll haunt my nightmares for years to come. Sticky notes served as the name tags. She’s precious.
Some of the gifts stand out to me more than others.
Shep got Kri an over-the-waistband gun holster with rose gold trim. She blushed like crazy when he pointed out the color, so I am never asking about the significance. If you need me, I’ll be trying to block that from my mind.
Tomer gave Lettie a caterpillar charm to go with the butterfly on her necklace. Yep . I’m still calling it a necklace, even though the sight of him wrapping her up in tinsel has made me realize that perhaps it’s more than jewelry.
In return, she got him a gold, braided rope bracelet with a small key on it. That further confirmed my suspicions and will keep me up at night for months to come.
Leo got Sue a new paint set. I immediately looked away when I saw that it was body paint. Once I’ve scrubbed the rose gold holster and collar image from my memory, that will be the next to go.
In the less bothersome category, Val got a flip phone for some odd reason. Judging by the handwriting on the tag, it was from Shep. But it was signed Father Time . To get him back for that, Val gave him denture cream.
Klein got Mia a purple velvet fedora with a tiger-striped band wrapping around the base. A single orange feather extends from the top. It’s a pimp hat if I’ve ever seen one. You know what? Let’s move that gift to the brain bleach category.
Tomer got a new door sign for Sawyer that reads: Brasseur de marde. He told Sawyer that it means Father of the Year in French.
Spoiler. It doesn’t.
Sawyer doesn’t speak French like Tomer and I do. Now Sawyer will have a door sign that says Shit Disturber. And I fully support this gift.
And finally, Lettie got Klein’s mother an adult coloring book called Southern Swears for Fucking Ladies . I’m only slightly jealous that I didn’t get one of those.
Having finally emptied the gift sack, I heft my aching back over to the row of chairs and collapse in the one beside Maddie. She’s holding two unopened presents on her lap. One from Lettie and one from me.
“How come you didn’t open them?” I ask.
Her soft smile somehow makes my back hurt less. “Well, this one is too pretty to open.” She gestures at the one Lettie wrapped.
“And the other?”
“I was waiting for you.”
Her answer knocks the wind out of me. Because that’s the same thought I’ve had about her since I walked into that diner all those years ago.
Later that night, we talked about a lot of things. In a voice cushioned by weariness and fatigue, she asked, “ Alan, why haven’t you ever gotten married? ”
“I’ve been waiting for the right woman,” I said, trying to be aloof.
I didn’t know it at the time, but my answer was true. And a part of me knew then that I’d finally found her.
I tug the hat off my head and remove the Santa beard.Shifting my weary frame toward her, I fling one arm over the back of her chair. “Well, I’m here now, Maddie.”
Her throat works down a forced swallow. I’m swept up in memories of all the times I’ve kissed her there, knowing it’ll never be enough.
Daintily, she shakes the gift by her ear. “It’s very light. Obviously very small.” She shakes it again. “And silent.”
Attempting to keep my face impassive, I nod along and give nothing away.
“Is there even anything inside?”
“There is,” I confirm, my stoic mask slipping.
Her eyes narrow into crescents. “Is it jewelry?”
“Nope. I heeded your warning.”
She was explicitly clear I wasn’t allowed to buy her jewelry because she knew it would be a ring.
“Good boy,” she says from behind a sly grin. “And you’re sure I should open this here? With witnesses?”
“Open it anywhere you like.”
Her fingernails toy along the wrapping paper crease. “Can I have a hint to help me decide?”
I roll my eyes and shrug.“Sure.”
“What material is it made of?”
I lean forward, ensuring I’ve heard her right.“Material?”
She nods.
“Medieval iron ore,” I joke, barely containing a barking laugh.
“I mean... is it metal like a key? Soft like a fabric?”
“It’s paper, Maddie.”
She bunches her lips in the corner of her mouth.“Like a letter?”
“Just open it, woman,” I snap without any heat.
“Fine, Mr. Bossy Pants.”
She finally starts opening it, running her finger longways under the seam of the paper, popping through the thin piece of tape. The anticipation lodges in the base of my gut as I watch her every move. By the time she’s removed the paper and popped the lid off the tiny box, I’m about to jump out of my skin with nerves.
Her thin eyebrows bunch as she looks at it, likely trying to figure out what it is. She plucks the folded, worn piece of green paper out of the box.
Regret and doubt attempt to poke their way through my once confident facade.
Was this a mistake? Will it upset her? Or will she see it for the romantic gesture I intend it to be?
I shake off the second thoughts with a pointed swoop of my head.
No . I know Maddie. And this is the right thing to give her.
As she unfolds the page, her amused curiosity fades, wiping down her face like she’s tugging off a mask. Her eyes scan from left to right as she reads the small page. More than likely, she’s deciphering the server’s chicken scratch. I’ve read it countless times and can recall it by heart.
1 Diet Coke
1 Cup of Tomato Soup
1 Grilled Cheese Sandwich
1 Dr. Pepper
1 Double Cheeseburger with fries. 86 pickles.
The last two items scrawled on the order pad were for Leo.
She meets my eyes, lips pursed sharply. “Alan, what in the world is this? A receipt from a diner?”
“You don’t recognize it?”
“It looks pretty old. So am I, though.” She turns the receipt over. “I guess the soup and sandwich were for me since it’s written next to the Diet Coke. The pickles.” She clicks her tongue. “That doesn’t make sense because you love pickles. What is this?”
“Here’s a hint,” I tell her, pointing at the bottom of the white register tape stapled to the bottom corner of the order slip.
“Is that a date?”
“Yes.”
“That’s like . . . fifteen. No. Sixteen years ago.”
“Yep. Sixteen.”
Her jaw unhinges as she does the mental math to roll back the calendar to the night we met. In a shitty diner in Georgia, just off base.
The night I swiped the check from her hand and insisted on paying for it while she and Leo discussed where she’d stay that night. She’d driven straight through from Maine to Georgia to hide from her piece of shit husband when she learned he’d made bail. I’ll never forget the sight of her stitched-up cheek and black eye.And the stunning woman beneath them.
Without speaking, she carefully refolds the check in the reverse pattern and sets it back in the box. She stares at it for a few heavy seconds before placing the lid back on it.
When she glances at me, her eyes are misty. “Why did you keep this?”
Despite knowing she’d ask some variation of this question, I clam up now that the moment to answer is upon me. My mouth refuses to open.
“It wasn’t a great time for me, you know?” Her voice is so low I have to strain to hear her. “But there was one good memory?—”
Her shoulders roll back, and she whips around toward the sound of approaching footsteps.
Unfortunately, we’re interrupted before I can apologize for bringing up ghosts from her darker times and explain what that night meant to me. What it meant to our entire Redleg family.
Dammit. I was so caught up in the moment with Maddie that I fail to notice several of my kids approaching.
Lionheart’s at the front of the group, holding a shoebox-sized wrapped gift. Sawyer, Shep, and Kri flank him on the right. My 3-person intel team plus Lettie stand on his left.
“One last gift,” Leo announces proudly, extending the box toward me.
I glance at Maddie before taking the box. If she gives me the slightest signal, I’ll send them away and return all my focus to her.
But like always, she refuses to put herself first.
She eagerly nods, her eyes bouncing between the gift and my face.“Open it.”
Stifling a pissy groan, I tug on the end of the bright gold ribbon. With far less grace than Maddie showed when opening her gift, I tear into mine.
Lettie reaches out to take the wadded-up wrapping paper from my hands as I stare in utter silence at the box. For ten. Fifteen seconds.
I don’t even open the box because I already know what’s inside.
Lettie whistles quietly. “Oh, good gravy. What did y’all do? He looks mad enough to chew nails and spit tacks.”
Tomer starts to chuckle but chokes it back. Klein’s less successful, so he attempts to hide it in a cough instead.
After crossing my arms and resting them on top of the box, I spear them with my bossiest fucking glower, all traces of Christmas cheer vaporized. “If this is my motherfucking tablet hidden in a signal jamming box, you’re all going on the shit list.”
Sawyer’s laugh erupts like a braying donkey. Leo tries to hold his in, utterly failing when a guffaw barrels out of him. The others follow suit.
Not me.
Inhaling briskly through my nose, I suppress my response, feigning anger.
“I didn’t even work here when this was taken,” Mia insists, her hands up in surrender position.
“Fine. You’re excused.” I double the intensity of my glare, openly scrutinizing her for signs of falsehood. “Unless you knew about it and never told me.”
“Nope. First I heard about it was tonight.”
After a brief pause, I wave her off. Her shoulders deflate with a relieved sigh.
I quite enjoy the threat of the shit list and the fear it evokes.
“I’d also like to request immunity,” Lettie tosses. “I’m innocent. In fact, I only came over ’cause I’m nosy as a raccoon snoopin’ round the can in the back alley of a greasy spoon.”
Kri fails to hide her face behind her palm as a two-note laugh sneaks out the side of her mouth. The sound causes a crack in the armor everyone’s hiding behind, and laughter undulates around the group again, louder this time and exploding in a crescendo of merriment.
We laugh so long and hard that I’m half tempted to let this one slide.
After all, it’s Christmas.
Nah .
Fuck that. They’re all on the shit list.
Thanks for reading Ho Ho Oh No! I hope you loved it as much as I did.