Chapter 12 Cast
CAST
“Fucking hell,” I mutter, tearing down the white streamers of toilet paper hanging from the bunk bed. “Willow and Damien are never doing Elf on the Shelf again.”
The room looks like a snowstorm. Toilet paper looped around the ceiling fan, draped off dresser knobs, wrapped around the rocking horse’s legs in smug little bows. The Elf sits in the window with its plastic grin pointed right at me, like it’s proud of itself.
I drag a hand down my face, thumb pressing into the bridge of my nose until I see white.
The air reeks of bubblegum toothpaste and that glittery apple shampoo the kids begged for.
It’s too sweet and sits wrong in my throat.
My head’s pounding. Damien’s call keeps replaying in my head.
Penny’s sick. Pneumonia. My brain keeps jumping straight to every worst-case scenario and won’t let go.
“Next year,” I mutter, half to Vincent, half to the room, “we’re hiring someone to deal with this. I’m not cleaning up the three of your messes every other night.”
Vincent stands in the doorway with a trash bag in one hand. His sleeves are rolled to his forearms, tie hanging loose at his throat. He looks stuck between home and somewhere else—polished face, dead eyes. The twitch in his jaw gives him away.
“Start with the ceiling,” he says quietly. “If you turn the fan on, it’ll make confetti.”
I glance up at the fan, toilet paper draped over the blades like streamers. “Fitting,” I mutter. “Everything else already looks like it’s falling apart.”
He doesn’t answer. Just stands there, somewhere far away.
The silence stretches. It used to be comfortable. Now it just hums.
I step onto the lower bunk. The mattress squeals under my weight as I climb up for the paper around the fan. It pulls loose easily, weightless. I can feel him behind me—close enough that I can tell he’s there, far enough that I can tell he might as well be on the other side of the world.
“You’re quiet,” I say, not looking down.
“Just tired.”
“Yeah.” I peel another strip free and let it drift to the floor. “We’re all tired.”
The paper lands on his shoes. He doesn’t move. Just stares at it like it’s one more thing he doesn’t know how to solve.
“You talked to Damien?” I ask.
He nods once. “He said Penny’s resting.”
“And?”
His jaw tightens. “And nothing. She’ll be fine.”
“You sure about that?”
His head lifts. “Cast.”
I look down at him. “You ever notice you only say my name when you’re dodging?”
He meets my eyes—dark, unreadable. “You ever notice you only ask questions you already know the answers to?”
The air goes very still. One of us is about to snap.
I pull the last loop free and drop back down. “You’ve been off,” I say, quieter.
“I’m fine.”
A dry sound leaves me. “Try not lying to the man who controls half of Mexico.”
His gaze sharpens. “Can we not?”
“Not what?” I step off the bunk and face him. Up close, I can see it—the faint tremor in his hands. “Not notice you’re grinding your teeth in your sleep? Not notice you’re standing in a room and not actually in it?”
“Cast.”
“Am I not supposed to notice you’re avoiding everyone?
” My voice edges up. “You want me to pretend I haven’t watched you go through three phones in two weeks?
Pretend I don’t hear you arguing every time you disappear to take a call?
Oh, my mistake—am I supposed to act like none of that is happening? ”
He exhales hard through his nose. “I said drop it.”
I just look at him. Shoulders tight. Jaw locked. The kind of tension that doesn’t come from being tired. The kind that comes from holding onto something that’s already cutting you.
I loop a strand of toilet paper around my wrist like a bracelet. “You know I could help, Vince. You could tell me what’s wrong.”
“What’s wrong,” he mutters, bitterness seeping in, “is that you’re always looking for something to fight about.”
“Fight about?” I laugh under my breath. “That’s rich coming from you.” I gesture around us, white streamers everywhere. “Look at this. This is our life now. And you can’t even stand in it without checking out halfway through.”
“Then drop it, and they won’t hear me,” he snaps, voice low but edged.
“Then stop giving me reasons to keep pushing,” I snap back.
For a minute we work in silence. We peel toilet paper off the dresser handles, unwind it from the rocking horse legs. The Elf keeps grinning from the window like it’s the king of something.
“You know,” I say finally, “if you’re going to keep a secret this badly, you may as well share it. Easier on your face.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.” I retie a bow under the Elf’s chin, then untie it again. “You won’t look at me. You skip dinner. You ‘go for a drive’ and don’t say where.
“Cast.” Warning again. But this time it just sounds tired. Bone-tired.
I stop moving. “If you think I’m going to watch you pull yourself apart through Christmas and into the New Year and do nothing, you’ve read me wrong.”
He drags a hand through his hair. “And if you think I owe you an explanation for every damn thing I don’t say—”
“You don’t owe me,” I cut in, sharp. “That’s the point.
I shouldn’t have to drag it out of you like a confession.
I’m here. I’ve always been here. So has Damien.
So has Willow.” I jerk my chin toward the fairy lights Damien hung over the bookshelf because Rose wanted “stars.” “We are your home. You don’t get to lock the door from the inside and call it privacy. ”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“Correct,” I say flatly, yanking a curl of toilet paper off the closet knob. “I’m dramatic when our family’s not okay.”
“We’re okay.”
“You’re lying.”
He shakes his head once, voice low and controlled. “You don’t need to know what’s going on, Cast. I’m doing my best to keep all of you safe.”
I go still. “From what?”
His eyes finally lift to mine, and for a second I see it—fear. “It doesn’t matter,” he says. “I have it handled.”
I scoff. “Yeah. Looks real handled.”
His mouth flattens. “You are fucking annoying, Cast—”
“Stop saying my name like that.”
He exhales, ragged and hot. He glances up at the fan blades — mostly clear now, harmless again.
“You think I don’t see you?” I ask, voice low now. “You’ve got that empty forehead thing again.”
He frowns. “What?”
“The space between your brows,” I say. “It goes smooth when you’re hiding something. Your temper’s shorter. You hum louder when you brush your teeth. You keep your distance from Willow. You haven’t picked her outfits in weeks. You’re pulling away like you’re already halfway out of this house.”
His jaw works. “Don’t say that to me.”
“Then don’t do it,” I whisper.
“Cast.” This time it’s almost a plea. “Please.”
My chest tightens. “What do you want me to say?” His voice cracks. “That I made a mess I don’t know how to clean? That I’m ashamed? That I hate how it looks on you when I drag it into this house?”
“Yes,” I say immediately. “Say that. Say anything that lets me carry it with you. Give me something to do.”
He closes his eyes. For a second he looks too young and too exhausted at the same time.
“Willow asks if you’re okay,” I say quietly. “She knows you’re not. Damien’s two seconds from punching you, and the kids—”
“Leave the kids out of this,” he snaps.
“They’re not out of it,” I fire back. “This is their house. You think you can storm around in it and they won’t feel the weather?”
“Enough.”
“No.” My voice shakes. “Not enough.”
I step in, closing the distance. “When are you going to act like we’re your family again?
Because since you met Willow, you’ve been treating us like a past life.
We all love her. We want what’s best for her.
You know what that looks like? All of us.
Together. Not you standing outside the door pretending this is protection. ”
He stares at me like I hit him. Maybe I did.
“I haven’t abandoned you,” he says quietly, a tremor under it.
“Oh, fuck you,” I say. “You abandoned us eight years ago. Maybe before that. You act like Damien and I don’t matter anymore. Like it’s just you, Willow, and the kids. Like it wouldn’t make a difference if we were gone.”
“That’s not fair,” he says, voice finally rising.
“Neither is your cowardice.”
He flinches. Color rises in his face. “I am not a coward.”
“Then prove it.” My voice thins to a wire.
He sucks in a breath, sharp. He’s about to say it — the thing he thinks will blow us open.
Then the doorbell rings.
Vincent’s mouth goes flat. He drops the trash bag, straightens his tie, resets his face.
“I’ll—”
“I’ve got it,” I say, already moving. “Finish the confetti apocalypse.”
“Cast—”
“I said I’ve got it.”
The doorbell rings again.
It slices straight through me. I breathe once to level out, then head down the hall. The house is too quiet under the fairy lights, warm and dim and brittle.
At the bottom of the stairs, I pause with my palm on the banister until my chest stops clawing at itself. Then I unlock the deadbolt and open the door.
Cold air hits my throat like ice.
“Mrs. Carter,” I say, stepping back to let her in. “Thanks for coming on such short notice.”
Willow’s mother stands there in a long black coat and a neat scarf. Hair pinned back, everything precise. Her expression is composed, not cold.
She nods once. “Damien called me from the hospital,” she says softly. “How is Penny?”
“Stable,” I say. “They’re keeping her overnight. Willow and Damien have been there since two in the morning.” I pause, then add, “They’re exhausted.”
“I’m sure they are.” Her eyes flick over me, sharp, assessing. “And you?”
“I’m fine.” Automatic. Useless. “The kids are in the playroom. We put on a movie.”
Her expression softens. “Which one?”
“Something with elves and explosions.” The corner of her mouth twitches.
She steps inside, heels clicking lightly on the floor. “I’m glad they have you here, Cast,” she says. “You’ve always been good at keeping things from falling apart.”
I let out a quiet sound. “Not sure I’m nailing that tonight.”