Chapter 55Victor
Chapter Fifty-Five
Victor
My phone buzzes, a group text lighting up the screen. I glance at it, feeling that familiar tightness in my chest. The holidays are coming, and without Avery... No, focus on the now.
Roman
So what's the plan for Christmas this year, fellas?
I sigh, not feeling very festive. Before I can respond, Lawrence chimes in.
Lawrence
Don't think I can make it. Gotta travel for work.
Roman
Seriously, man? Work during the holidays? Use Victor's PR company and do some damage control!
I roll my eyes. Typical Roman, always ready with a quip.
Sebastian
I don't think coaching a pee wee hockey league is going to sway West Virginia's opinion on a gas pipeline through their farms.
Leave it to Sebastian to be the voice of reason. His serious nature shines through even in text.
Roman
Worth a shot though, right?
Lawrence
Pipeline is dead, remember guys? But, got a lot to do to with Willow on her alternative energy projects. Could mean a lot for the shipping industry.
The chat goes silent for a beat. I stare at the screen, waiting. Then shake off the silence and type back.
My stomach clenches. The thought of Christmas, once filled with hope, now feels like a punch to the gut. I glance at my phone, scrolling through a week's worth of unanswered messages to Avery.
"Hey, want to grab coffee?"
"Olivia mentioned a Christmas play. When is it?"
"Can we talk?"
Each one met with silence. The ice I'd felt melting around my heart starts to refreeze.
I think back to last week, picturing Avery's smile as we discussed holiday plans. How her eyes lit up when she suggested spending Christmas together over Thanksgiving. Olivia's excited chatter about decorating cookies and watching cheesy movies. It felt... right. Like I was finally part of something.
Now? Nothing but silence and the familiar ache of disappointment.
My fingers type out a response, hesitate, delete. I can't bring myself to tell the guys the truth. That once again, I'll be alone for the holidays. That I let myself hope, only to have it snatched away.
The cursor blinks, waiting for my reply. I take a deep breath, steeling myself to craft another lie, another wall to keep everyone at bay.
I type quickly, not giving myself time to second-guess:
Victor
Sorry guys, I'm swamped with the development. Can't host this year. Looks like early next year or New Year's Eve then.
The lie tastes bitter, but it's easier than admitting the truth.
Sebastian
Everything cool, Vic?
Victor
Yep, just swamped. Vote’s coming up again soon.
Lawrence
Yeah, when’s that happening?
I sigh, rubbing my temples. The development. Right. The thing I should be focused on instead of my non-existent love life.
Victor
Week before Christmas.
Sebastian
Wait, isn't that in a few days?
Victor
Yeah.
The chat goes silent for a moment, and I lean back, feeling the weight of their unspoken questions. They're all waiting for me to say more, to lay out some grand plan, but the truth is I'm scrambling.
Lawrence breaks first, his fiery temperament showing through:
Lawrence
You sure you're good, man? Sounds like a lot to handle solo.
I stare at the message, my throat tight. For a moment, I consider spilling everything. But old habits die hard, and the walls I've built over years in the system are too high to scale in a group text.
Victor
I'm fine. Got it under control.
Another lie. But it's easier than the truth.
Roman
Alright then. Guess we’re all a bit tied up this year.
Lawrence
Let’s aim for New Year’ s
Sebastian
Sounds good
Victor
Sure
The conversation winds down, plans left vague. I stare at my phone, feeling hollow. Another Christmas alone. Just like old times.
My thumb hovers over the email from Jenna. I've been avoiding it for days, but suddenly the weight of everything - the development, Avery, this lonely Christmas - pushes me over the edge. I tap it open.
The first few lines are nothing new. Born in Boston, orphaned young. Raised by her grandparents. A small inheritance that barely covered the move to Worcester. I skim, my jaw clenching. It's all stuff I already knew, stuff that doesn't matter.
A sharp knock at the door cuts through the silence. I jerk, nearly dropping my phone.
"Who the hell?" I mutter, pushing to my feet.
I yank open the door and freeze.
Olivia stands there, her chin tilted up defiantly. Her eyes, so much like her mother's, bore into mine.
"Mr. Stone," she says, her voice startlingly firm for a ten-year-old. "Do you need help getting my mom back?"
I blink, thrown completely off-balance. "Olivia? What are you-"
"Because I have a plan," she interrupts. "And I think you're gonna need it."