Chapter 16
Carol
The next day, Evervale’s still wrapped in its Christmas best, garland on every lamppost, wreaths on every door, fake snow still being pumped out by the machine on Main like the world doesn’t notice winter had already come and gone. But I feel like I’ve been dropped out of the pretty postcard.
Sno-Globes is packed tonight. The tourists want cocktails and carols, the locals want whiskey and distraction. It’s all peppermint and lies. I’m good at those. Lies, I mean. They come easy now.
It’s not Christmas. Maybe I do live in the land of make believe. I’m halfway through shaking a candy-cane martini when the door slams hard enough to make the bells scream.
Blake.
In his long wool coat, snow in his hair, eyes like glass knives.
Blake’s supposed to be out of town visiting family.
That’s the only reason I agreed to work the shift.
I told myself I needed the extra cash, but really, I needed the noise, not just something loud enough to drown the guilt and the wanting.
After the Trina incident, I’m scared to be alone.
The whole bar seems to tilt.
“Carol,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “You’ve been attacked, and you don’t even call?”
My throat closes. “Blake…” I don’t want the whole town to know I’m the whore at my apartment building.
He marches straight to the counter. “I just came from the sheriff’s office. Guess what else they told me?”
“Blake, not here…”
“They said the Executioners are under investigation. Something about one of them organizing a robbery.” His voice shakes, more rage than fear. “And that you’ve been seen all over with that biker. You know the one… Are you helping them?”
The room goes still. The regulars stop pretending not to listen.
“Let’s talk outside,” I plead. “Please.”
He slaps his palm on the bar, rattling glassware. “You lied to me.”
“Keep your voice down,” I squeak.
The bar goes dead quiet. The tourists stare. The locals look away. Sugar’s halfway to the phone, eyes wide.
“Why?” His laugh is sharp and wrong. “You didn’t keep anything else down, did you? Why does it say whore on your apartment building?”
I feel the blood drain from my face.
“Blake,” I whisper.
He moves in, so close that I can smell the fruity gum he chews. “It’s true, isn’t it? You and that biker trash. You’re fucking.”
I can’t answer. I can’t lie anymore. The silence is answer enough.
His voice rises, ugly now. “Jesus, Carol. You’re a slut. He’s married, for Christ’s sake. His wife called me in tears.”
Something breaks behind my ribs.
“Let’s go outside to talk,” I say, still trying to calm him as everyone balks.
“No, Carol. Let’s do this here.” He pulls a pretty present out of his coat. “See this. I wanted to propose on Christmas, but you were too shaken up from the robbery.”
“I was shaken. I swear I didn’t have a hand in any robbery,” I say, talking more to the crowd than him.
“You wanted a show of it. But I wanted to do it at my parent’s place in front of people who matter to me. Not in this damn twilight zone town of weirdos.”
You can hear a pin drop in the bar.
Then the sound of an engine cuts through the hush, low, angry, familiar.
The door swings open.
Humbug.
Leather, beard, snow still melting on his shoulders. He fills the doorway like a storm that’s been waiting for an excuse.
He takes one look at me, at Blake, and I see it, his face going stone.
“Problem here?” he growls.
Blake turns on him. “Yeah, there’s a problem. You’re the bastard who…”
He doesn’t finish. Humbug steps between us, calm but dangerous, like gravity made of muscle.
“Watch your mouth,” he warns Blake.
Blake laughs, nervous and mean. “You gonna hit me? That’s what men like you do?”
Humbug doesn’t move. “You call her a slut again, I might.”
I look over at Sugar who was at the phone. She must’ve called him.
Blake glances around, searching for witnesses, for allies, but all he finds are faces pretending to study their drinks.
“She’s my girlfriend,” Blake says. “Not your whore.”
“Sure about that?” Humbug says quietly.
It’s not a declaration. It’s a confession.
Then Humbug punches Blake. And it lands like thunder. Blake is on the ground.
The whispers start instantly, ripples spreading fast. It’s true. The biker and the bartender. She cheated. He’s married. She’s crazy. I can feel the walls closing in, the noise climbing my spine. My heart’s pounding so hard I might shake apart.
Somehow Blake gets to his feet and comes at Humbug.
“Stop,” I say, voice cracking. “Both of you, just stop.”
Blake turns on me. “You threw away everything for this trash?”
“Maybe everything wasn’t worth keeping,” I snap, louder than I mean to.
He blinks, stunned. Then his face hardens, and I see it, the disgust, the pride. “You’re pathetic,” he says, and shoves past us, out into the cold.
The door swings shut behind him, leaving silence heavy as snow.
Humbug’s still standing there, breathing hard. Everyone’s still staring.
Sugar’s voice breaks the quiet. “Carol…” It’s like she’s trying to stop me from what I do next.
“You were in on it?” I ask Humbug, although finally, I know.
“It’s not what you think. No one was gonna get hurt.”
“So, you didn’t even save me? All this between us is based on a lie?”
I look around the room, at the garlands, the candy-cane lights, the life I pretended was enough. My chest aches, but there’s something else under it. Freedom, maybe. Or the start of it.
I untie my apron, wad it, set it on the counter. “I’m done,” I say.
“Carol…” Sugar starts, but I shake my head.
“Tell Jimmy he can keep my tips.” My voice steadies. “I quit.”
The crowd parts when I walk out. Humbug follows, but I stop him in the snow, hand on his chest.
“Don’t,” I whisper. “Leave me alone.”
He hesitates, jaw tight. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” I look up at him, at the snow settling in his hair.
He nods once, eyes dark and soft all at once.
“What about the Executioners robbing us?” I ask.
“Peppermint, this whole town is a goddamn lie. Yeah, Jimmy paid us to hold up Sno-Globes, make a mess. He collects the insurance. Then he collects donations. And yeah, I was there to make sure no one really got hurt. Can you ever forgive me?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “But I’m free.”
He half-smiles, the kind that looks like it hurts. “Freedom ain’t always sweet. But it’s yours now.”
I turn away before I can change my mind, before I can reach for him again and forget why I shouldn’t walk away.
The wind bites my face as I walk, but it feels clean. Real.
The lights of Sno-Globes glow behind me, blurred through snow. The music inside starts up again, something soft, something hopeful. I hum along, quiet, a little broken, but still here.
Christmas in Evervale keeps spinning, pretending. But me?
I’m done pretending.