Chapter 21
Carol
The snow looks different when you’re leaving behind ashes. It’s cleaner somehow, like the world’s trying to make up for what it took.
I don’t look back at the bakery. The odor of smoke still clings to my hair, my skin. Every breath tastes like loss. Humbug’s bike rattles beneath us. The motion steadies me, reminds me what’s left, what still matters.
We pass the Welcome to Evervale sign, same chipped paint, same half-dead lights. Christmas town frozen in time. I want to hate it. Instead, I ache.
When the road curves toward the outskirts, he stops at the fork. The baby shifts, a flutter low and certain. I press my palm to the bump.
I say, “Don’t take me to the clubhouse yet.”
He glances over his shoulder, brows drawn. “You got somewhere else in mind?”
“Sugar,” I say. “I just… I need to see her first.”
He hesitates, then nods once. “Yeah. Okay.”
She opens the door before we knock, robe half-tied, hair a halo of red curls. Sugar’s trailer smells like hazelnut candles and cotton candy vape, same as always.
“Lord have mercy,” she breathes. “You two look like ghosts.”
Humbug hangs back, awkward, while she wraps me in a hug that hurts in all the right ways. I start crying before I can stop myself.
“It’s gone,” I whisper against her shoulder. “Everything.”
“I heard,” she says, shutting the door in the biker’s face. “Pine City news travels fast. Sit down before you fall down.”
She makes cocoa like it’s medicine. I drink it, even though the sweetness makes my stomach lurch. She listens while I spill everything, the fire, the cops, the ride. Her face goes from soft to stone. “Humbug said it was Trina. His wife. She was trying to kill me. Just like she promised.”
“That woman’s been poison since the day she learned what eyeliner was,” Sugar says. “You sure you’re okay with him here?”
I glance toward the window. Humbug’s outside, smoking, snow gathering on his shoulders. “I don’t know what I’m okay with anymore.”
“You still love him.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It never is,” she says. “But you’re carryin’ his kid, and he came runnin’ through fire to pull you out. That’s worth somethin’, honey.”
I shake my head. “He lied. About everything.”
“Men like him don’t know truth till it burns ’em,” she says. “Question is, what’re you gonna do now?”
I stare at the mug in my hands. “Rest. Breathe. Figure out if forgiveness is survival or suicide.”
“Then you stay here.”
“Help me break the news to him,” I say, jutting my chin toward the biker.
He doesn’t take it well. “It’s not safe,” he starts, but finishes with, “I’ll be back.”
That night, I dream in smoke. When I wake, the trailer’s dark, Sugar snorin’ in her chair, and Humbug’s sittin’ outside in a truck. I pull on her coat and step into the cold.
He startles when I tap the window. “Can we talk?”
“Yeah,” he says, and rubs his face with both hands. From the looks of it, he’s been staying awake, guarding me from his crazy wife.
Inside, the cab is as cold as the outside. He starts the truck and blasts the heat. “Didn’t wanna crowd you.”
“You didn’t,” I say. “You just look miserable.”
He huffs out a laugh that’s more pain than humor. “That’s fair.”
We sit in silence till the windshield fogs. Then I say, “Why’d you come? To Pine City?”
He doesn’t look at me when he answers. “Being away from you was like serving time, and I didn't commit any crime.”
“That’s not an apology.”
“No,” he says. “It’s the reason for one.”
The words hang there, heavy, honest.
He turns toward me then, eyes lined from too many sleepless nights.
“I lied because I thought I could keep you. You deserved better than club business, better than what I am. But you wanted truth, so here it is, I can’t change where I come from.
I can only fight like hell to be the man you see when you ain’t mad at me. ”
Something in me cracks. “And if I can’t forgive you?”
He nods slowly. “Then I’ll still make sure you and the baby are safe. Even if it means watchin’ you build a life that ain’t got room for me.”
I hate him a little for saying it that way, steady, self-damning, but mostly I hate how much it sounds like love.
“Get some sleep,” I whisper, and leave him to the snow.
Morning comes, gray and mean. Evervale’s lost its sparkle, or maybe it’s me. Maybe my eyes are working for once. No more candy-cane-colored glasses.
Sugar shoves me toward the shower, then toward a plate of toast I can barely choke down.
Humbug comes to the door. “You coming?” he asks, like I’ll say yes.
Sugar gives me a look.
“Sugar says I can stay, as long as I need to.”
“Then I’m staying too. I’ll camp out in the truck,” he says, daring us to argue.
Sugar does in a huff. “On my property?”
“You owe the club. You can take it up with Nick.”
“I don’t owe that ol’ man shit,” she says.
But I notice the crack in her voice. She’s scared.
Looking between them, I don’t want to bring any trouble to my friend. “Where we goin’?” I ask Humbug.
“Back to Evervale Executioners. Lil’ Nick wants a word with you. Club business.”
My stomach twists. “They won’t want me there. Not after I told the whole bar their business.”
“They’ll listen,” he says. “I’ll make sure.”
Sugar speaks up, “You don’t have to go.”
My eyes fall to Humbug. “I'm not certain if I can ever forgive you.”
“I’m taking you to the club to protect you. Not because I think forgiveness isn’t earned.” Holding up his hands he steps back. “Ain’t plannin’ to be in your hair. It’s just the safest place until Trina is… contained.”
I nod. “If anything happens, I’ll be back, Sugar.”
Humbug schools me on the ride. “Don’t speak unless spoken to. Not in this first meeting. You’re on shaky ground with the club.”
“Okay,” I say. “But why do I want to stay with a bunch of bikers who don’t like me?”
“Trina’s still out there.”
Humbug has a point.
The clubhouse looms like a storm shelter at the edge of town, old barn, barbed wire, and the faint glow of Christmas lights someone half-assed across the roofline.
When we walk in, conversation drops. Biker I’ve not met before stands near the pool table, arms crossed. “Didn’t expect company,” he says, nodding at me.
“She’s family,” Humbug says.
“That a fact or a vote?”
Humbug meets his gaze. “We’ll make it official.”
Official? They call a quick church. The brothers file in, curiosity and whiskey already sparking. I take a seat against the wall, heart in my throat.
Their Prez, a big man named Lil’ Nick who resembles Santa Claus with his white beard and bowl full of jelly belly raps the table once. “Humbug says she’s family. Says she’s in the family way. Anyone got objections?”
Murmurs rise. One of the newer guys snorts. “Ain’t she the one who got us that heat with the fuzz?”
Humbug’s voice drops low, dangerous. “Yeah. And she’s the one who Blizzard threatened. The one who one of our Ol’ ladies just tried to burn up.”
“Trina’s your problem,” some jerk murmurs.
Another biker slaps the back of his head. “Prospect’s opinions don’t count.”
“Trina is my problem, but not for long… Anybody wanna keep punishin’ Carol for survivin’, speak up now.”
Silence. Then the president nods. “No objections. Motion passed. The girl stays here. Executioners’ protection.”
The relief that hits me feels foreign, like breathing underwater and realizing you’re still alive.
Humbug grins. “Welcome home, Peppermint.”
They give me a room, small, clean, a space heater humming in the corner. Not the one from before. This one is bigger. On the dresser sits a miniature Christmas tree, crooked star and all.
“You did this?” I ask Humbug when he brings my bag.
He shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “Frost’s idea. I just plugged it in.”
I smile despite myself. “You hate Christmas.”
“Used to,” he says. “Then I met you.”
The words land softer than I expect. I don’t trust them yet, but I want to.
He steps closer, hand hovering near my arm. “You okay if I…”
I nod. He touches my wrist first. His fingers are callused, warm. The contact is small, but it feels like forgiveness testing its legs. Then his hand roams over the swell of my waist. I swear I see a tear glisten in the corner of his eye. Then he’s out of my hair, like he said.
Days pass. I help Honey in the kitchen, pretending I belong.
The brothers thaw slow, like frost off steel.
Speaking of Frost, he treats me like a sister now, loud, protective, always feeding me.
The baby kicks hard enough to startle me one afternoon, and Honey laughs till she cries.
Even Lil’ Nick, old scary biker lurks, watching me when he thinks I don’t notice.
Evenings, Humbug’s outside by the bikes, smoking, fixing, thinking. Sometimes he brings me tea instead of beer. Sometimes he asks how I’m doing. Sometimes we don’t speak at all.
One night, I find him on the porch staring at the horizon. Snow drifts sideways, glowing under the floodlights.
“You still mad at me?” he asks.
“Depends on the hour.”
He smirks. “Fair.”
We stand there till our breath clouds together. Then he says, quiet, “I’m sorry for every time I made you doubt yourself. You were the only good thing in that mess, and I twisted it tryin’ to protect it.”
“That’s the problem,” I say. “You don’t get to decide how I’m protected.”
“Funny, I’m deciding now.”
“Doesn’t count. The danger is real, and you’re married to her.”
“The danger wasn’t real before?” He raises his eyebrows, bringing up the past.
“You know what I mean.”
“I know.” He steps closer, slow, deliberate. “Let me earn back the right to stand next to you, not in front of you.”
Something in me gives way. Maybe mercy, maybe exhaustion. I reach up and touch his jaw. “Then stop apologizing and show me.”
He does, by kissing me once, careful, reverent, like he’s memorizing the permission. The taste of smoke and winter cuts through the guilt. The ache in my chest feels alive instead of hollow, but I pull away.
Two weeks later, Frost hauls us both into the barroom. “You two,” he says. “Owe the club a toast. And I got somethin’ for the road.”
He slides a folder across the counter, news clipping inside. I read, Trina Winter, 34, Charged With Arson, Assault. Her mugshot is ugly as sin.
“Looks like your Ol’ Lady got herself caught,” Frost says. “Gasoline in the trunk, matches in the purse. Karma showed up early for Christmas.”
Humbug lets out a breath that sounds like relief and sorrow wrapped together. “She’ll do time?”
“County already booked her.” Frost grins. “Hell of a holiday miracle.”
I smirk at how Frost is stuck in the fantasy.
It’s months until Christmas. The real Christmas.
Realizing how silly I sounded before, I think of Blake for a brief moment.
Sometimes he was right about me. I truly wish him well.
Then, I study the picture. Humbug’s wife.
The satisfaction that stirs in me isn’t kind, but it’s honest.
Humbug notices. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Just feels like the world finally evened a tab.”
He nods, then looks at me, long and steady. “We got one more thing to settle.”
He reaches into his cut and pulls out a small box. Reminded of Blake, saying he planned to propose that horrible night in the bar, full of humiliation, I instantly back away.
“Not yet,” Humbug quickly says, tucking it away. “But soon. When you’re ready.”
My throat tightens. “That’s not how this works.”
“It is,” he says. “You have my promise.”
The brothers raise glasses. I hug my cocoa, warm as hope. Outside, snow falls slow and thick, muffling the world. I lean into Humbug’s side, the leather cold against my cheek, the heartbeat underneath steady and real.
“You didn’t want my ring tonight, but will you take something else?” Humbug hands me the journal. The one I took from the fire.
“I know you left it for me. I never got a chance to read it.”
“No time like the present. You can reply and hand it back to me.”
I roll my eyes. “You could just text or call,” I say, laughing a bit.
“Carol, you still have me blocked.”
He’s right. I take the journal.
The little tree lights flicker green and gold against the wall as I finally crawl into bed. And I’m too scared to crack it open. That’s why I didn’t ask him for the journal back before.
I remember finding the book behind the bakery, the cookie cutter attached, and my heart swelling. The fire starting, and Humbug rescuing me for real. However, finding out he led Trina to my doorstep in the process made me cautious.
But as sure as anything, I know that’s not what is bothering me tonight. Now that she’s behind bars, I wonder if he’ll ever get his divorce and be free of her. In jail or not, Trina’s still his wife.