Chapter 11
ELEVEN
I ignored Adam for the next two days after he broke into my house.
Even though the bucket of decorations in my dining room stares at me each time I walk past it, I don’t add any to his yard.
Each day when I leave, I keep my head down, just in case he steps out for his morning run at the same time.
(He doesn’t, something that unfortunately doesn’t go unnoticed by me.)
I also haven’t received any new ransom notes, though when I gather the courage to look, I note that the nutcracker is still in the window.
I’ve also stopped working in my office at night and now do my projects at the kitchen table, though that has absolutely nothing to do with Adam. Of course not. Although my stubborn streak prevents me from adhering to his ten p.m. bedtime, I find myself going to bed by midnight each night.
Again, that has nothing to do with Adam. I’m just…tired.
Though I’m regretting not getting more sleep right now as I teeter precariously on a ladder before I have to head to work, fingers frozen from the cold as I work on hanging Mr. and Mrs. Campbell’s lights.
Maybe if I weren’t so exhausted, I would have been smart enough to keep my mouth shut instead of offering to help.
Yesterday, I went around the neighborhood to check in and make sure everyone was doing okay with their holiday lights and decorations.
I also dropped off pamphlets about the toy and food drives we were still collecting for, just like my grandmother always did, skipping over Adam, obviously.
When I stopped at the Campbells' house on the other side of Adam, Mr. Campbell told me he was getting to it, but he was working late nights, so he hadn’t been able to get to it yet.
A silence lapsed, and I should have just nodded and moved along, but I didn’t.
Instead, I did what I always do: I offered to help, telling him I could probably help him hang the lights before work one of these days.
What I meant was more along the lines of many hands make light work, but he interpreted it to mean I would completely handle the project on my own, hence me hanging up a few hundred feet of lights this morning before I get to work.
I’m reminded why I hang my actual lights up right after Halloween when we inevitably get one strangely warm day. It’s fucking cold right now, and the thin layer of ice from the recent rainstorm that froze makes everything slippery and, if I’m being honest, a bit dangerous.
I’m almost done, and the timer I set on my phone for the absolute latest I could leave is counting down with less than ten minutes to go when I hear it.
“What are you doing?” a voice calls, and I don’t miss that it sounds annoyed, as usual.
“Give me a second, Adam, and I’ll give you the attention you’re looking for,” I say, reaching to snap another light clip onto the gutter.
“Excuse me?” he asks, annoyed. If I weren’t concentrating, I’d look over my shoulder to catch his inevitable irritated look.
“One second, Adam, my god,” I grumble, trying to snap a light into the little figure.
My fingers are nearly frozen, and I’m having a harder and harder time locking each bulb into place, but I’m almost done with this side.
I’ve already resigned myself to the fact that I’ll have to find time to finish the job tomorrow morning.
But right now, I have just five or so more lights to install on this ledge.
Then I can sit in my car and crank the heat as high as it will feasibly go on the five-minute drive to school, hoping the feeling comes back to my fingers quickly.
“You’re going to freeze out here, Wren. And that entire gutter is covered in ice. Why not just wait for the sun to thaw it?”
I huff at him, but otherwise don’t reply. I hear his feet brushing along the ice-frozen grass, edging nearer, and I groan. As much as I enjoy this back-and-forth between us, I don’t have the energy for it today.
“I have school today,” I say through gritted teeth, the twist ties I’m using to hang the lights between my teeth. “And I’m working late.” Silence fills the space as I snap another holder onto the gutter, my fingers stinging as I do.
“Is it really necessary for you to do it right now? Or for you to do it instead of the actual homeowners?”
I ignore him, of course; he wouldn’t understand. Three more to go.
“Wren, come on. Your fingers are purple.” There’s a new softness to his words that I’m not sure how to respond to, though I decide brushing it off is the best option.
“I’m fine, Adam; go away,” I instruct, eyes not leaving my work, even though I’m secretly wondering what his face looks like when he talks softly like that.
I’m down to one more light, though I’ll have to stretch to get it or climb down and move the ladder over.
It’s not the widest stretch I’ve ever had to make, so I decide to go for it.
I need to be in my car and on my way in under four minutes.
Stretching, I almost get it, but then my hands slip, throwing my center of balance off, and I lose my step.
I shriek as I begin to fall, closing my eyes tight to avoid watching the ground get closer as I fall to my death.
Okay, it’s not so high that I’ll die, but I’m definitely going to get hurt.
When I fall, though, it’s over much faster than I anticipated. My eyes are still squeezed shut when my body stops moving and warmth takes over my side. Is it blood? Am I lying in a puddle of my own blood, and that’s why I don’t feel pain? Maybe I actually am dying. Maybe—
“Jesus Christ, Wren, what the fuck?” a deep voice asks, cutting through my own panic.
That’s when I realize I’m not in a bloody heap on the frozen ground.
I’m in Adam Porter’s arms.
And he’s moving me across the yard.
“What the heck?” I murmur. My legs are slung over one arm, my back cradled by his other.
“Do you have a death wish?” Adam asks through gritted teeth.
“What—”
“What are you doing out there?” he grinds out. Finally, I shift so I can see his face, and I notice his jaw is tight. He’s mad. I figured he was annoyed or stressed, but the look on his face is definitely anger.
“Hanging decorations, obviously.”
“Everything is coated in ice. You’re lucky I was there, or else you would have snapped your neck.” I roll my eyes.
“You’re being dramatic, I wouldn’t have snapped my neck,” I say, even though I was convinced I was dead just moments ago. We’re moving, but from this angle, I can’t really tell where to, but I need to finish those lights and get on my way. I shift, but he holds me tighter. “Put me down, Adam.”
“No.” There’s finality in the word, and I pull my head back to look at him, blinking slowly. His eyes continue to look forward, jaw tight.
“What?”
“If I put you down, you’re going to just climb right up that ladder again,” he explains. I realize now he’s moving us across his yard and toward mine.
“Yes, because I have something to do.” I can’t move well because he’s holding me still, so I can’t reach my phone in my pocket to check the time, but I can’t imagine I have much more time before my timer runs out.
“No, you don’t.”
“Excuse me?”
“You need to take care of yourself, Wren. You’re going to kill yourself if you don’t. I tried being nice, but it seems the only way I can get through to you is if I fucking manhandle you.”
“I can’t believe this!” I pull a hand back and hit his chest, though it’s hard, and my hit is more like a swat against him.
Still, frustration is brewing in my veins.
“You don’t know me at all, Adam, much less well enough to be making decisions about what I should or shouldn’t be doing. This is crazy!”
“Well, the people who know you well clearly aren’t getting on your case enough about it if you’re falling off ladders at seven a.m. Why are you putting up their lights?” We’re on my lawn now, and his steps are slowing as he moves up my walkway.
“Mr. Campbell doesn’t have the time. I’m helping him.”
“His car is out front,” Adam growls, frustration clear in the words. I look over his shoulder and confirm that Jed’s car is in fact out front.
I shake my head. “He’s probably still asleep. He works nights.”
“So do you, apparently,” he grumbles, moving up my front steps.
“He actually works nights. He needs the help, so I gave it to him.”
Adam shakes his head, and when he does, the scruff of his light beard scratches at my temple, sending tingling warmth through me.
Well, that’s new.
“You give people too much fucking credit, Wren, and it allows everyone to take advantage of you.” I don’t like the way his words settle within me.
The way they stick a little too close to thoughts and feelings I’ve been burying, the way they too closely align with what Hallie’s been saying, the way they sit sour in my stomach.
But no one is taking advantage of me. If I needed help, everyone would help me just the same. I have the time to help, so I am, just like Grandma taught. His inability to see that and the way he’s twisting up my thoughts turns that sour feeling into anger once more.
With it, I push on his shoulder with both hands now.
Again, it does nothing. “Put me down, Adam!” I shout in frustration.
I don’t expect him actually to do it, though, so when my legs move to touch ground, they wobble, causing Adam to hold my waist with a firm, warm hand while I steady myself.
I push aside how nice that feels, then try to push at his chest, trying to get him out of my way.
But he doesn’t move.
“Adam, move. I have to go finish the lights before work.” His eyes bore into mine, and I’m stuck in his gaze, unable to look away.
“Why?” The words are spoken so softly, I almost think I'm imagining them.
“What?” I whisper.
“Why are you doing this? Why do you have to do this?”
I pause, brow furrowed.
“Because they need help, and I’m Wren. I have to help.” The words slip out without my thinking them through, and with them, Adam’s eyes widen.
“You have to help?”