Thornbird

Chapter Thirty-Five Happy Holidays, Gabrielle

thirty-five

Happy Holidays, Gabrielle

I spend most of December laboring over my final photography project. I’m not looking forward to the end of the semester. I wish I could take photography in the new year too, but at least I’ll have a mixed media art class that sounds fun.

On Christmas Eve morning, I drive to Starling to exchange gifts with Mar, which we’re doing today because she’ll be on vacation with family for the entire holiday break.

Sitting across from each other in a booth at the diner, Mar and I burst out laughing when we realize we got each other the exact same gift: a framed photograph.

“Great minds think alike, I guess,” she says with a snort.

I admire the photo she framed for me. I remember her taking it in the fall when the leaves were blazing red.

“I love it,” I tell her.

“Same,” she says, holding up mine.

It’s one of my favorites. Sunrise in the Smoky Mountains, serving as the backdrop to three indigo buntings taking flight.

“You’re a hard chick to get to know, Ship, you know that?”

My smile fades a bit, but her words aren’t accusing. They’re gentle, more of an observation. Still, the truth in them makes me uneasy.

“Yeah, well, so are you,” I say, grinning to lighten things up. “It’s a miracle we’re friends.”

She reaches across the booth, squeezing my hand. “I’m glad I met you, Ryan. No matter what you’ve got hiding under the surface.”

We say goodbye outside the diner, and I drive home. The kitchen is warm when I enter, the air filled with the scents of rosemary and sage, and the sounds of up-tempo holiday carols wafting out of a Bluetooth speaker.

I sidle up to Maggie, who’s at the counter rolling out dough for the pie crust and humming to herself. The Shipleys have their dinner on Christmas Eve rather than tomorrow, which is Dan’s family’s tradition.

“Smells good,” I tell her. “Do you need any help?”

“No, darlin’. I’ve got it covered.”

A bittersweet feeling washes over me as I watch Maggie prep dinner. This is my first Christmas without Gran, and I feel her absence like a gaping hole in my chest. I miss her. I wish I could hear her voice again.

Unlike Thanksgiving, tonight’s dinner is a more introspective affair.

Even Jasmine, usually so loud and full of drama, chews in silence, her mind a million miles away.

She’s been hanging out with Connor’s teammate Bo this week.

They’ve been on and off all semester—frankly, I think he’s stringing her along—and it seems they’re on again.

Setting down his fork, Dan clears his throat and raises his glass. “I’d like to propose a holiday toast. To Ryan.”

My head jerks up at the sound of my name. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” He smiles, lifting his glass a little higher. “I’m so grateful you’re here with us. I mean that. You’re part of this family, and I want you to know that, always.”

I nod, fighting the lump in my throat as everyone voices their agreement. Connor nudges my shoulder with a small grin, while Jasmine beams at me, but my heart still feels heavy.

After dinner, we pile into the living room for another Shipley tradition.

They have a Santa hat full of paper slips bearing titles of Christmas movies, and every year they pull out two to watch at random.

This year, I have the honor of pulling movies from the hat.

We end up with Elf, which everyone is on board with, and Die Hard, which leads to an intense debate between Dan and Maggie about whether it actually qualifies as a Christmas movie.

“It takes place on Christmas Eve, Daniel! At a company Christmas Eve party! What else does it need to do to prove itself to you?” Maggie shouts, while the twins and I howl with laughter. I didn’t realize how passionate the Shipleys were about this issue.

Being part of a family is…pretty damn nice. Yet despite the holiday cheer and the good-natured bickering and the alcoholic eggnog that Maggie lets us drink, the ache in my chest won’t ease.

Once everyone goes to bed, I pull out my suitcase from under my bed and fumble on the bottom until I find the scrapbook.

Then I slip out of the bedroom and curl up on the living room couch, my fingers tracing over the photos.

There’s one of Mom smiling in that shy, secret way of hers.

One of her laughing, the sound almost echoing in my head.

I flip the page, and there she is again, holding me as a baby, gazing down with such pride.

A dam breaks inside me, tears streaming down my cheeks. The ache deepens, a cold, gnawing grief that I can’t shake. She should be here, sitting beside me, laughing and holding my hand like she used to. But she’s gone, and I can’t bring her back.

I press my hand to the worn page, my fingers tracing her face. “I miss you,” I whisper.

The tears fall harder, blurring the photos until they’re nothing but blobs and shapes and I can no longer see my mother’s smile.

The next morning, after presents are opened and the obligatory family pictures taken, I pull on my coat, grab my camera bag, and sling it over my shoulder. Dan gives me a curious look, a mug of coffee cradled in his hands.

“Heading out to take pictures? On Christmas?”

“Yep.” I tug my scarf on and hope my voice sounds casual. “Do you mind if I take the truck? I might be gone all day, though.”

“No problem. I’m not going anywhere. Keys are in the front hall. Have fun, kid.”

I head out the door, trying not to feel too guilty about the half-truth. As soon as I’m out of view of the house, I text Chase.

Me: I’m on my way.

When I get to his house, he’s on the porch, smoking a cigarette. “Didn’t think you’d actually come,” he drawls as I climb the steps.

I shrug, stepping past him into the warmth of his front hall. “I couldn’t let you spend Christmas alone. The thought of you crying made me really sad.”

Snickering, he crushes the cigarette butt in the ashtray on the railing. “Today’s just any other day for me. There hasn’t been a holiday in years when my mom wasn’t working a double. I’m used to being alone.”

I follow him into the living room and we sit next to each other on the couch. I snort out a laugh when I notice him pop a mint into his mouth.

“Someone’s presumptuous,” I mock.

Chase grins. “We both know you came here to make out.”

“Keep dreaming, Hedlund.”

He gestures to my camera bag. “Were you shooting today?”

“No, but I might later. Do you want to see the shots I took last weekend?”

When he nods, I pull the camera out and shift closer to him. “These are all from the trails near Mar’s house.”

Chase peeks at the screen. “Not bad, Nature Girl.”

“ ‘Not bad’? That’s what you have to say? This is art, Hedlund.”

He laughs, a low sound that makes my heart skip. “Not everyone’s a fan of pretty trees and lakes. Some people like a bit of action.”

At that, he plucks the camera out of my hands.

“Hey!” I object. “Give that back!”

I reach for it, but he’s on his feet, flashing a smug grin. “Nah.” He tilts the camera, squinting down at the buttons as if he actually knows what he’s doing. “I think the photographer needs to be on the other side for once.”

“Absolutely not,” I declare, lunging for it. “I’m a disaster in pictures. That’s why I take them.”

“You’re gorgeous and you know it.” He backs up toward the couch. “C’mon, one little smile.”

I reach for the camera again. He takes another step back, snapping a photo of my frustrated expression.

“Chase!” I groan, trying to cover my face, but he keeps clicking, taking rapid-fire shots as I dodge, laughing despite myself. “I hate you!”

“No you don’t.”

I rush forward and tackle him onto the couch, my hand finally brushing the camera—

And that’s when he flips me over and starts tickling me.

“Ah! No! Chase! Oh my God, stop!” I shriek, thrashing on the cushions as he grins down at me, absolutely relentless.

“Stop what?” he teases, fingers dancing along my sides.

“Please! Please! You win!” I gasp, batting his hands away, laughter bursting out of me. I’ve lost all control.

He chuckles, finally letting up, and I catch my breath, my face flushed.

“You are the worst person in the world, you know that?” I manage between breaths, shoving his shoulder.

“Or am I a genius?” he counters.

He tips the camera toward me so I can see the last photo he took. The unguarded look on my face. The pure, genuine smile. It’s the best picture anyone’s ever taken of me.

Shrugging, he hands the camera back to me, and before he can blink, I turn it around and snap a close-up of his surprised face, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows.

“Saved for eternity,” I declare with a victorious grin. “Consider it payback.”

“As long as you don’t delete the one I took.” Those deep gray eyes fix on me, earnest.

I swallow. “Okay.”

Energy crackles between us. Something heavy, charged, and impossible to ignore.

“Ryan…” His tone is rougher now, almost questioning.

“What?”

“You know what.”

He kisses me, his hands moving to my waist. Sparks dance through me when the kiss deepens. His tongue brushes mine, a slow, careful slide that sends a thrill down my spine. I loop my arms around his neck, feeling the heat build between us.

His fingers trace the edge of my shirt, then slip underneath to tease my bare skin.

When I shiver, he grins and tugs my shirt up and over my head.

A flush rises in my cheeks as he looks at me, appreciative, his breath coming out a bit fast. Then he strips off his own shirt, and my palms instantly find his bare chest.

The rest of our clothes fall away. Chase takes his time, kissing my neck, my breasts, lower still.

By the time he climbs back up, I’m spent and breathless, and he’s looking mighty pleased with himself.

He leaves me only to get protection, and when he returns, I push him onto his back, leaning down to kiss him as my hips move over him.

He grips my waist, and I moan against his lips, my hair falling like a curtain over our faces, and for the first time in a long time, something in my life feels completely, undeniably right.

Afterward, we curl up together on the couch, his arm draped around my shoulders. I rest my head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my cheek.

“Do you ever feel like you don’t really fit in?” The question slips out before I can stop it.

Chase laughs, but it’s not harsh. More like he’s amused by the idea. “All the time. I’m not exactly the type of guy people invite to birthday parties or whatever.”

“Yeah, same. I’ve never been that girl, you know? The one who’s popular or part of a clique. I like being on my own.”

“Everett’s the one who forced me out of that,” Chase admits, almost grudgingly, and guilt pierces my heart at the reminder of who we’re betraying.

“He’s always dragging me to crap I don’t wanna do.

If it weren’t for him, I’d probably be even more of a loner.

” He pauses. “Most times I’d rather stay invisible. ”

I know exactly what he means. “Me too. I like being in the background. Not having people constantly watching, judging. I’d rather have one-on-one moments like this than be in the middle of a big group.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Just two people, no pressure. It’s better.”

We both go quiet for a moment. I think about my scrapbook, all those old photographs of my mother. There’ll never be any new pictures to add to it. The thought makes my chest clench.

“I’ve been thinking about my mom a lot lately,” I confess.

Chase seems startled by the abrupt topic change. “Okay.”

I swallow. “Wondering if I could have done something to save her.”

“Wasn’t it a car accident?”

I nod, feeling bad about the lie. “I still wish I could’ve been there. And I don’t know how to let it go—the grief. I’ve been carrying it around for so long.”

“I thought she died this summer.”

I freeze, chiding myself for the slip-up. “No, she did. I’m just saying it feels like I’ve carried this grief forever.”

Chase runs his fingers over my hip. “Look, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that grief can eat you alive. If you don’t find a way to let it go, it won’t let you move forward.”

“But if I let it go…doesn’t that mean I’m forgetting her?”

“No. It means you’re letting yourself live. Your mom wouldn’t want you tied down like this. She’d want you to be free.”

I look up at him, grateful for his assurances, but just as I start to feel lighter, my phone buzzes on the coffee table. After how badly I scared my aunt and uncle the night at the lake, I waste no time checking the notification in case it’s them.

It’s not.

UNKNOWN: Happy holidays, Gabrielle.

My stomach drops. It’s been ages since I’ve heard from my mysterious texter. I thought they were gone. Finished with me. Moved on to torment someone else.

No such luck, it seems.

I stare at the message, my fingers shaking slightly. I hate this. This faceless threat that’s been haunting me since I got to Starling, claiming to know my secrets.

“Everything okay?” Chase’s voice cuts through my anxiety.

I quickly lock the screen and sit up, forcing myself to smile. “It’s my aunt. I should probably get home.”

The lie feels heavy on my tongue. Chase’s gaze lingers on me, his brows drawn. But he nods, letting me have my excuse. “All right.”

I wait until I’m sliding into the driver’s seat of Dan’s truck before pulling out my phone again and typing furiously.

Me: Who is this? Just tell me what you want from me.

My message sits there, delivered but unanswered.