Under His Christmas Spell (Sins of the Season #4)

Chapter 1 Snow

SNOW

“Caleb! Where are my keys?”

I’m late.

I’m so late that there’s no worthwhile excuse I can give that will save me from reprimand, and my absent car keys make the seconds tick by faster and faster.

After tearing apart my dresser where I’m sure I left them last night, I hurry through my tiny apartment and into the living room where Caleb relaxes on the couch tucked under numerous blankets.

“Caleb! Have you seen my keys?”

“Why the fuck are you yelling so fucking loud this early in the morning?” Caleb grumbles from under the pillow where he’s hidden his head.

“It’s not early,” I snap, rummaging through the old take-out containers, junk mail, empty cigarette packets and more left on the coffee table next to him. “It’s late. It’s really late, and I need my keys but I can’t find them. Where are they?”

Caleb doesn’t reply.

“Caleb! Have you seen them?”

“For fuck’s sake!” He thrusts his head out from under the pillow and glowers at me with puffy, sleep-addled eyes. “Why the fuck would I know where your keys are?”

“Because you constantly borrow my car without asking and oh, I don’t know, maybe for the same reason that someone turned off my alarm so I didn’t wake up.”

“You think I turned off your alarm? How childish do you think I am?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” I mutter under my breath, stepping over discarded piles of clothing and walking to the unit against the wall. Amid old receipts, unfolded underwear, and magazines, the glint of my car keys continues to escape me. “I thought you said you were going to clean?”

“I cleaned.” Caleb sinks back down onto the couch and drapes one arm over his eyes. “Can you like, fuck off or something? I have a headache and it’s growing by the second.”

“You have a hangover.”

“Same damn thing.”

“Is it? Did you drink away your portion of the rent again?”

“What I do with my money is no one’s business, you hear me?”

“It is my business when I have to cover the whole rent again because you drink away every spare dollar you get. The money in our account isn’t enough to cover the whole rent, dumbass. It’s a backup.”

“Fuck’s sake, nag, nag, nag. Dumping you was supposed to save me from this fucking earache.”

“You know what would save you?” Starting an argument this early in the morning when I’m already late isn’t the wisest choice, but every nasally, aggravating word from him makes me angrier and angrier.

“Getting a job and helping me with the bills, getting a job and moving out so we don’t need to be near each other! ”

“You move out.”

“I can’t! All my money goes to keeping a roof over your worthless ass. And mine.”

“How can I get a job when you’re ordering me around like a fucking maid all the damn time, huh? You whine like a fucking bitch, acting like you’re better than me because you have that fancy fucking job at the hospital, but you know what, Snow?”

His arm flings up and he points right at me. “You’re stuck living in the same shit I am, so knock off that fucking attitude.”

“Keys, Caleb!” I yell as my frustrations bubble over. “Where did you hide them?”

His dark, irritated look suddenly melts into the most childish, obnoxious grin and he wheezes out a laugh. “Think I tossed them in the trash.”

“You…” Anger rises inside me like a hot wave and for a second, I can’t even think, never mind yell the words resting on the back of my tongue.

It’s not worth it.

The supposed love of my life turned out to be nothing more than a scheming layabout who perfected the art of love bombing long enough for me to sign a joint lease with him.

His true colors shone through within the month and now we’re both trapped in hell.

A hell that involves digging through the trash at six thirty in the morning because his drunken ass from the night before thought it would be funny to turn off my alarm and toss my car keys.

I find them under a three-day-old banana peel and a rotten tea bag.

My stomach rolls while I waste precious seconds running my keys under the cold water.

How is this my life?

A year ago, everything was perfect.

I had the man of my dreams, this apartment looked like the cutest place I’d ever seen, and I was saving for a trip to visit my family.

Now I’m freezing my fingers off in ice water washing sludge from my keys because my ex is a fucking child and I’m so late for work that I might actually get fired this time.

“When you’re finished wasting time on the couch, can you please clean?” I say to Caleb after drying my hands on the towel. “We’re going to get roaches.”

“You’re never here,” Caleb grumbles, clearly on the edge of falling back asleep. “What do you care?”

“I work in a hospital, Caleb. Are you stupid? Do you think I want to have to detox myself every time I go to work?”

“Then clean,” he grumbles, shoving his face back into his pillow. “No one’s stopping you.”

I have no time.

I have no time for anything at this rate.

With one last withering glance at his sleeping lump on the couch, I have to leave.

Driving to work is my favorite part of the day.

Despite the crisp November air making my car as cold as the morgue, our little apartment is situated high enough that each morning, I drive over the hill and face the first twinkles of the rising sun.

But this morning, there’s no time to enjoy the sun’s pale fingers stretching across the surrounding forest or the far distant lake that glitters because of the ice.

I can’t even admire how the town of Goldwood looks below, nestled into the valley with the late-night frost making everything from here to the horizon twinkle.

I’m so late.

My shift started at five.

Like everything else this morning, finding a place to park is as challenging as getting Caleb to do anything of worth.

My regular spot is taken by someone else’s car, so I end up parking in the open parking lot and rushing across icy ground toward the entrance.

I’m so dead.

I sprint into Thistle General Hospital just after seven to the furious glare of Jen, my boss.

She sits behind the desk on our floor with a polite smile on her face while she engages in conversation with a patient, but as soon as she spots me out of the corner of her eye, her expression flickers.

She’s mad.

I don’t blame her.

Darting behind the desk, I rush into the office and strip my jacket off my shoulders.

I’m placing my bag in my locker when the door creaks and Jen walks in looking ready to murder me.

Her face contorts and she narrows her eyes.

“Oh,” she says, her voice tight. “So you do have a phone.”

The device suddenly turns into a brick in my hand, weighing down my pants as I slide it into my pocket. “Jen, I am so, so sorry—”

“Are you sick?”

Closing my locker door slowly, I shake my head. “No.”

“You didn’t lose your voice either. You still have both legs. What I fail to understand is why I had to spend two hours covering your shift? What was so important that you couldn’t call? Couldn’t text? Couldn’t even send a smoke signal?”

Her voice remains flat and her words could almost be mistaken for concern if I hadn’t worked with her long enough to know each word is nothing more than a blade.

“I’m really, really sorry. I overslept and I—”

“You don’t have an alarm?”

“I do, I just—”

“Did your phone die in the night?”

“No, it’s not that—”

“I expect better from you, Noelle. Do you understand me? What we do here ensures that these departments run smoothly, allowing these good doctors to carry out their jobs without issue. How arrogant of you to think whatever kept you from here is more important than all the lives that rely on a smooth-running system!”

Every word makes the shame burn hotter in my chest as Jen’s voice climbs in volume.

No longer is this a quiet scolding but a full-on teardown that anyone within earshot can hear.

“Not only that, but I am now two hours over my shift. Do you think I’ll get paid for that? Do you think I’ll get time back?” She snorts and points one stubby finger at me. “This is your last chance, Noelle. If you put even one toe out of line, I will have your job. Do you understand me?”

I stare at her, rooted to the spot while cold sweat clings to the back of my neck. My throat turns to sandpaper, trapping any response I might have.

“Now is the time to talk, Noelle. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I understand.”

“Good.” Her nose wrinkles suddenly and she steps closer to me, then her mouth twists to the side. “You stink. Like old washing. Clean yourself up before you deal with any patients, understand?”

A task I can’t complete because as soon as she finishes tearing into me, Jen grabs her bag and jacket from her locker and vanishes.

With no one else due on shift until after nine, there’s no time for me to sneak away and grab a shower or even a change of clothes before I’m thrown into my daily duties as this floor’s Medical Receptionist and occasional Patient Services Coordinator.

There’s a rhythm to it most days.

Dealing with worried family members of surgical patients resting on this floor, handling calls between departments to ensure the right staff go to the right place, booking surgeries for those in need and ensuring all information in the system matches the paper charts dropped off by each passing doctor.

It’s a good rhythm, one I usually lose myself in, but I can’t today.

My heart won’t stop pounding.

Shame clings to me from that scolding along with paranoia that I smell so awful, people can tell I’m living in a pit thanks to my fucker of an ex.

All my clothes rest against my skin like I’ve somehow put them on inside out and they don’t feel right, and to top it all off, I didn’t even have a chance to have…

“Here.”

A sudden quiet, flat voice rises from the other side of the desk, interrupting my thoughts.

I lift my head, expecting to see either a patient, a distraught family member, or a nurse in need of help.

It’s neither of these things.

Standing before me is a man with eyes so dark that they mimic the abyss of the night sky, a daunting sight to gaze into if not for the subtle sparkle that twinkles just under his lashes.

Amid his warm, olive skin, his dark, angular brows knit together as a few strands of black hair slip free of his otherwise perfect hairline and kiss his forehead.

Dark, well-trimmed hair barely hides the sharp angle of his jawline that seems all the more apparent from this angle.

He’s holding out a paper cup for me with the logo of the local coffee cart stamped on the side.

I stare at him in utter silence. His expressionless face doesn’t falter, even when his lips part to speak once more. “It’s hot.”

“Oh!” Reaching up both hands, I take the hot drink from him before it scalds his fingers too much.

The warm aroma of coffee caresses my nose as he nods his head ever so slightly, then continues his path down the hallway with another cup of coffee clutched in his other hand.

Xander Thomas, the lead trauma surgeon and a drop-dead gorgeous man, a man who has only ever spoken to me regarding patient care, just brought me coffee.

What the fuck just happened?