Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Gunfire cracked the night like an exploding firework, sharp and jarring, snapping Jayda back to the reality of the threat on her life.
She stumbled against Michael, her lips tingling, her breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a scream. They had kissed. She had kissed her archenemy.
And now, bullets were flying while the warmth of Michael’s mouth on hers could still be felt. Nothing made sense.
“Run!” Michael’s voice echoed in the night with urgency, his hand seizing hers before she could blink.
They bolted, boots pounding the icy pavement, weaving between lamppost shadows.
The sting of cold air burned Jayda’s lungs, but she didn’t dare slow.
Trouble had found them again. She should’ve been annoyed that Michael had jumped from the train after her.
She should’ve snapped at him for interfering.
But she wasn’t annoyed. She was grateful.
As bullets sparked against a metal trash can just feet away, Jayda realized she had never in her life been so glad not to be alone.
Michael pulled her toward the cover of a stone archway, his arm instinctively braced against her back as another shot cracked in the distance. The sound ricocheted through the city square, bouncing off windows and brick walls, impossible to pinpoint.
Her pulse thundered. “Where is he?”
Michael shook his head, his expression fiercely focused. His other hand rested against the bricks, shielding her with his body. His eyes darted across the street. “I don’t know. Keep moving.”
They sprinted again, this time dodging a row of iron benches and ducking behind a pillar wrapped in garland and twinkling lights. The absurdity hit her then—how something as beautiful as Christmas decorations could become cover in a street chase.
A shot rang out, splintering the wooden frame of a storefront across the street. Jayda flinched, clutching Michael’s hand tighter.
The strength of his grip startled her. She had never held someone’s hand in desperation like this. Not since she was a child clinging to her mother’s before sickness tore them apart. Independence had been her armor. Needing no one had been her mantra.
Yet here she was, tethered to Michael Blair—the boy she used to despise, the man she thought still resented her—and all she wanted was not to let go.
They cut a sharp turn, lungs burning, legs aching. Jayda thought her chest might split open when suddenly a sound rose ahead that froze her in place.
Singing.
She blinked in disbelief.
A group of bundled carolers stood in the glow of a corner streetlamp, their voices lifted in soft harmony. The melody floated like fragile glass over the chaos, wrapping the night in calm.
“Silent night, holy night…” they sang.
Michael’s hand tightened on hers, slowing their run. He pulled her back against the wall, opposite the carolers. His chest heaved against her shoulder as he whispered, “We can’t lead him toward them.”
Jayda nodded quickly, pressing herself into the shadows beside him. They crouched, letting the music mask their ragged breathing.
The gunfire stopped.
Jayda’s ears strained against the silence. Only the carolers sang, their breath visible in white puffs, their faces lit with the candles they held. The contrast was surreal—death and danger only a heartbeat away, yet here was peace.
It was almost as though even their pursuer respected the moment.
Her shoulders dropped an inch, the tightness in her chest loosening as the voices wove around them. For the first time since the shots began, Jayda breathed deeply.
Michael leaned closer, his whisper brushing her ear. “Funny how even a shooter has to pause for Christmas.”
A laugh bubbled up in her throat, too breathless to release. She turned slightly, her gaze catching the flicker of wonder in his eyes. “You think that’s what this is? Holiday respect?”
“I think…” His voice softened. “I’ve never paid the season much thought before. Maybe I should have.”
She swallowed, her throat tight at his confession. She wasn’t supposed to feel anything for him—least of all this strange ache at his honesty.
“My mom…” Jayda’s voice trembled, but she pushed through. “She made Christmas matter, even when we had nothing. Even if it was just paper snowflakes and cookies from ingredients she scraped together. She made it feel special.”
Michael’s jaw worked, his eyes on the carolers. “I’m glad to hear that. I’m sorry I never asked before. I was just angry that you rejected my mom’s attempts.”
Guilt stabbed her chest, sharp and unexpected.
Ginny. Sweet, persistent Ginny, who had tried to make Christmas special too, who Jayda had kept at arm’s length.
“I never let myself enjoy it with Ginny. It felt like cheating on my mom. Like if I let myself belong to her family, I’d forget my real one. ”
Michael’s gaze flicked to her. His voice was low. “I humored my mom. But if I’m being honest—I’ve been ungrateful. For all she’s done.”
Jayda blinked, the weight of realization settling over her like the hush of snow. “We left her behind and this silly train trip she loved putting together. We just…left.”
The song shifted, the carolers’ voices rising in cheerful tempo as they moved on, singing, “We wish you a merry Christmas…”
The feeling changed instantly, from peace to war. Michael straightened, scanning the street again.
Jayda’s chest thudded with urgency. “We have to get back on that train before Ginny realizes we’re gone.”
Michael nodded. “She will be heartbroken.”
“But how will we get to the next stop? It’s Missouri.”
“Nearest rental car’s three blocks,” he said, checking his phone, thumb quick over the screen.
Jayda seized his hand, no hesitation this time. “Let’s move. Together.” And before fear could stop her, she leaned up and kissed him quickly. Maybe out of reassurance that she wasn’t doing this alone, or maybe out of a need she wasn’t ready to dissect.
His stunned inhale brushed her cheek. His eyes burned into hers, sparking with determination. “When this is over, we need to talk.”
“If we make it.”
He kissed her back. “Oh, we’ll make it. I’ll make sure we do.”
The rental car place was smaller than Michael expected, tucked in at the edge of the bus terminal lot like an afterthought.
Its neon sign flickered against the evening sky, the glow barely cutting through the thick, falling snowflakes.
Inside, the clerk looked half-asleep, leaning on the counter with a weariness that said he’d rather be anywhere else than renting out cars on Christmas week.
Michael filled out the paperwork, his drivers license sliding across the counter with hands that he willed to look steady.
But the adrenaline still hummed from earlier, every nerve on edge.
Jayda stood just behind him, silent, her arms folded tight across her chest, her eyes flicked to the windows.
The shooter was still out there, tracking them.
“Lucky day,” the clerk muttered, pushing a single key across the counter. “One left. Small hatchback.”
Michael lifted an eyebrow. “Just one? Anything…faster?”
The clerk shrugged. “Nope. It’s Christmas week. You want it or not? Folks have been snatching them up before the storm gets bad.”
Michael glanced at Jayda. She gave the smallest nod. They didn’t have options. He took the key.
The hatchback sat under a blanket of snow in the lot’s corner, barely visible until they trudged up to it.
Michael brushed off the windshield with the side of his arm, revealing a car that looked more suited to grocery runs than mountain roads.
They might not catch the train until Denver if they didn’t get driving. He heard Jayda’s low exhale behind him.
“Cozy,” she said, voice dry.
Michael opened the driver’s side door with a creak. “If cozy’s another word for impractical in a snowstorm.”
The car sputtered to life on the third turn of the key. The heater groaned before finally pushing out a weak stream of lukewarm air. Michael adjusted the mirrors, gave the wheel a testing grip, and pulled out of the lot.
The road stretched dark ahead of them, snowflakes swirling under the beams of the headlights. He could feel the tires slipping now and again, struggling to grip. The weight of catching the train pressed down heavy.
For a while, silence filled the compact car, broken only by the windshield wipers fighting against the snow. Michael kept his eyes on the road, but his awareness stayed trained on the woman beside him. He could feel her restless energy—like she was holding her breath.
Then, out of nowhere, she laughed.
It startled him enough that his grip tightened on the wheel. “What?” he asked, his voice sharper than he intended. “What’s so funny?”
She shook her head, still laughing softly, a sound both strange and startling in the tense quiet.
“I was just thinking…if someone asked me a week ago if I’d be in a car with Michael Blair, of all people, during a snowstorm, chasing after his family to catch a train…
” She pressed her gloved hand to her mouth to stifle another laugh.
“I’d have told them they were out of their minds. ”
Michael cut her a quick look, surprised by the brightness in her eyes. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to see it—her laughing, even at his expense. It cracked through the fear like a match struck in darkness.
“You think this is funny?” he said, but his tone softened, teasing.
“I think,” she said, still grinning, “this must be some kind of Christmas miracle. You and I in this car, together.”
Warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the heater kicking in. He nodded, turning his attention back to the snowy road. “Miracle’s one word for it.”
Her laughter faded into a smile, and she leaned back against the seat, her breath fogging faintly in the cool air of the cabin.
For the first time since this whole thing started, Michael felt something ease inside him.
They were still being followed, still in danger, still driving through a snowstorm in a car that wasn’t built for it—but sitting next to her, it didn’t feel quite as impossible.
He focused on the road, but his thoughts wandered.
His boss was expecting a story before Christmas Eve.
Something nostalgic. Families coming together for the holidays.
Heartwarming copy that readers could sip cocoa over.
But what would he think if Michael delivered something different—raw, urgent, a story about family that wasn’t tied up with bows and candlelight but with grit and sacrifice?
A story about choosing to be together, no matter the cost?
The idea sparked something inside him, something that pushed against the weight he carried. But he kept it to himself. The last thing Jayda needed was to think he was doing all this for a headline. He was doing it because…well, because he cared.
Snow thickened, swirling faster. Michael leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing as he scanned the road ahead. His hands tightened on the wheel. He could feel the car shudder under him, straining.
Then headlights flared in the mirror.
He stiffened at the sight of a vehicle behind them, closing in too fast.
Jayda noticed immediately. Her head snapped toward the side mirror, her posture going rigid. “Michael…”
“I see it,” he said, forcing calm into his tone even as adrenaline spiked through him.
The headlights grew brighter, closer. The other vehicle’s engine roared, tires crunching over snow and ice. Michael kept their hatchback steady, hands tight, eyes darting to the narrow shoulders of the road. Snowbanks rose high on either side. No room. No escape.
The vehicle swerved, nudging too close. Gunshots pierced the night.
“Michael!” Jayda’s voice sharpened with fear.
A loud pop jolted the car violently, forcing it toward the snowbank. The wheel fought in his hands. The tires skidded, screaming against the ice.
Michael gritted his teeth, muscles straining as he tried to hold them steady, but momentum was against him. The hatchback lurched sideways, the headlights cutting wild arcs across the snow.
Jayda braced herself against the dash, eyes wide, lips parted in a silent scream.
And then—
The world tilted.
The car slid off the road, crunching into the bank with a bone-jarring slam. The engine sputtered and died.
For a moment, silence. Only the sound of their ragged breathing.
Michael’s hands still gripped the wheel, knuckles aching. His chest heaved, heart pounding in his ears. Slowly, he turned his head toward Jayda.
“You okay?” he asked, voice rough.
She nodded quickly, but her eyes were still wide, adrenaline shining there. “I think so. You?”
“I’m fine,” he said, though his pulse screamed otherwise. He forced his hands off the wheel, flexing fingers that still trembled. “We’re off the road.”
Jayda turned to look out her window. Snow pressed up against the glass, the world outside dark and distorted. She drew a sharp breath. “They’re still out there. But if we stay here, we’ll freeze to death.”
Michael searched the street above. Headlights glowed on the road above, lingering for a beat before sliding away into the storm.
But for how long until they circled back to finish them?
Michael exhaled hard. They were being hunted. And the night was only beginning.