Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Snowflakes stung Jayda’s cheeks as the sharp bite of the wind assaulted her.
The hatchback sat half-buried at the side of the road, its hazard lights winking weakly through the blizzard.
The shot-out tire had forced them off, the other car speeding away like a predator knowing its prey couldn’t run.
Jayda’s heart pounded so hard she was sure Michael could hear it.
“They’re going to come back,” she whispered, scanning the white haze of the storm, every shadow a threat, every gust of wind sounding like an engine drawing near.
Michael pressed close, his hand finding her elbow. “I know. Which is why we can’t stay here.” His voice was firm, calm in a way that helped anchor her spiraling thoughts. “Come on. We need to move.”
Her boots crunched through the growing snowdrifts as they started down a narrow street branching away from the highway.
The storm howled. Visibility shrank to only a few feet ahead.
Jayda hugged her arms tight against her body, shivering not only from the cold but from the knowledge that whoever had shot their tire wasn’t done.
Whoever wanted Veronica Carlisle silenced—and anyone standing in the way—wouldn’t let a snowstorm stop them.
“Michael,” she said, her voice breaking with the strain, “if they find us out here…”
“They won’t,” he interrupted, his hand brushing hers as they trudged forward together. “We’ll find shelter first. Stay with me.”
His confidence wasn’t arrogance; it was conviction. Something in it seeped into her bones, warming her in a way the storm couldn’t touch. She tightened her jaw and kept moving, focusing on the rhythm of her steps and the dark outline of houses beginning to take shape through the curtain of snow.
But before they reached the street of houses, a car rolled slowly down the road, its headlights cutting through the white squall. The tires crunched over the snow—too slow, too careful. Jayda’s heart leapt into her throat.
“Hide,” Michael ordered. He pulled her against the shadow of a two-story home, its windows dark, curtains drawn tight. The porch beckoned as a place to protect them from view. They ran up the stairs and pressed close against the wall.
The car crept past, the driver’s face a blur behind the frost-laced windshield. The brake lights glowed red for one terrifying second, but then the car rolled on. Jayda held her breath until the glow disappeared into the snow.
Only then did Michael step back and knock firmly on the door of the dark house.
“Are you crazy?” she whispered harshly. “What if it’s not safe?”
“It’s safer than freezing out here,” he said, his eyes locking on hers, steady. “Trust me, Jayda. Just trust me.”
She wanted to argue, but her bones felt like ice, and every second outside put them closer to being hunted down or freezing to death. She swallowed her fear and stayed close to him as the sound of shuffling footsteps echoed from within.
A light flicked on, yellow and warm against the glass pane. The door opened to reveal an older man, gray hair tucked under a cap, lines etched deep into his face. His eyes narrowed, suspicious but not unkind.
“Can I help you folks?” he asked, his voice rough, like gravel.
Michael’s hand hovered protectively near her back. “Sir, our car’s got a flat. The storm’s too bad to fix it on the road, and we don’t have anywhere safe to go.” His tone was polite but laced with urgency. “We were hoping…maybe you’d let us come in out of the cold for a while.”
The old man studied them for a long beat, his gaze flicking to the road behind them, then back. Finally, he sighed, stepping aside. “Get in before you freeze solid.”
Relief surged through Jayda as she stepped into the warmth of the house. The smell of wood smoke and old pine filled her nose, heat from a cast-iron stove wrapping around her frozen limbs. She almost sagged against the wall.
“I’m Chuck,” the man said, closing the door behind them. He glanced between the two of them with a squint.
“I’m Michael Blair, and this is Jayda. Thank you so much, sir.”
“Couple of young folks out in this mess—it’s no good. Where you two headed?”
Michael answered before Jayda could. “Missouri. We were supposed to meet up with family, catch a train in Kansas City. But with the car…” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.
Chuck’s brow furrowed, then softened. “Train station, huh? I can take you there. Got a truck that’ll handle this weather better than any car.”
Jayda blinked. “You’d do that? Just…drive strangers through a snowstorm? It’s at least six hours from here.”
He shrugged, settling into a worn recliner near the stove to put his boots on. “Storm this bad, people look out for each other. Ain’t no sense leaving you out there to freeze. Besides—” his lips twitched into a small smile—“I like a good drive in the snow.”
Jayda exchanged a stunned glance with Michael. She could see the same surprise mirrored in his eyes but also gratitude.
“Thank you,” Michael said sincerely. “That means more than you know.”
Chuck waved him off. “Don’t thank me yet. Roads are bad, and it’ll take time. Can’t guarantee you’ll make your train, but I’ll get you there and do my best.”
The ride in Chuck’s old truck was tight and cold.
The cab was small, forcing the three of them close together on the bench seat, and the frosty air seeped through the seams despite the heater’s best effort.
Michael took the middle, Jayda by the door, and outside, the storm raged.
Flakes whirled in chaotic bursts across the windshield. The wipers worked furiously to keep up.
Chuck hummed softly to himself, hands steady on the wheel, as though he’d driven through a hundred blizzards before.
Jayda tried to stay alert, but exhaustion clawed at her. Every muscle ached, her eyelids growing heavier with each passing mile. She felt the warmth of Michael’s arm brushing hers, inviting her to sleep.
“You holding up?” he murmured, leaning close so only she could hear.
She nodded, though it was half a lie. Her body felt as if it were made of lead. “Yeah. Just tired.”
“Close your eyes,” he whispered. “Rest. I’ll keep watch.”
Her heart clenched at the caring protectiveness in his words. She wanted to resist, to insist on staying vigilant, independent, but the truth was she trusted him. More than she should. More than she’d ever thought she would.
Her head dipped against his shoulder. His arm shifted, wrapping around her, anchoring her.
“You really think we’ll make it?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I do,” he whispered back. “Because we’re in this together. And I won’t let anything happen to you, Jayda. I’ll get you home. I promise.”
Home. Did she dare hope for such a thing? God, I want to go home.
Her eyes fluttered shut with the prayer on the tongue, and for the first time since the chaos began, she let herself rest.
Michael looked down at Jayda, at the delicate rise and fall of her chest. For once, her features weren’t hardened with wit or sarcasm. She looked like her younger, more vulnerable self again. The girl he remembered being dropped off at his house. He felt guilt twist in his gut.
“Greta used to rest like that,” Chuck said quietly, a smile tugging faintly at his mouth. “Right against my shoulder like she trusted me with the whole world.”
Michael’s throat tightened. “Your wife?”
Chuck nodded. “She was my whole life. Gone five years now, but it feels like yesterday.” His eyes softened, going distant. “She trusted me more than I deserved.”
Michael frowned. The words stung because they mirrored too closely his own truth. He let out a sharp exhale. “Jayda doesn’t trust me. Not really. And she has every right not to. Right now, she’s stuck with me. That’s all.”
Chuck chuckled, warm and low. “You know, I used to think Greta was stuck with me, too. But here’s the thing—you never stop earning trust. Day by day, moment by moment. You keep showing up, no matter what.”
Michael shook his head, bitterness rising.
“You don’t understand. I was awful to her.
Back when she was a foster kid in my parents’ house.
I was older, selfish, too wrapped up in my own life to see what she needed.
I treated her like she didn’t belong.” His voice dropped, rough with guilt.
“She doesn’t owe me anything now. Least of all trust.”
Chuck’s eyes flicked to him again, sharper this time. “Sounds to me like you’re looking for penance.”
Michael’s jaw worked. “If I can help her now…if I can protect her, maybe I can make it right. Maybe I can wipe away some of the past.”
Chuck studied him for a long moment. Then his voice softened again. “Is that all she is to you? A chance to fix your mistakes?”
Michael stiffened. He knew what Chuck was asking. He didn’t want to admit it—not even to himself. “She’s…more complicated than that.”
“Complicated how?” Chuck pressed.
Michael’s eyes slid to Jayda’s sleeping face. The faintest smile tugged at her lips, as if she were dreaming something almost pleasant. His chest tightened. “She deserves more than I can give her. More than I have to give, and I deserve little.”
Chuck’s voice dropped low, as if he was letting him in on a secret.
“Son, none of us deserves the good things. Not love, not forgiveness, not grace. But that’s the whole point of Christmas.
Hope for what we don’t deserve. Hope for more than we could ever imagine.
God’s imagination far outstretches ours. ”
Michael stared at him, unsettled. “You’re saying I should…what? Believe I get a do-over?”
“I’m saying you should ask God for what you want,” Chuck said. “Not what you think you deserve. What do you want?”
Michael’s throat tightened. He wanted to dodge the question, but it hung there, insistent. Finally, he whispered, “I want Jayda to be my friend.”
Chuck’s mouth quirked into a knowing smile. “And what if God wants to give you more than friendship?”