Chapter 21
Harrison
Nothing good ever happens on a lonely stretch of tarmac at o-dark thirty.
Ever.
For the last fifteen minutes, the only other vehicle on the road has been a U-Haul that apparently took a blood oath against letting me pass.
Every time I tried going around it, the thing drifted into my lane like we were filming Fast & Furious: Moving Day.
Butthead.
I slow to a stop near a lonely private runway and look around. For the record, accidentally stumbling into a drug cartel exchange would seriously jack up my day.
The good news: there’s a jet.
The bad news: there are no signs of life.
The plane sits completely still.
The lights are on, but there’s no movement inside.
Hmm…
I climb out of the SUV slowly and circle the jet, looking for anyone at all.
Which begs the question…
How exactly do you announce yourself to a private jet?
Is there a ring camera?
A flare gun?
Some kind of rich-person bat signal?
Before I can figure it out, the cabin door swings open and the staircase lowers.
A woman in oversized black sunglasses and an enormous raincoat appears at the top.
What the hell?
Then six large men in black tactical jackets descend.
Not airport staff.
Definitely not airport staff.
They move with the kind of quiet efficiency that suggests military training and a deeply concerning amount of upper body strength.
Especially the two currently maneuvering a full-sized pinball machine down the stairs.
I close my eyes briefly.
“Oh dear God.”
“Harrison Evans,” Hannah calls, grinning as she starts down the steps, “try to contain your excitement.”
“What the hell did you do?”
“Executed Operation Sleigh Ride.”
“Does Operation Sleigh Ride require mercenaries?” I point to the men who could bench a tank.
She wraps me in a big hug as the men keep moving.
Boxes of wrapped presents.
So many wrapped presents.
One of the men brings down an enormous pink unicorn nearly the size of a Smart car.
“Seriously?”
Hannah gasps. “Excuse you. These are core childhood memories for my nephews and niece. They will not be deprived.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “In less than a week, all of these memories have to go back to New York.”
“Consider them portable joy.”
“One of them weighs more than my first motorcycle.”
I gesture toward my rented SUV. “How exactly were you planning to fit all this in there?”
“Not an issue.”
She lifts a walkie-talkie to her mouth.
A walkie-talkie.
“Breaker-breaker, what’s your twenty?”
Static crackles.
Then:
“Pulling up now.”
A U-Haul rolls toward us from the far side of the terminal.
I squint at it.
Wait.
It’s the same truck that spent the last fifteen minutes swerving every time I tried to pass him.
I stare in disbelief as it screeches to a stop beside us.
The driver’s window lowers, and there he is.
Blinking Santa hat.
Crooked fake beard.
“Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal.” Zac Donovan. Forever fifteen.
He taps the side of the hat and Jingle Bells immediately starts playing while glowing red letters scroll across the brim:
HO HO HOLD MY BEER
I huff out a laugh despite myself.
I shake my head. “I can’t believe you guys did this.”
Hannah beams. “Merry Christmas.”
And somehow… I get it.
The fact that my sister coordinated a tactical holiday relocation across state lines because she didn’t want us to miss out.
Completely over the top.
And unnecessary.
So very… family.
Something tight shifts in my chest before I can stop it.
I look between the U-Haul, the tactical moving crew now loading it up, and at least fourteen overstuffed boxes marked FRAGILE in Hannah’s handwriting.
I pull my sister into a hug.
She laughs immediately. “Wow. Emotion. I should document this occasion.”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“You hugged me first.”
“Still yapping.”
Her arms tighten around me until she’s squeezed all the oxygen from my lungs before she leans back just enough to grin up at me.
“Plus, I wanted front row seats for the proposal.”
That stings.
The proposal I want so badly that I can practically taste it.
The one that isn’t happening yet.
Because somewhere in Hollywood sits a runaway ring.
Hannah notices my frown. “What’s with the resting scrooge face? Are we too late?”
“Definitely not,” I say.
Her smile fades slightly.
“You didn’t ask her yet.”
Not really a question.
I shrug. “Timing’s been… complicated.”
Her stare sharpens. “Meaning?”
I rub a hand over the back of my neck.
“Meaning somewhere between Ava’s studio lot and Pierce Maddox getting hauled off in cuffs… I lost the ring.”
Zac and Hannah stare at me.
Then at each other.
Slowly, Zac’s mouth twitches. “Pierce Fuckface got arrested?”
Hannah loops her arm through mine. “Tell us everything.”