Chapter 17 #2
We work together, winding the lights around the tree from bottom to top. He's taller, so he handles the higher branches while I focus on the lower ones.
"How was the writing?" he asks as we work. "You seemed pretty into it."
"It was good. Really good, actually." I tuck a strand of lights deeper into the branches. "The story just kind of poured out of me. I've never felt anything like it."
"What's it about? Are you writing romance?"
I hesitate, then decide to tell him. "No," I laugh, shaking my head.
"I've always wanted to write psychological thrillers.
A woman who discovers her husband has been gaslighting her.
Making her think she's crazy. And then she finds out he's done it before, to other women.
Women who all looked like her. Women who all disappeared. "
He's quiet for a moment, and I worry I've said too much. That it's too dark, too twisted. But then he says, "Sounds terrifying."
"It is. At least, I hope it is. That's kind of the point."
"I bet it's good," he grins.
"You keep saying that, but you haven't read it."
"Don't need to." He plugs in the strands, and the tree lights up with a warm golden glow. "There. What do you think?"
"It's beautiful."
"It is." But he's not looking at the tree. He's looking at me.
Heat floods my cheeks, and I quickly turn back to the ornament boxes. "So what's next?"
"Ornaments. Pick whatever you want."
I kneel down and start going through the boxes.
Some of the ornaments are clearly old, probably from Chase's childhood.
There are a couple of handmade ones with Chase written at the bottom.
You can see how his penmanship changed as he grew up.
Others are more recent. One of them has an anniversary date on it, but not the name of his wife.
"You don't have to use that," Chase says quietly. "I probably should have gone through the boxes before I brought them down."
"Do you want to use it?"
He considers for a moment. "I think she would have liked you. I think she would have wanted her ornament on the tree, whoever was decorating it."
Something about the way he says it, the soft way he speaks, makes my throat tight. "Then we'll use it."
We hang ornaments in comfortable silence. I hand him one, he hangs it. He hands me one, I do the same. The tree fills out slowly, sparkling and twinkling with magic.
"Tell me more about your book," Chase says as he hangs a glass icicle near the top.
"What do you want to know?"
"Does Emma get away?"
"I don't know yet. I haven't written that far."
"But you must have some idea. How you want it to end."
I think about it, about Emma running through the dark woods, about David chasing her. Their breaths puffing in the cold air as he chases her. About all the women who came before her who didn't make it. "I think she does. I think she gets away and she exposes him. I think she saves herself."
"Good." He looks at me over the tree. "That's the kind of ending she deserves."
"What about you?" I ask. "If you were writing it, how would you end it?" Now I'm curious about what he would do, compared to me.
"Me? I'm not a writer."
"But if you were."
He's quiet for a moment, thinking about it. "I'd have her get away, yeah. But I'd also have her go back. Not to him, but to the house. I'd have her burn it down with all his secrets inside. Make sure he can never do it to anyone else."
"That's dark."
He pulls a face, looking pointedly at me. "You're the one writing about serial gaslighting and murder."
I laugh. "Fair point. But I like your ending. Maybe I'll use it."
"Feel free. I don't charge royalties." He throws me a wink. "I'll just charge orgasms."
I purse my lips, and roll my eyes. "You know I'll give you those for free."
We finish the ornaments and step back to admire our work. The tree is stunning, covered in sparkles. It transforms the whole cabin, makes it feel less like a shelter and more like a home.
"We need a topper," Chase says, digging through the last box. He pulls out a star, it's wooden with a glitter outline. "Me and my wife made this. Our first Christmas together."
He holds it out to me, and I shake my head. "You should put it on."
"I can't reach the top without a ladder," he measures the distance from the top as he looks up at it.
"So get a ladder."
"Or." He crouches down slightly. "You could get on my shoulders and do it."
"Chase, I'll fall."
"I won't let you fall. I promise."
I look at him, at the certainty in his eyes, and I believe him. So I take the star and let him help me onto his shoulders. He stands slowly, carefully, his hands gripping my legs to keep me steady.
"Okay?" he asks.
"Okay." I reach up, stretching toward the top of the tree. My fingers brush the highest branch, and I carefully slide the star into place. I don't want to drop this, it obviously means a lot to Chase, which means it does to me. "Got it."
He lowers me back down, his hands sliding from my legs to my waist, and for a moment we just stand there, my hands on his shoulders, his hands on my waist, our faces inches apart.
"Perfect," he murmurs, but I don't think he's talking about the tree.
Neither am I.
I lean in and kiss him, slow and deep, and he responds immediately. His hands tighten on my waist, pulling me closer, and I thread my fingers through his hair. The kiss gets out of hand, heat spreading through me, and when we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"We should probably finish decorating," I say, even though that's the last thing I want to do right now.
"Probably," he agrees, but he doesn't let me go.
We stand there for another moment, wrapped up in each other, and then he steps back with a frustrated sigh. "Garland. We still need to hang the garland."
"Right. The garland."
We drape it across the mantle, weaving in some of the ornaments we didn't use on the tree. By the time we're done, the whole cabin looks like something out of a Christmas card.
I sink onto the couch, exhausted but happy. Chase joins me, pulling me against his side, and we sit there looking at what we've created together.
"Thank you," I tell him.
"For what?"
"For this. For giving me a reason to celebrate again. For believing I could write. For," I gesture vaguely at everything. "Just all of this."
"You don't have to thank me for any it."
"I know. But I want to."
He kisses the top of my head, and we fall into comfortable silence. Outside, the snow has started to fall again. Inside, the tree glows and the fire crackles and I feel something I haven't felt in longer than I can remember.
Safe.
"Chase?" I say into the quiet stillness of the room.
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad I'm here. I'm glad I didn't…" I stop, the words catching in my throat. "I'm glad you saved me."
His arms tighten around me. He drops a kiss to the top of my head. "Me too. Every single day, me too."
We sit there, watching the lights on the tree twinkle, and I let myself imagine a future. One where I finish my book. Where Chase and I figure out what this thing between us is. Where I stop running from my past and start building a damn future that I can be proud of.
It's terrifying and everything I want all at once.
But as Chase holds me close and the snow falls outside, I think maybe, just maybe, I'm ready for it. Ready to stop just surviving and start actually living.
Ready to take the chance that I'm worth something more than what Stanley told me I was.
Ready to believe that feelings and love can actually be real.