Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 60309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
I’m nothing like Scrooge.
The holidays might not have loved me most of my life, but that didn’t stop me from trying to love them.
“Late-night chitchat with my client?” O’Malley says, his pink lips quirking at my client. He looks like a young Cillian Murphy, but O’Malley’s face is more punchable.
I still remember our fight outside of the pub. Feels like yesterday, but it’s been about a week.
“And you care because…?” I ask with the tight lift of my shoulders. “I’m all you think about. You have a hard-on for me. You’re obsessed with what I’m doing and wherever I am.”
O’Malley lets out a noise of annoyance.
Good.
I’m glad he’s annoyed. He’s a locust to me, and I want him not to dig under my skin.
He meets my gaze and says, “Fuck you.”
“Appreciate it,” I say casually like he’s not bothering me, but he is. “I’d been all out of fucks.”
I want to leave him behind and just end tonight on a bittersweet Christmas note. Got my sweater fixed. Didn’t punch anyone (personally, can’t say the same for Thatch). I’m not back in Philly. Which is strange to still be happy about that, but I am.
I really am.
Right as I step forward, O’Malley cuts off my path and reaches for the cupboard above and behind my head. Forcing me to inch backwards, my back hits the counter, and I shift the waxy candlestick to the side, careful that it doesn’t tip over.
It’s still lit.
O’Malley’s chest bumps up against my chest. And for a brief, split-second, I do wonder if he has a thing for me.
He’s staring into me. I can’t read him that well.
“I’m straight,” I tell him, since I'm wondering if he thinks I’m not.
His jaw clenches. “Fuck. You.” He wrenches open the cupboard above my head, knocking the wood into my skull.
Fuck. I wince.
And I bang my shoulder forcefully against him as I shove past. He stumbles a little. Anger boils my blood, and I could so easily wrestle him to the ground. Pick a fight. Throw a few punches.
Won’t make me feel any better. I know that, so I take a few breaths and try to calm the fuck down.
O’Malley grabs a basket of med supplies we’ve all pooled together. After picking out a bottle of pain meds, he doles a few pills in his palms and returns the basket to the cupboard. It’s only when he leaves do I realize that he’s limping.
Guess he hurt his ankle or hamstring.
Alright, I need to go to bed. So I turn to blow out the candle that’s surprisingly still lit, and I hear another set of footsteps.
“Please not him,” I mutter under my breath, expecting the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.
I remember A Christmas Carol from school. I liked whenever teachers played the movie. School was my favorite part of the holidays. Was the only thing that really felt festive. Classrooms were decorated. Sometimes there’d be hot chocolate.
It’s going to be Tony. The third person on my list is coming to haunt me. I jinxed myself or something by thinking about those three guys. I know I did.
Tony is coming to pick a fight. Well, guess what—I’ve already had a cupboard knocked in my skull and been cursed at and sat in silence with my past.
My future can’t be any worse than that.
Can it?
I’m tense, about to blow out the candle and not linger to see him.
“Oh…” Her voice stops me cold. “Hi, hey, howdy.”
Slowly, I twist my head over my shoulder. I must be dreaming now.
Luna Hale throws up the Vulcan salute, wearing three layers of clothes and a knitted beanie with two poms. “What’s up? Or down…you kinda look down.” Her voice is soft in the quiet.
I shake my head. “I thought you were Tony.”
“Oh. Definitely not Tony.” She comes forward, noticing my sweater she knitted but says nothing. Now I’m glad I let Beckett patch the hole for me. “Did you wish I was him?”
I laugh. “No.” I breathe in deeper and knot the sweater around my waist, the knitted arms long enough to tie. “I’m glad you’re not.”
She smiles a little and then touches the back of a chair, the breakfast table cozied up against the windows. “What are you doing awake?”
“Couldn’t sleep. You?”
“Same.” She stares at the cupboards behind me.
“Need something?” I wonder, taking the candle over to the table. I set it on the surface.
She frowns. “I don’t know…maybe later. I know we don’t have a lot of resources…I’ll just wait.”
“Watcha looking for, Luna?” I wonder, seeing her wrestling with telling me.
Her cheeks redden. I haven’t thought she’s shy, but she looks away from me. Must be personal or somethin’. Resources imply food or medication.
“Medicine?” I throw out there. “You in pain?” I hope not.
“It’s not that bad yet,” she mutters so quietly. “Just cramps.”