That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe (Abieville Love Stories #4)

Chapter 41

Chapter Forty-One

Sara

I’ve been parked in the red zone outside the hospital, clenching the steering wheel for the past ten minutes. Meanwhile, Three’s inside making a phone call in the waiting room. But the steering-wheel clenching isn’t because Three’s on the phone. I’m sure he’s just trying to reach his family to tell them he no longer needs to be under twenty-four-hour watch.

That’s the good news.

Also good news: Three demonstrated definite cognitive improvement during his checkup, and his stitches are healing nicely. Thanks to frequent bandage changes and all the antiseptic ointment, the doctor saw no sign of infection around either of his injuries. In fact the bump on his forehead is mostly hidden now under that mop of auburn hair. But that’s where the good news ends.

Cue all the steering-wheel clenching.

The first bad news: when Three recounted our schedule over the past few days, the doctor promptly scolded us for being too active. Which was basically like scolding me. Three’s the one with the concussion, after all. He’s arguably not capable of making the best decisions for himself. I’m the one in charge, and I didn’t do the best job I could for him.

Unacceptable.

The second piece of bad news was something we already expected thanks to Nurse Mary: Three isn’t allowed to fly yet because the altitude could trigger possible cranial swelling or strokes. This means no joining his family in Hawaii for the rest of their vacation.

The final bad news we only learned today: Three still isn’t safe to drive himself around. Why? Because of potential seizures or residual brain fog. Apparently the level of risk can’t be determined during a quick appointment. But the doctor said Three may still be under the influence of his concussion.

This little tidbit changes everything in more than one important way.

If I leave Abieville today, Three will be stranded over Christmas without being able to drive himself anywhere. And I already didn’t take good enough care of him the past few days.

Unacceptable.

Also—at the risk of continued selfishness—I can’t help questioning everything Three has said and done over the past few days. With regards to me, specifically. The doctor said still under the influence.

I hadn’t even considered the implications.

Were our kisses based on real emotion, or was his mind too blurry to know any better? Was his confession about what happened with my parents ten years ago accurate, or is he simply remembering false rationalizations?

None of the answers are reassuring.

Releasing my grip on the wheel, I glance out the window just as Three emerges from the sliding doors. There’s a new bounce in his step, and he smiles as he heads toward my car. When he hops in the passenger seat, I crank the heat to fight the blast of cold air.

“Thanks for waiting,” he says.

“No problem.” I pull away from the curb, wishing I could channel his hopefulness.

Trust yourself, Sara .

That’s what Bristol told me to do, and I was all set to follow her advice. But what if Three’s suggestion that he might be open to a second chance with us was just his concussion talking?

What if we were just concussion-kissing in the storage room?

ARGH!

“I thought you’d be happier about being off the hook,” Three says. He’s staring out the window at the snowbanks plowed onto the side of the road. Sunlight glints off the whiteness. It would be magical if I weren’t feeling so conflicted.

“Who says I’m not happy?”

“Hmm.” His mouth tips into a smirk. “The groan that just came out of you was my first clue.”

Oops. I must have let that argh slip out loud. “I’m fine,” I say. “Just tired.”

“From lying awake all night thinking?”

“Something like that.” I offer up a little nod, while keeping my focus on the road.

“You know, experts say the car is a perfect place to have difficult conversations, because you can just look straight ahead instead of facing the person you’re with.”

I tip my chin. “I’ve heard that too.”

“So maybe we should take this chance to talk things out before you drop me off at home.”

“We can.” I shrug. “Except I’m not dropping you off. I’m taking you back to the lake house with me.”

“Why? You heard the doctor. I’m perfectly safe to be on my own now. After Ryan Detweiler finalizes things with Platinum Stays, you’ll be free to go back to the city. Home for Christmas Eve. Isn’t that what you want?”

I swallow hard. I want to say yes, but I don’t think that answer is entirely accurate anymore. And I’ve had enough of wondering what’s true or not. “The thing is, you can’t drive yet, so there’s no way I’m abandoning you now. Which means I’m not going back to the city tomorrow.”

“But you’ll miss the Hathaway Gala.”

“To be honest, I don’t really mind that. What I’m not looking forward to is telling my parents. Talk about a difficult conversation.” I cough out a sad laugh. “If only I could get them in a car so we wouldn’t have to look at each other.”

“Sara, no.”

“No what?”

“You can’t skip out on the gala.” Three’s voice is firm. “Or your birthday. Your mom and dad won’t understand.”

“I’m not skipping out.” I scoff. “I’m just fulfilling an obligation. To you. And they will understand, because I’m going to tell them exactly why I’m staying here. Besides. If my parents didn’t have respect for you ten years ago, why do you care about them now?”

“I care about you. And the fundraiser. You’re the guest of honor for a cause your family’s supported your entire life. It’s your story that gets all those people donating. You’re the big draw. And I don’t want to be the reason Children’s Village gets less money this year.”

“Well, I don’t see another solution,” I say. “I promised Ford I’d take care of you until you could take care of yourself. So abandoning you to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas stuck at your house isn’t?—”

“Then I’ll go with you,” Three interrupts.

“What?” My eyes fly open. “Where?”

Three shifts in his seat to face me directly. “Take me to the gala.”