Chapter 62

Wednesday December 25th

Scottie

Christmas morning this year isn’t filled with roasting chestnuts on an open fire or opening presents under a tree. There’s no eggnog or cocoa or stockings hanging on the mantel, and my heart isn’t filled with the spirit of Jesus Christ or the act of giving. Instead, I’m a shell of myself, my drive and determination to carry on completely depleted.

My dad and my sister are devastated that I didn’t come home, both of them texting me this morning with sadness-laden Christmas wishes and thinly veiled guilt trips. But facing the truth at this point feels akin to skinning my family alive.

Coach Jordan is making us stay on campus for training, I told them. Meanwhile, Coach Jordan is probably having eggs Benedict on her parents’ terrace in Boca Raton.

Do I hate myself for being such a coward? Yes. I do. But if my mom’s not going to fess up to everything that’s happened on her own, I’m not going to be responsible for total sibling destruction over a freshly carved Christmas turkey. What am I supposed to say? Hey, sis, could you pass the potatoes before I tell you Mom’s still a raging drunk?

Thankfully, Dad and Wren are supposed to go to Aunt Carol’s house for the day to celebrate with his side of the family. Once Uncle Shane starts doing his Christmas Walrus impression and placing bets on roll consumption, they’ll forget all about my absence. At least, that’s my hope.

I, conversely, plan to wallow in my loneliness.

Both Julia and Kayla left campus to spend Christmas with their families—you know, like college students who aren’t bordering on agoraphobia—and I didn’t even bother asking any of the other girls on my squad what they were doing. Truth be told, I’ve spent the last few practices trying to avoid any and all conversation as much as I can.

Fat flakes fall outside my window, exemplifying a clichéd white Christmas. There’s not much accumulation yet, but the Weather Channel warned of a possibility of four or five inches.

It’ll be pretty for an hour or two, before the city traffic turns the pure white to brown sludge.

I could take a walk right now, to savor it while it’s fresh and soak in a little Christmasy ambiance, but the idea of running into anyone who might be lingering on campus is utterly prohibitive.

I pull my nose away from the cold glass and sigh. Time is moving at a snail’s pace.

My fuzzy red socks cushion my steps as I grab a bottle of water from my mini refrigerator and a granola bar from my snack basket on top and plop down onto my futon. I grab the remote and pull up one of my streaming services to put on The Holiday. It’s my favorite holiday movie, and if anything is going to be able to take my Grinch-y heart from ice-cold to lukewarm, it’s Kate Winslet’s cheeky humor and Jude Law’s handsome good looks. Cameron Diaz has only just arrived in England and is dragging her suitcase down the snow-covered lane in high heels, when a knock on my door startles me completely.

My body in fight-or-flight, I pull my fuzzy pink blanket tighter around my flannel-pajama-covered body and shut my eyes. Who the hell could it be, and whyyy are they knocking on my door on Christmas morning?

When anxiety is at the helm, she always runs me head on into the fetal position.

They knock again, and I hold my breath. You know, just in case whoever is at the door can hear my breathing.

“Scottie?” a deep, husky male voice calls through the door.

Finn. I swear I’d recognize his voice before my own at this point.

Thanks to the paper-thin doors of Delaney and the fact that I have my television up way too loud to drown out my incessant, nagging thoughts of loneliness, I know he knows I’m in here.

I take a deep breath and climb to my feet, straightening my pajama pants where they’ve twisted at my waist. A few high-kneed steps later, I will my hand to turn the knob and swing open the door.

Finn is there, looking as good as always in a flannel button-down, jeans, and brown boots, but the kicker is that he’s not alone. Three other people stand behind him—two guys, one girl—and they’re holding bags in their hands. One of the guys has a small pine tree hanging over his shoulder and looks fit to be tied with excitement.

“Uh, hey,” I greet nervously, self-conscious of my completely wacky outfit now. “What’s going on?”

“Julia told me you were still on campus, and we were in the neighborhood, so I figured we’d stop by and bring you some Christmas stuff.”

“Technically, Finn made sure we were in the neighborhood,” the girl standing beside him says and drops one of the brown bags to hold out her hand. “I’m Willow, by the way. Finn’s sister.”

I start to take her hand, but she surprises me by pulling me into a tight hug. Her skin is cold from being outside, but her attitude is warm. “It’s so great to meet you, Scottie,” she whispers into my ear.

Finn runs a hand through his hair, looking almost bashful. I’ve never, in the entire four months I’ve known him, seen him look truly nervous. Until now. “Scottie, these are my twin brothers, Jack and Travis. And, yeah, this is my chatter-mouth sister, Willow.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, even though my mind is swimming with confusion and my heart is racing. Finn is here? With his siblings? And they brought me a Christmas tree?

“Not trying to be rude here, Scottie,” Travis says with a cheeky grin. “But do you mind if we come inside? This tree is getting fucking heavy.”

“Trav,” Finn scolds. I shake my head and laugh. It’s impossible to be upset with someone when they’re being so damn honest with you.

“Uh…yeah…come on in…” I quickly glance over my shoulder to make sure there’s nothing too incriminating lying around behind me. I’m instantly thankful I speed-cleaned last night at midnight when I couldn’t fall asleep, when I remember the magazine art I’d made of Finn while I was watching The Truman Show.

I step back to hold the door open wider and gesture for them to come inside. Travis is the first one to clear the threshold, and Jack and Willow file in after him. Finn stops right at the entrance, his brown eyes probing mine with concern.

“Are you sure this is okay?” he asks, his voice a whisper. “Because we can—”

“Finn.” I hold my hand up. “It’s fine.” Good, even.

It feels surprisingly nice to get some unexpected Christmas cheer and even better that the majority of my guests know next to nothing about me. I know Finn would never have shared what happened with them, and the safety of knowing people aren’t making fun of me in their heads is thrilling.

Once Finn and I are inside and the door is closed behind us, I see that Travis has already found a spot for the tree—at the foot of my bed—and Willow has started putting ornaments on it. Jack is putting cookies and chips and other holiday-themed goodies on paper plates and setting them on my small coffee table. He’s also eating them while he does it.

“Wow,” I admit as I look around the already half-decorated room. “You guys came prepared.”

“Isn’t it great, Scottie?” Willow questions, a big smile on her lips as she puts an angel ornament on the tree.

“Yeah,” I say and mean it. “It’s definitely great. Thank you for doing this.” Thank you for making me not feel so alone.

The Holiday is still playing on the television, and Jack and Travis have made themselves comfortable on my futon, their eyes glued to the screen.

“I love this movie,” Jack says, and Travis cracks up.

“You would, dude.”

“What?” Jack steals a cookie out of Travis’s hands and shoves it into his mouth. “Kate Winslet is a goddess,” he adds, but cookie crumbs shoot past his lips as he talks.

“You guys are cringe,” Willow says, a scowl on her face. “Scottie is never going to invite us back.”

Finn’s eyes meet mine, and the smile that’s on his lips is half amused and half apologetic. It’s not my favorite smile of his, but I’d be lying if I said he had a bad one.

I want to ask him a million questions about his dad and Professor Winslow and how he’s handling it all. When Julia was at my dorm the other night, doing another one of her secret well-being checks that she disguises as being bored or wanting to watch Love is Blind with me, she told me about Finn’s dad showing up at the police station and everything that ensued after that.

Ace told her, of course, and then swore her to secrecy, which she then passed on to me. But I know no story is complete until you hear it from the primary source. There’s a reason that game called Telephone always gets the message so fucked up.

Until Finn tells me about it himself, I don’t trust any of the real details.

Mainly, though, I just want to know he’s okay. After everything we’ve been through, I’m still not over him.