by L. C. Chase
She let out a breath, as if collecting herself before speaking, her voice soft when she said, “Please tell me you’re not spending the holidays alone, Marc.”
“I’m not spending the holidays alone.” Another lie. He smiled, hoping it didn’t appear as fake as it felt.
“I know we don’t talk much about our personal lives, and I really don’t mean to overstep here, but . . .” She sat down in a chair in front of his desk. “I worry about you.”
His eyebrows shot up. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. He was a grown man, perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Had been ever since his eighteenth birthday when his mother unceremoniously shoved him out the door and into the great big world all by himself. Longer than that even. She’d wiped her hands of him for good that day, but he’d already ceased to exist in her eyes years before.
“Why on earth would you worry about me?” A terrible thought entered his mind, and a chill slithered into his chest. “Did the partners say something?”
“No! No. Nothing like that.” She raised a hand in a placating gesture. “It’s just . . . This workaholic thing you do isn’t healthy.”
“I’m not a workaholic.” He frowned, even as relief that the partners weren’t displeased with his work flowed through him. Was he a workaholic? He was working hard toward a goal, to proving himself, sure, but that was called being focused and disciplined.
“Marc,” she said, her tone stern, “you’re the first one in the office and the last one out, every single day. You don’t take breaks, you work through lunch, and you’re always taking on extra cases. In all the years I’ve worked with you, not once have you taken a sick day or a vacation day. You never join me and the guys after work for drinks or dinner . . . You don’t even stop for watercooler chat.”
True, but he had good reasons to limit his socializing. “I’m on track to make partner by spring, which means putting in a ton of hours. You know what it takes. I don’t have the time for anything else right now.” Not only was he on a fast track, but he was going to be the youngest partner in firm history, and he wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize that.
“There’s more to life than making partner.”
“Not for me,” he blurted. He quickly looked away. He hadn’t meant to say that aloud and hoped she didn’t press for him to explain.
“Being so driven is admirable, don’t get me wrong,” she said, and he gave silent thanks she let his comment go. “But not at the cost of everything else in your life.”
“It hasn’t cost me anything.”
“Really? What happened to Tony?”
Marc sighed and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. She knew damn well what had happened to Tony. He’d come into the office to see Marc, but Marc had been on a call with a client. Instead of waiting until his call ended so they could talk, Tony had given Kate a message to deliver. Their five-month relationship was over because he was tired of Marc’s work always coming first. Granted, Marc did work a lot and had canceled more than a few of their dates because things had come up or run longer than planned. It wasn’t always going to be that way, but that didn’t matter to Tony. Don’t call had been his final words to Marc, scribbled on a pink “While you were out” message pad.
“Things will change after I make partner,” he said quietly, but deep down he knew that wasn’t true, either. As partner, he’d only have to work harder. He couldn’t blame Tony for leaving.
“Will they?”
“Okay! Okay!” He laughed, raising his hands in surrender. “I give. I promise to get a life.”
“Good to hear.” Seemingly pleased she’d gotten through to him, she stood and walked over to a coatrack behind his office door.
“After I make partner,” he added.
Kate groaned, rolled her eyes, and shook her head. “Go home. Take your suit off and put on some real clothes. Tell me you own a pair of jeans.”
“I own more than one pair,” he teased.
“Shock of all shocks! Now go.” She handed him his jacket and briefcase, and gave him a gentle shove toward the door. “Be festive, have merriment, and build a snowman.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. Him, build a snowman? That was never going to happen.
“C’mon,” he said after he pulled on his jacket. “I’ll walk you out. Can’t have you missing Christmas because you got held up trying to get my sorry ass out of here.”
“I should have stayed at the office,” Marc grumbled, his voice echoing inside the empty car.
It’d been three hours since Kate had shoved him out of the office, and the only thing that had moved on the Boulder Turnpike was his gas needle, inching its way toward empty. He sighed and dug his cell phone out of the center console. No missed calls or texts. No one who would worry or check up on him, stranded out in the worst blizzard to hit the Rocky Mountain Front Range and eastern Colorado in over a decade.
He hadn’t worried when the snow had started falling earlier that morning. Denver knew how to deal with snow, and it never slowed anyone down for long. But this was close to two feet in twice as many hours, with snowdrifts as high as eight feet. According to the radio, CDOT closed the highway between Boulder and Golden because the drifts were nearly twice that. The road crews just couldn’t keep up.
If Kate hadn’t checked in on him, he’d still be at work—stuck there and having dinner from the vending machine. Now here he was, gridlocked on the turnpike somewhere between Denver and Boulder, with hundreds of similarly stranded, disgruntled commuters. Soon his car would run out of gas and he’d be forced to tough out a night in the freezing cold.
His stomach grumbled, and he added “starving” to his growing “Joys of Being Stranded in a Blizzard” list. Attempting to distract himself from his body’s plea for sustenance, he scrolled through his phone contacts. There was Kate’s number, and several numbers for each of the senior partners from the firm. Not that he’d ever called them for any reason beyond work. He also had the numbers for three of his favorite restaurants—since he never had the time nor the inclination to cook meals for one—the number to the gym where he worked out religiously every morning, and . . . his mother’s number. He stared at it blankly, his thumb hovering over the Call button. How many times had he wanted to press it, to try opening that long-closed connection, only to shove the phone back in his pocket? Hadn’t she made it clear enough all those years ago that she was done with him, that he didn’t measure up to her standards?
Swiping his address book closed, yet again, he dropped the phone back into the console and stared out the window. The thick, rhythmic sway of falling snow was hypnotizing. As unimpressed as he was at being trapped on the turnpike, he had to admit the snow was beautiful to watch—peaceful in its silence, tranquil in its insistence that the world stop and take a breath, release its grief, cleanse its soul, and start anew.
Kate was right. His quest for partner, on making something of himself and becoming someone his mother could be proud of, had cost him. Friends, relationships, and most of all, his true dreams, had fallen by the wayside of his single-minded drive for professional success. But he was almost there. Just a little longer and then he’d have the time to get serious about finding someone to share his life with.
Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Roberts.
A shiver charged up his spine, scattering his thoughts.
“Damn snow,” he muttered, because blaming his sour mood on the weather was easier than looking any deeper for the real source.
He turned his attention to the line of vehicles ahead in hopes of seeing any kind of sign that traffic would start moving again soon. It looked like something out of a postapocalyptic movie. “Snowmageddon,” Kate had said. Just a long line of frozen vehicles for as far as the limited visibility would let him see, which wasn’t farther than a few hundred feet. A silent and still world, all its inhabitants long gone except for him. A strange sense of loneliness crept into the back of his mind, and he quickly shoved it away.
>
A knock on his window startled him, heart pounding against his ribs from the jolt. A state trooper stood outside, so bundled up Marc wasn’t sure if it was a man or woman. He rolled the window down, just enough to speak through, while his pulse settled back down. Cold air charged inside the car, slamming against his face and pulling a shiver from him.
“Turnpike’s shut down in both directions.” A man’s voice, muffled by the scarf covering his mouth and nose. A gossamer puff of steam from his breath obscured the rest of his face with a ghostly effect.
“No hope of getting out of here tonight, then?” Marc asked, wishing again he’d ignored Kate and stayed at the office.
“Where’s home?”
“Boulder.”
The trooper shook his head. “Afraid not.” He pointed across the turnpike. “We’re not far from Superior, though, and there’s a hotel just off the turnpike there.”
Marc followed the line of the man’s gloved finger to see a dim yellow halo of lights in the distance. People were heading in that direction—hunched, dark blotches moving slowly against an otherwise solid blanket of dancing white.
Damn it. Barely ten miles from home but it may as well have been a thousand.
“Doesn’t look too far,” Marc said. And he did have a change of clothes and toiletries in his gym bag in the trunk. He could spend the night in comfort and warmth instead of freezing his ass off in the car for who knew how long.
“Maybe a half-hour trek in these conditions.” The trooper may have shrugged his shoulders, but he was so bundled up that Marc couldn’t be sure. “I’d encourage heading over there for the night, if you’re able. It’ll be safer and warmer until the blizzard passes and we can get traffic dug out.”
Marc’s office attire wasn’t all that conducive to trudging through a couple feet of snow, but at least he could bury himself in his work when he got to the hotel.
He glanced at the dashboard. The gas needle slipped down to an eighth of a tank, making the decision for him. He’d need enough fuel to get off the highway when the road crews were finally able to clear the way. Whenever that would be.
Marc nodded. “I think I will do that, thanks.”
“Good call.” The trooper rapped on the roof of Marc’s car a couple of times. “Wait for me to check in with the vehicle ahead of you. I’m trying to send people in groups for safety.”
“Will do,” Marc said and rolled up the window. He grabbed his winter jacket, scarf, and gloves from the backseat, and pulled them on before opening the door. Cold air dug into his skin like a million razor-sharp fingernails. In the seconds it took to walk to the back of the SUV, open the hatch, and grab his duffel bag and his briefcase, his eyelashes and the fine hairs in his nostrils had already frozen. Sitting down in the driver’s seat again, car door still open, he swapped his slick-soled dress shoes for running shoes, slung his things over his shoulder, and then joined his assigned companions for the trek across the frozen tundra.
A little over an hour later, after securing one of the last rooms at the hotel and a much-needed, very long, and very hot shower to thaw his frozen body, Marc sat in the crowded hotel lounge for a late dinner. His table was at the back, but tinted glass walls let him watch as more disgruntled, snow-covered people stumbled into the hotel looking for warmth and shelter for the night. The soles of wet shoes squeaked on the polished marble floor as people crossed the lobby to the reservations desk, and white flakes drifted from heavy jackets and knit hats, leaving small puddles in their wakes. The place was a mess.
Marc reached for his hot brandy, but paused with the glass halfway to his lips when a tall man crossing the lobby caught his attention. He didn’t look much different from the rest of the popsicle people at first glance, but something about the way he stood, the set of his broad shoulders, and those thick muscular legs wrapped in worn denim made Marc sit up a little straighter. The loneliness he’d been feeling earlier perked up too.
“If there is a god . . .” His whispered prayer trailed off when the man glanced toward the lounge and bright-blue eyes skimmed past him.
The man stepped up to the desk and reach into his pocket. His mouth lifted into a smile Marc wished he could see straight on instead of in profile. The man’s hand stalled, shoulders dropped infinitesimally, and his stance shifted from one of confidence to one of defeat. If Marc were in the courtroom, that change in an opponent’s body language would have been his cue to go in for the kill and win the case. But right now, it told Marc what he already knew. No rooms left at the inn, son.
Trevor’s shoulders slumped when the young clerk told him they were booked solid. “This day just keeps getting better.”
“I’m so sorry, sir.” The clerk’s dark eyes shone with genuine sincerity. “People have been coming in all evening, and with the airport closed now too, we filled up fast. You’re more than welcome to spend the night in our lobby or lounge. We’re gathering as many extra rollaways, blankets, and pillows as we can find, and the kitchen won’t be closing tonight.”
He forced a smile. “I guess that will have to do, then.” Not that he had any choice in the matter anyway. Not when the airport shuttle he’d finally caught had pulled into the hotel parking lot, and the driver announced they wouldn’t be going any farther. “Thank you.”
Trevor walked back into the main lobby area and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. His mom was going to kill him for not taking her warning about the snow seriously.
“Cariño. Did you catch an earlier flight? Please tell me you caught an earlier flight and you’ve just landed.” The words were rushed, her accent coming through stronger than usual, and his heart ached at the tentative hope in her voice. He would be spending Christmas alone for the first time in his life.
“No, I didn’t. I’m sorry, Mom.” Trevor sighed and sat on the arm of a vacant chair. “The airport is completely shut down. Traffic is gridlocked from the snow, and people are stranded everywhere.”
“Oh, mijo. Where are you now?”
“The shuttle dumped us at a hotel off the turnpike, but it’s fully booked.” A cold gust of air swept over him as the doors opened to let more stranded people inside.
“You can’t get back home?”
“Nope. No one’s going anywhere, so I’m stuck here for the night, at least. I was on the phone with the airlines for a while, and it looks like there’s no chance I’ll make it home for Christmas. I’ll be lucky if they manage to book me on another flight the day after.”
His mom was silent for a moment before she quietly said, “It won’t be the same without you, cariño.”
“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair, pushing the bangs out of his eyes. God, he was getting tired. He hadn’t felt too bad after his treatment, but the day was quickly catching up with him—and it looked like it was going to be a long one. If only there were still rooms and he could lie down for a while and recharge.
“Well”—her voice was stronger now, an edge of determination to it—“we’ll wait until you get here.”
“No! You can’t do that to the kids and everyone else. Especially Isaac. He’d have a fit.” His mom let out a short bark of laughter, but she couldn’t argue that point. Isaac was the same age as Trevor was, but when it came to everything Christmas, his brother acted more like three than thirty-nine. Trevor loved that infectious effervescence, though, and would never dream of dampening it. Not if he could help it. “Have Christmas. We’ll just have to celebrate extra big on New Year’s.”
A soft sniff echoed down the line, causing his eyes to sting and throat to tighten.
“Mom, it will be okay,” he said, fighting to keep the emotion from his voice. If he didn’t, then the two of them would both break down and his dad would have to step in.
“But what are you going to do? I feel horrible thinking of you all alone out there. Without your family. It’s not right.”
“Your little boy is not so little anymore,” he quipped, hoping to inject a little levity into the situation. �
��I think I’ll be okay.”
She huffed. “You’ll always be my baby boy, even when you’re an old married man.”
“Yeah.” Trevor squeezed his eyes shut and sank down into the seat of the chair. He was never going to be old or married, as much as he’d love to be both. But he wasn’t about to burst his mom’s bubble of hope right now. “And you’ll be the most gorgeous mother of the groom the world has ever seen.”
“Have you met my future son-in-law yet?”
“No, Mom. Not yet.” And he wasn’t going to, either. How could he start any kind of future with someone when he didn’t have one of his own?
“Well, you’d better hurry up before your mama is too old to look sexy in her high heels while she walks you down the aisle.”
“If he’s out there,” he mumbled.
“Of course he is!” Her adamant tone triggered an unexpected sense of loss for something he was now more certain than ever he’d never have.
Silence settled on the line between them, and over the din of the busy hotel lobby, Trevor heard laughter in the background. A rush of homesickness hit him hard. Should he move back home for his last days? As much as he wouldn’t want to put that on his family, after all they’d given and done for him, he knew his mother would kill him for even letting the thought that they’d think him a burden wander through his mind.
“Okay.” He gave himself a shake, hoping to dispel the creeping fatigue. “I’m going to go get some hot food and find a chair for the night. I’ll give you a call when I get my flights rebooked. Give everyone a hug for me.”
“I will. I love you.” Her voice caught on a hiccup. “We’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, and love you, too. Talk to you soon.”
Trevor ended the call, dropping the hand holding it to his knee and bringing his chin to his chest. He would be okay, he knew that, but the prospect of spending the holidays by himself cast a dark pall over his mind. All his friends had either left town already or had their own families in the area. Even if the blizzard let up in time, he didn’t want to intrude on anyone else’s holidays. Missing his own family, coupled with the reality of his future, such as it was, deepened the emptiness that was trying to consume him. The last thing he wanted was for his mood to bring down anyone else.