And Kenley doesn’t know.
Kenley, who promised not to dig into Chandler’s life anymore—to let it all go. For her safety, to uphold the deal we made with Mr. Baxter, we have to. Which means that I can’t tell Kenley what I just saw, because there’s no way in hell she could let that go.
34
Kenley
As traditions go, the Christmas Eve festival is one of my favorites. The whole town comes out to see Thistle Cove decked out in twinkling lights. There’s the annual pageant at the church, a light display in the park, different groups sing carols around town and there’s a general feel of excitement, particularly from the children, as the clock ticks down to Santa’s visit.
A crowd surrounds the gazebo and a flash of blue glitter catches my eye, and a lump forms in my throat. I’d been so busy that I’d forgotten about the Snow Princesses. Little girls come out in their best winter clothing and are bestowed crowns. Former participants dote on them—Rose would have been one of them. I see Regina Waller draping sashes over their shoulders.
I used to see this as a fun, cute tradition. Now I see it differently; it’s more like organized grooming. It’s completely ingrained in our community.
I turn away and spot Finn’s broad shoulders and Ozzy’s trademark cap by the hot chocolate stand; I separate from my parents and join them. My stomach flutters just walking over to them. Last night with Finn had been amazing, and Ozzy looks adorable bundled up in his coat. I hate the fact we’re in such a thick crowd. I want to kiss them so bad.
“Hey,” Finn says, eyes lighting up when he sees me. That rush of desire ebbs between us. Suddenly I feel warm in my sweater and jacket. Ozzy smiles.
“Happy Christmas Eve,” I say.
We stand awkwardly—all of us wanting a little privacy. Finn jerks his head and says, “Come on,” and we follow him through the park. The crowd is still thick, walking down the well-lit trails, but near some thick shrubs he cuts behind a tree and we follow. A few minutes later we arrive at a small deck that overlooks the water. During the day people fish out here—but it’s Christmas Eve, maybe the only time the fishermen are inside.
In the distance is the bridge—the one where Rose’s car was found. Lights dot the pillars jutting into the water. It’s hard to stop thinking about her when we’re surrounded by her memory.
The wind whips off the water—a little warmer than usual—I turn away from the view and look at the boys. Both look a little anxious.
“What’s going on?”
Ozzy clears his throat. “We have a Christmas present for you.”
“I have presents for you, too. At home.” It’s a picture book—photos of us when we were little, then more from the last few months. I’d been inspired by all my yearbook work to make one of our own.
“Well, we have ours here and we wanted to give it to you,” Finn says. “Together.”
He looks over his shoulder and Ezra steps through the thick brush. My heart leaps when I see him. He looks tired; dark circles smudged under his eyes, his hair an inch too long. The guys smile when they see him—a sense of relief passing through them. I’m not relieved. I’m scared. I hate not having him in my life—our lives.
He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a silver box.
“What’s that?” I ask, heart fluttering.
“Your gift,” he says, clutching it in his hand. “But first, I need to apologize. Things have been a mess for me lately and I took it out on you.” His eyes dart between us. “My dad…he just has a way of fucking everything up, and even though I tell myself not to let him have that much control over me, I do. I’m sorry.”
I keep my distance even though all I want to do is go to him. My heart pounds in my ears. “It’s been a hard few months, Ez. No one blames you for being overwhelmed.”
“I’d lose it if something happened to you, KK.”
“Nothing is going to happen to me.”
“Damn straight,” Finn says. “Our eyes are open. We know who and what we’re dealing with—and we’re keeping our end of the deal.”
Ezra looks down at the box in his hand, then up at me, holding it out. “Merry Christmas, Kenley.”
I take the box and all three boys watch as I tug off the bow and slowly open it. Nestled in the center of soft, white satin is a ring—four intricate threads, or vines, woven together. Silver, gold, bronze, and platinum.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, hands trembling.
“It’s hard keeping this on the downlow all the time, but this is a way for us to mark you as our own. Four strong,” Finn says, taking the box from me and plucking the ring out of the center. He nods at Ezra, who takes my hand, igniting an electrified current between us—only heightened by our time apart. Ezra splays my fingers and Finn gives the ring to Ozzy.
“Will you wear this for us?”