Snowflakes and Holly

by Jae Dawson

  The night was quiet, muffled by the overcast sky. There was still a faint slice of twilight—just enough light to keep from tripping on roots or rocks underfoot. We walked up the half-mile trail to the viewing platform above the Falls.

  At the top, a breeze carried a cool rush of spindrift from the Falls. Nestled around the fenced viewing area was a wide park with a grass lawn and picnic tables. The Falls was Hartwood’s other claim to fame. A steady stream of tourists braved the backed-up two lane road to see the Falls in all their glory—especially in the spring, when the Falls roared with snow melt and the path up from the parking lot was resplendent with ancient blooming cherry trees—most over one hundred years old.

  But Mamma headed off to the side and into the trees, spreading out a blanket between the boughs of two large firs. She lit a candle and arranged a small bag of assorted crystals into a pattern I didn’t recognize.

  I let her do this all with amusement. I suppose a little extra magia couldn’t hurt. A little help from God or the Universe or whatever was up there. As vehemently as Mamma had worked on me as a kid, I was firmly neutral when it came to religion. How was I supposed to know what was out there?

  Mamma settled cross-legged on the blanket, seated opposite from me. “Now open your hand.”

  I did as instructed, and she pressed something into my palm—a small seed.

  “This is the seed of your intention,” she said. “I want you to infuse it with what you want exactly. Imagine him down to the finest detail. And then plant it. The seed will grow under the power of the new moon.”

  I rolled my eyes. “What if I don’t want a man? Or to seed a man?” I cringed at that last line.

  Mamma reached forward and pushed a lock of my hair out of my eyes, tucking it behind my ear. She spoke softly. “Life isn’t meant to be lived alone, cara mia. You’re doing an admirable job, but you don’t need to pretend with me.”

  An unwelcomed lump grew in my throat. The truth: I was lonely. I did want someone. Of course, I did. I was twenty-six and single. My whole life was work. I knew this wasn’t how life was supposed to be. But I also wasn’t one to twist my life around a man or feel like I lacked meaning without one. I wanted someone, but I didn’t want to need someone.

  But Mamma was waiting. With a sigh, I closed my eyes and tried to visualize my ideal mate. Someone who was kind and smart and funny. Successful—but not afraid of a woman with opinions and passions. Someone with a job. An apartment. Not a serial killer. Handsome wouldn’t hurt. Dark hair maybe. Or light. I didn’t really care about that. A man who could cook. Who could sing. Who made music simply with his existence.

  My heart squeezed at that last one. Poetic, sure, but I wanted someone who would play music with me. Who shared that love.

  Cade Owens flashed to mind and my cheeks heated in the dark. Stick to the realm of reality, Pagano, I told myself. A nice normal guy. No drama. Someone not in the rock scene, like Jason had been.

  With surprising tenderness, I brought the little seed up to my lips and kissed it. And then I shoved it into the dirt with my thumb, burying the embodiment of my dream man into the grave of my love life. As the little seed was enveloped by the loamy soil, a wave of something passed over me, raising goosebumps across my arms. It was a feeling I couldn’t account for. Like I’d just done something . . . important.

  When I looked up, Mamma was beaming. “Blow out the candle.”

  I obliged, doing my best to shake off those strange feelings as darkness softly folded around us.

  “Well done, cara mia.” Her voice was hushed. “Powerful, powerful intention.”

  And for once, I didn’t have any quip for her. I just wanted to go home.

  I made to stand up but a rustling in the trees to our left anchored my body.

  Mamma held a finger up to her lips.

  With the candle snuffed out, I could barely see her in the darkness.

  Was it an animal? The woods outside Hartwood Falls held a few bigger animals—cougars, little black bears. Deer. Lots of those. It was probably a deer.

  The rustling sounded again. Closer.

  No, it was a thrashing. The creature growled; it was definitely animal—

  “Where the hell—” came a muffled exclamation. Nope. That was most definitely human.

  And then the interloper was upon us. A tall figure staggered out of the trees, barreled right into me, and toppled us both into the center of Mamma’s blanket.

  Chapter Four

  Bella

  The night was rapidly devolving. First, I had let Mamma drag me out into the woods to do a silly witchy ritual; now, a stranger was sprawled on top of me, his elbow digging painfully into my side.

  “Get off me.” I tried to shove him, but my body was angled weirdly and he was surprisingly solid. The rivets of his jacket pressed into my fingers and I, obviously gunning to earn sainthood, resisted the urge to jab my thumb into his side.

  “Stop wriggling—” the guy grunted in a not-unpleasant baritone. It did appear he was trying to get up, but not fast enough. As if his large motor skills were sluggish and uncoordinated. As if he had been drinking.

  Great.

  Under his ungraceful weight, I could almost feel my seed of intention mocking me. This day had far exceeded its dark humor limit hours ago. So, I shimmied my hands beneath me and pushed up more forcefully.

  And . . . my forehead totally whacked his nose.

  Instant pain throbbed behind my eyes. “Ow.”

  “Sonuvabitch!” he exclaimed. He rolled over to the side, off me, his nose cradled in his hands. “You didn’t need to assault me.”

  “Assault you?!”

  I scooted up to a seated position, giving us distance while ignoring his indignant moan. Where the hell was Mamma? I squinted into the dark. Then I listened for her chuckle—the kind that would tell me that it was about time I saw some action, her hands gesturing toward the moonless sky as evidence that she was right. But she wasn’t there.

  Spooked, I returned my attention back to the inebriated man and retorted, “You’re the one who tripped over yourself and fell on me.”

  “You shouldn’t have been posted up in the middle of a trail,” he muttered.

  “This isn’t the trail. We’re literally off the path and in the middle of some trees.”

  My eyes were adjusting to the dark now, and I surreptitiously looked this guy over. He wore a black military style jacket, dark skinny jeans, and black boots. His hair looked to be sandy blond, shaved on the sides, but longer on top and currently disheveled. He lowered his hands from his face, blinking rapidly, before pinching the bridge of his nose. Dark blood oozed from his nostrils.

  I winced. “Um, sorry.”

  “I think you broke it.”

  “I didn’t mean to. You fell on me, remember?” I snapped, my hands wildly gesturing in the air in a motion that communicated that he wasn’t just drunk, he was an idiot too. “You could be a serial killer, for all I know! You’re lucky I didn’t nail some other sensitive part.”

  He scrabbled for a low-hanging branch, then rose to unsteady feet. “Yes, thank you so much for only breaking my nose. How magnanimous of you,” he finished with a melodramatic bow, and nearly fell over once more. To counterbalance, he took a few steps—staggered more like it—while looking around in the darkness, clearly confused. Was it the alcohol? Or disorientation from my hard Italian head smacking his now-bloodied nose? Which I did feel bad about.

  He turned left and started back into the woods.

  I closed my eyes and sighed heavily between clenched teeth. At this rate, he was going to wander into the woods and fall into the river.

  Still, this guy wasn’t my problem.

  Yet . . . I couldn’t just let him end up with hypothermia in the forest. Or worse.

  Would this day never end? I could almost hear my yoga pants sobbing on my behalf. My couch, bottle of rosé, and Netflix too. The dredges of Final Cup a long, distant memory in a comedy of errors series of unfortu
nate events. And where was my mother? Sure, she was a witch. But she didn’t possess vanishing magic.

  Very funny, Mamma.

  I sprang to my feet and scooped up the blanket.

  “Hey! Broken-nose guy?”

  He stopped, one hand out against a tree to brace himself.

  “The parking lot is back that way.”

  He turned, his sigh deep and long, the eye-rolling sound carrying a slurry of unspoken curses. Then he marched forward, straight past me, and toward the direction I pointed. I watched him until I could no longer hear his clomping bootsteps and was left with only the peaceful melody of wind, leaves, and the nearby rushing river.

  “Mamma?” I turned around slowly. “Hope you enjoyed the show. Let’s go.”

  The only answer was the quiet hoot of an owl. Damn it. The woman was on her own.

  Carefully stepping over shadowed tree roots, I followed the bleeding, drunk guy toward the beacon of dim light ahead. We were just feet from the asphalt when he wandered down a small slope and paused on a foot path, facing my direction.

  My eyes rounded. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking a leak.” The sound of a steady stream hitting the dirt was undeniable.

  “That’s the trailhead, moron. Couldn’t you find a bush?”

  “You don’t need to be here, honey,” he shot back. “Not the kind of audience I’m used to.”

  I wanted to push that infuriating man into a puddle of his own piss. Instead, I released a heated breath and emerged from the trees, grateful for the asphalt under my feet. I could see only two cars in the parking lot ahead: Mamma’s Fiat and an old turquoise Ford pickup. That must be his. Not that I cared what type of car he drove. But an old pickup? And a bright-colored one, no less? Didn’t seem to match his external aesthetic. But whatever.

  I marched toward Mom’s car, cupped my eyes, and peered inside. But it was too dark to really see anything. I tried the handle—locked. “Mamma!” I grit under my breath. I swiveled on my heel to peer around me, my eyes narrowed in search of any moving shadow.

  The guy had emerged from the trailhead. Under the mustard light of the parking lot, I received my first real glimpse of the man who fell on me. Tall and lean, he was well-built under his trim military jacket. The type of guy I typically go for—much to my eternal misery—as they always end up being total assholes. Figures. My new moon ritual would summon a complete dick. Story of my life.

  The jangle of metal hitting the pavement drew my attention. He was leaning down to pick his keys off the pavement.

  “What the—” I hissed at the Universe. This guy should not be driving. It was one thing if he wanted to drive his truck into a ditch, but another to risk innocent people on the road. Damn it. Again. I looked over my shoulder for Momma. The infernal woman refused to magically reappear. I really hoped he didn’t get confrontational when I approached him.

  I sucked in a deep breath, then jogged toward his truck. Thank the all-knowing new moon I hadn’t worn high heels, like Momma had tossed at my feet. “Hey, wait!”

  He cranked down his window, a scowl on his swelling face. “Regret not assaulting my ‘sensitive area’ too?”

  Part of me wanted to step back, but I held my ground. “Listen, I don’t mean to judge, but do you think you should be driving?”

  His blue eyes narrowed. “I’m fine.”

  “I know you might think that, but there’s no need to risk it. Let us give you a ride home.” I looked over my shoulder, praying Mamma would show up. I needed a ride home, too. “You can get the truck in the morning.”

  “I’m. Fine.” He gestured at his bloody face. “I don’t need any more of your help.”

  Anger flared to life inside me. This guy was a first-degree asshole. “Look, I don’t care if you kill yourself. Frankly, the world could use one less entitled pretty boy. But I’m not going to let you hurt someone I love.” I lunged inside the window and reached for the keys, but the angle was wrong. To my horror, the engine thundered to life. With a self-satisfied smirk, he threw the truck into reverse and gunned it.

  I stumbled away from the squealing tires. Adrenaline surged through my veins, my heart in my throat.

  The truck roared backwards through the parking lot—too fast. Way too fast.

  My eyes widened and a scream formed in my gut, a warning to stop before he—

  The tailgate of his truck slammed into the solid concrete base of a light post.

  The forceful crunch of metal echoed through the trees. His pickup shuddered to a sudden halt and I flinched. Above his truck, the light post began to tilt—slowly at first—and then it gained speed.

  My mouth opened to shout a warning, yet again, but there was nothing I could do. The light post teetered over and landed hard on the pickup’s roof.

  “Holy shit!” I breathed.

  I was running before I knew it. Smoke billowed from the truck’s engine, but the pickup remained pretty-well intact—one of the benefits of these old steel behemoths. Had he been wearing a seatbelt?

  I waved the smoke away, peering into the driver’s side. “Are you okay?”

  The guy was leaning back against a bench-styled seat, his eyes closed. Just as I reached out to feel his pulse, a groan escaped him. His eyes still closed, he coughed out, “I hate this week.”

  Relief flooded me. Thank God. The last thing I needed was to add accidentally-killing-hot-stranger-in-parking-lot to my list of things to feel guilty about. There was blood trickling down his temple from a cut at his hairline, mingling with the blood from his nose. This guy really was having a rough night.

  “I’m going to call an ambulance.”

  “No!” His hand shot out and grabbed mine. His was surprisingly warm, despite the chill in the air. “No ambulance. No cops. Please. The last thing I need is this plastered all over the tabloids.”

  Tabloids? My brows drew together. What did he mean—

  It was then that my mind registered the features of the man before me. Sandy blond hair, normally slicked back in a pompadour style. Square jaw, angular features, cleft in his chin beneath plush lips.

  Holy Mother of Mercy . . .

  You could have knocked me over with a feather.

  Cade Owens. Burning Umbrage’s lead singer. Rock star. HUGE celebrity.

  I was talking to Cade Owens.

  A new horror swelled in me. I had given Cade Owens a bloody nose. My eyes widened farther. I had caused Cade Owens to wreck his car! Shit, shit, shit!

  “Let’s take him home,” my mother’s voice sounded behind me and I nearly leaped out of my skin.

  “Now you suddenly show up?” I rounded on her. “Mamma—”

  “I needed to use the restroom.” She smiled serenely at me.

  Likely story. But not important right now. I pulled in a steadying breath.

  “All right. No ambulance,” I said to him. “We can give you a ride home. Come on.” I tried to open the door handle, but the hinges were stuck. I yanked on it again. Nothing.

  Cade was still leaning back against the seat, his eyes closed. He let out a quiet chuckle. I think he was losing it.

  “Oh dear,” Mamma said.

  “What now?”

  And then I heard it. The undeniable wail of a siren.

  Chapter Five

  Cade

  I slouched over the hard metal bench beneath my sorry ass, my throbbing head in my hands. I had been in this holding cell for hours. What felt like days.

  I peeked between my blood-stained fingers to the floor. Dark, random splotches dotted the cement and I huffed an ill-humored grunt. How many other dysfunctional morons had bled in this cell? And why was it that when bad shit happened in my life, it drew other bad shit like a high-powered magnet? Or maybe that was just alcohol’s siren song.

  Last year, after Houston, I had cut down on everything—the drinking, the drugs, the partying. Slowly stepping back from a life that no longer relieved the dark emotions imprisoning me—the real jail cell. My addiction was proper
ly in check too. I’d been doing good. Feeling good.

  But then, Gran.

  And I had just needed to be somewhere else for a few hours. Somewhere besides my life and my feelings and my issues. But that’s the problem with trading one set of problems for another. I woke up in a different dystopian version of my own life, my downfall orchestrated by a fiery dark-haired, judgy-as-hell stranger.

  Details of our encounter remained hazy. She had been a whirlwind—beautiful and fierce and not once impressed by who I am. She had taken zero shit from me too, and I . . . liked it. Her fire sparked with mine in a way I found damn sexy. No simpering. No starstruck stupidity. She saw me as human—a fallible human—not a god to worship despite my disgusting behavior. Too bad I had been a complete asshole. Even the few fuzzy memories I had of our conversation made me cringe.

  Complete. Asshole.

  God, maybe I deserved to be here, restrained from myself.

  For all the hijinks the guys and I had done when we were younger, this was my first stint in a jail cell. Hell, I should get some good song fodder from this, if Bix and the studio execs didn’t skin me alive first. As if on an ironic, satirical cue, song lyrics floated to my mind, unbidden.

  Falling in my dark, it was you I found.

  Moon touched angel, you brought the light crashing down.

  What the . . .

  I needed to write down the words—now.

  I jumped to my feet, then groaned, my hands to my head, my stomach on the verge of making its own demands. Standing up fast was another stupid, rash decision in a long night of stupid, rash decisions.

  The EMT at the scene had checked me for a concussion. I was fine. Minus the headache, crunched nose, and extremely high blood-alcohol level. Before the cops had arrived to arrest me, the same EMT had re-set my nose. So, at least that was feeling better.

  I cleared my throat. “Hey. Could I have a pen and some paper?”

  A tall, broad police officer appeared in the doorway, an annoyed expression on his goateed face. “Right away, Your Highness. Anything else you need? A feather pillow? A prime rib dinner?” The cop pivoted on his heel and stalked away.