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TWO DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS, Reagan watched her sister as she slept. It was early in the morning, and Chelsea would likely wake up at any moment. She wondered why her fourteen-year-old sister never cried. Her mother and brother were drowning in a deluge of tears, and she even caught her father wiping his eyes, and she had never seen him cry. So why did Chelsea refuse to show her emotions? Was she trying to be tough, or did she just not care?
“I could have been a better sister,” Reagan admonished herself. “I could have been around more. I could have played with her, or... or something.”
In her teenage years, Reagan spent most of her time with her friends—and the occasional boy. She rarely spent time with her much younger sister. She made more of an effort with David, because he idolized her, and because he was always demanding her attention. Chelsea never sought her attention, and Reagan never made an effort to reach out to her.
Now she would never have a chance.
“I wouldn't blame you if you don't miss me.”
When she saw Chelsea stir, Reagan rose from her chair and exited her sister's bedroom. Across the hall, David was nestled in his bed, clutching Brinkles with all of his might. He was nine years old, and though his father insisted he was too old for a teddy bear, David didn't care. Tonight he needed Brinkles, and he gripped that raggedy bear tighter than he ever had.
David's blankets were eschew. Half of them had fallen off of his bed, and only his knees were covered. Reagan quickly realized she could do nothing about it. She desperately wanted to tuck him in, but when she tried to pull the blankets, her hands passed through them. With a sigh of defeat, she leaned down and kissed her brother's sweat-laden forehead. He looked like he was in the middle of a nightmare, and had spent most of the night tossing and turning. Out of everyone in her family, she feared he would have the most difficult time accepting her death.
Reagan left her brother's room and headed into the adjacent bathroom. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, wishing she could cry. She looked ragged. Her auburn hair was springing in every direction, her eyes were sullen, and her lips had dipped into a permanent frown. Her family lost her, but Reagan felt like she lost everyone.
“What an awful Christmas,” she whispered to her reflection. “Seriously, seriously awful.”
Reagan gathered her hair into a sloppy ponytail before shuffling out of the bathroom. As soon as she entered the hall, Miles suddenly appeared. He had a grin on his lips that could have only been described as devious.
“Good morning, Miles.” As she said his name, she expelled a long, weary sigh.
“You sound very happy to see me.”
“You're here to take me away from my family. Of course I'm not happy to see you.”
“I'm hurt! You know, where I come from, my presence usually brightens the day.”
“Does it?” Reagan's eyebrow was skeptically raised.
“It does! And for your information, I'm not here to take you away from your family. I brought you something.” Miles' devious grin widened as he pulled a bit of mistletoe from his pocket and held it aloft.
“Is that... mistletoe?”
“Yes. Does it inspire you? Are you ready to throw yourself into my arms?”
“Uh, not really.” When she started walking down the hall, Miles followed, optimistically dangling the mistletoe above his head.
“Are you sure you won't indulge me?”
“Nope. Not right now, Miles.”
He sheepishly returned the mistletoe to his pocket. “Ouch. Rejected again.”
“Are you usually rejected?”
“More often than I'd like,” Miles admitted. “I was always unlucky in love, even when I was alive. I had more failures than successes. My mates tell me I'm a bit full-on.”
“That sounds very British, but I think I understand what you mean.” She turned around and stared at him in silence for several seconds. He was cute. She might have kissed him if she wasn't in the middle of the most traumatic experience of her life—or death, as it was. “Maybe you should listen to your mates?”
“Perhaps.”
“Anyway, Miles, I was thinking about visiting my boyfriend. Would you like to come with me?”
“Ooo.” Miles' brow furrowed, and he very adamantly shook his head. “Yeeeah... that might not be a good idea.”
“Really? Why not?” No matter what he told her, Reagan would not be stopped. She was already heading out the front door, as determined as ever to get her way.
“It's just... yeah... I just wouldn't go if I was you.”
Miles was trailing a few steps behind her, so she flashed a confused look over her shoulder. Could he have been objecting out of jealousy? “But I want to see Luke. I've been with him since high school, so he's sort of an important part of my life.”
“Sort of an important part,” Miles repeated with a snicker, “but not entirely an important part. Has he been downgraded?”
“No, he is an important part of my life! He is!” Reagan's gaze dropped to the sidewalk, where most of yesterday's snow had melted. “I guess I should say he was an important part of my life, since my life is apparently over.”
“Nonsense. The best part of your life has just begun! After all, now you get to spend your time with me.”
“And believe me, I'm overjoyed.” In the corner of her eye, she thought she saw him frowning, so she added, “I know that sounded sarcastic, but I'm actually really glad you're with me right now. I wouldn't want to be doing any of this by myself. Your moral support has been really important to me.”
“Thanks, Reagan. I'm glad I'm not completely useless.”
“And I want you to come with me... to Luke's apartment,” she went on. “You've given me reason to think I might see something I don't like, and... well, I just want you to be there.”
Miles halted, laid a hand over his heart, and bowed to her. With exaggerated ardor, he professed, “My dear, I shall never leave your side!”
“Good to know.”
Luke's apartment was three blocks away, and they made the rest of the journey in silence. When they arrived, they passed through the building's door and climbed the stairs to 8B. Reagan lifted a knuckle to knock, and then remembered, with some chagrin, that knocking was no longer necessary, or even effective. Reagan cast a nervous glance in Miles' direction, and together they entered his living room. It was as messy as it ever was. Luke's inability to clean up after himself was one of the many things that bothered her about her boyfriend.
Luke wasn't in the living room, so Reagan continued her search in the next room—and she immediately understood why Miles had warned her against visiting. Her boyfriend was in bed with another woman. They were presumably naked under the blankets, since the girl's underclothes were strewn everywhere. Miles accidentally stepped on a pair of knickers as he followed Reagan into the room.
“LUKE!” Reagan roared at him. “Are you kidding me right now? You dick!”
They were lying in bed, but Luke and his lady were both awake—and having a discussion about Reagan, of all things.
“I don't know why you're so upset about this, Luke. It's like you're obsessed or something.” The unnamed woman laid an arm across her forehead, as if she was exhausted. “You weren't even with her anymore.”
“Not with me anymore? Are you serious? Is that what you were telling her? Oh my god, I don't believe this!” Reagan looked around for something to throw at him, and her eyes landed on his alarm clock. As she reached for her weapon, she remembered she wouldn't even be able to lift it, let alone, pitch it at him. “I guess this is why you didn't want me over at your parents' house for Thanksgiving? You were probably with her!”
“I was with her for almost five years, Heather. You don't just stop caring about someone when you were with them for that long.”
“But you're losing sleep over this,” the woman named Heather replied. “And now I'm losing sleep over it. I'm not trying to sound insensitive, but you need to try to get your mind off of her. It's almost Christmas, and... you and me... we are what's important right now.”
“Is she serious right now? How rude!” Reagan continued ranting. “He was really seeing this chick behind my back? And for how long? I don't believe this!” Reagan dragged a hand across the entire length of her face and groaned with despair. “She's not even that cute.”
“Reagan.” Miles took Reagan's arm and tried to guide her out of the room. “Maybe you should leave.”
“Why didn't you tell me about this, Miles? You obviously knew! Why didn't you just come out and say it?”
“I thought it was something you would have to see for yourself. You might not have believed me.”
“Yeah? Well, it would have been great to have some warning! So yeah, thanks for that!” When she caught herself glaring at Miles, she knew she was probably unfairly projecting her anger onto him.
“I know you feel guilty, Luke, but you shouldn't,” Heather tried to offer him words of solace. “You just have to try to move on. She'll never even know we were together, and it's probably better that way.”
“MY ASS she'll never know you're together!” Reagan heckled them as Miles pushed her through the doorway. “I hope you choke on your ugly, fake, fried red hair! I thought you liked natural redheads, Luke! Yeah, right!”
“Come on, now...” Miles laid a hand on Reagan's back and insisted on steering her away from the scene. “Let's go somewhere else, shall we?”
“What a dick!” Reagan clenched her fists so tightly, her hands were shaking. She could hardly remember the last time she felt so enraged. “He always seemed so nice! I never thought he'd be the type to cheat.”
“Sometimes, we never really know people.” Miles led her out of the apartment and back down the stairwell. “My heart goes out to you. Truly. That must have been rough. But look on the bright side, Reagan! You have me.”
“The bright side is getting dimmer by the second.” When they reached the bottom of the stairs, she realized Miles had extracted the mistletoe from his pocket again. “Oh my god, seriously?”
“I thought a kiss might improve your mood.” He raised the mistletoe and wiggled it over her head. “It doesn't have to be a big one. Just a little one would be sufficient. A light peck on the cheek, perhaps, or—”
“Bad timing, Miles.” Reagan rolled her eyes and kept walking. “Really bad timing.”
“Oh well!” Miles shrugged indifferently, stowed his mistletoe in his pocket, and sprinted to catch up with her. “You can't blame a bloke for trying!”