Page 3 of Home for the Holidays

“Fuck off,” I mutter in our own twisted love language, and he smirks at me.

I turn my attention back to my phone.

Rachel Levine.

Fuck.

I can’t even be upset at my mother giving out my phone number again. This time, it doesn’t seem like she’s matchmaking, merely offering up my spare room now that Jeremy moved out.

Although…

Rachel was the source of my sexual awakening. It was a little awkward at the time, considering she was dating my older brother Josh, but hey, I was always stealing his toys as the shit-stirring youngest brother—is it really too much of a stretch for me to want his girl, too?

Also, he treated her like shit. Always ignoring her, canceling plans last minute to hang with his other friends, generally being a teenage dirtbag.

I was too young to do anything about it back then.

Hi, yes, my roommate moved out and I have an empty room, I text back. Calling Jeremy my roommate is a little less pathetic than saying “my big brother” in this context. I’m out of town but get back on Thursday. Do you want to come see the place?

What’s the rent?

Hm.

“Hey, asshole,” I say out loud, and Sven looks up. I snicker because he actually answered to that. “What’s the going price for rent these days?”

“Fuck if I know,” he shrugs. “Want me to ask Van?”

“Would you?”

His girlfriend, Vanessa, works for the team in the Logistics department. She’s fucking awesome. She travels about half-time with the team, and this road trip is one she’s back in the office for. Something about planning the team’s annual holiday season activities.

A few minutes later, Sven names a number, and I text it back to Rachel.

Are you fucking with me?

No?

Every apartment I’ve seen is, like, twice that.

It’s a really shitty apartment, I lie.

I’ll take it.

You haven’t even seen the room yet.

For that price? I can’t not take it.

That doesn’t make me feel good. That makes me feel decidedly not good.

I’m desperate, she adds. Even if it’s just for a month or two, I really appreciate it.

You got it! I text her the address. Meet me Thursday anytime after 2.

That’ll give me enough time to clean up after morning skate.

There’s a giddiness in my heart when she confirms the date and time. An itchy restlessness in my bones. I can’t sit here in my hotel room bed and pretend like this isn’t the best fucking thing to happen to me in weeks—no, months.

Sven looks over at me suspiciously. “What’s wrong with your face?”