Forever.
As for my family, we’d had a pretty good Christmas, considering I was still banged up and in some pain. As I suspected, Mom had spoiled Jonas but she’d also spoiled Tate and me. Jonas definitely had a good Christmas, what with Mom, Carrie, Pop, Stella, Wood and me giving him his every heart’s desire (and some of them he didn’t even know he wanted). It had taken us hours to unwrap presents.
Tate had left me to spoil Jonas and he’d just spoiled me. He’d had a silver necklace custom-made, a fall of five, exquisite silver flowers in a pendant hanging from it, the links in the chain were unusual and beautiful. He’d also had a set of five silver bangles made, two had flower pendants dangling, three had been inset all around with peridot and rose quartz. He’d also had a wide silver band made, it fit my index finger, went from base to knuckle and it was also inset with peridot and rose quartz. He’d given them to me telling me, right in front of everyone, “From now on, babe, you only wear my silver.” This, I figured, was healthy indication that he intended to add to my new silver collection and since Tate had good taste, the jewelry so gorgeous, I didn’t mind that at all.
Even with Mom and Carrie’s great cooking, family and friends all around (because practically everyone in Carnal trooped through our house the last few days) and almost constant Christmas music being played (because I might give into Tate and Jonas not liking it much but Mom was a Christmas Music Freak and she knew I loved it too and I’d been abducted, beaten and stabbed so she was going to play my beloved Christmas music even if Tate was a badass) things hadn’t been good.
We’d had to unplug the phone so many people were calling and not just friends and family. My ex-friends from Horizon Summit had all phoned and Tate was not very diplomatic when he’d answered these calls, usually saying something like, “You one of those who hung Laurie out to dry when her fuckwad husband was cheating on her?” Pause for answer then, “Bullshit, go fuck yourself,” then disconnect (when Carrie heard this, she burst out laughing, every time).
We also had calls from journalists for print and television and even a production company that wanted to pitch a reality program, starring Tate.
Not joking. A reality program starring Tate.
“No, Dad!” Jonas shouted from the floor, taking my mind off my thoughts. Jonas was nearly bouncing in excitement and not taking his eyes from the TV screen.
“Nittany Lions fans still feel the pain remembering Jackson’s professional football career being cut short when he was hit with an illegal tackle in the endzone after forcing a fumble, recovering it and entering the endzone in a monumental touchdown in the last seconds that won the Eagles the game against their rivals the Giants,” the commentator continued.
“After leaving football,” the other commentator took up the story, “Jackson became a decorated police officer and is now one of the most sought after, and successful, fugitive apprehension agents in the country.” He grinned devilishly at the camera. “That’s bounty hunters to those of us not in the game.”
“But, little would he know,” the other commentator butted in, his voice had gone grave, “that two days before Christmas Eve, Jackson would be hunting a serial killer who’d murdered his ex-girlfriend, an employee and a string of other young, innocent females over a four year period and who had, that very night, abducted Jackson’s fiancée.”
The commentators switched. “Even with the murderer on the loose for four years, the Federal Bureau of Investigations failed to crack the case, but Jackson cornered the killer within an hour and handed him over to the local authorities, saving the life of a local, who’d been stabbed, and his fiancée, who had been stabbed and beaten but luckily otherwise unharmed.”
“Bullshit,” Tate muttered, “total bullshit.”
“Tate,” I whispered, “shush.”