Two years after a horrible accident, Kinsley's determined to make it through vet school, but she didn't expect to meet country boy Noel McLean who's just as mysterious as he is charming.
***
Kinsley Hastings suffers from PTSD. After surviving a fata...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Kinsley
Christmas Eve is supposed to be a joyous occasion, filled with laughter, happiness, and family time. It's meant to bring people together. With families or friends, you're supposed to celebrate life together. Celebrate while enjoying a hearty meal comprising turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy—the works.
Christmas décor used to bring a smile to my face. I loved the edible gingerbread ornaments Mom would make every year. Half of them were usually gone by the time Christmas Day arrived. Jessa and I would eat them. I miss setting up the Christmas lights with Dad. Making caramel popcorn with Aaron. Shopping with Mads.
I miss every fucking moment with them.
The holidays used to make me feel like I was sitting next to a crackling fire, wrapped in a warm blanket and sipping a mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows.
I felt content and loved.
Christmas Eve is not supposed to be filled with despair and persistent, demanding homesickness that can never be cured. It is not supposed to involve visiting four people you'll never see again.
Tears sting my eyes as I glance down at the different bouquets cradled in my arms. My heart isn't supposed to be a knot of splinters. My surroundings shouldn't include ghoulish-looking, blanched oak trees, headstones, both new and old, or snow crunching beneath my boots.
It shouldn't make me feel like everything I've ever loved and cared for has disappeared like smoke between your fingertips.
I shouldn't feel hollow or lost.
That's what's happening to me.
I'm stuck in hell. Guilt and sadness are gripping my heart and gut. I feel sick.
My shoulders are slumped. Snow crunches beneath my boots. Grandpa's hand rests on my shoulder. Grandma's is on my lower back. Aside from crunching snow, there is no noise.
We're walking down the skinny pathway beneath the cloudy night sky and millions of falling snowflakes. We're carrying four separate bouquets of flowers. Roses for Mom and Dad. Daisies for my sister. Lilies for Mads. Lavender for Aaron. The flowers were expensive due to them being out of season in December. That doesn't matter to me. I'd pay all the money in the world to have my family, my best friend, and my boyfriend back.
Their graves are on the far side, in the newly developed area and beneath an oak tree. Well... it was newer. Since the date of their burials, the cemetery has expanded.
That, again, is a fact that doesn't matter to me.
What does matter to me is that I'm here. Doing something I shouldn't be doing. I know all kids end up burying their parents in their lives, but it wasn't something I pictured doing until I was at least sixty. Life took them away from me too early.
Much too early.
I can't think about my little sister. Her life ended too soon. She will always be sixteen. Her option to grow up and start a life was taken from her. She will never learn how to be that independent, strong woman I know she would have been.
