How My Brother's Best Friend Stole Christmas - Molly O'Keefe Page 0,33

warehouse, which I didn’t like. Hadn’t expected.

“Afternoon meditation?” he asked, like I had put up a flyer for afternoon decapitation.

“Yeah. The lunch room is going to be a quiet zone after lunch.”

“What? Why?” he asked.

Because I’d done reading on PTSD and having a quiet place to go and then meditating at that place often helped with the anxiety associated with PTSD.

“What’s this?” Joe asked, pointing to the other flyer.

“Morning run club,” I said. Because I’d read that exercise helped, too.

“Is this for that guy? Sam?”

I glared at him hard. “No. It’s for you and Denise and everyone else who is working on New Year’s resolutions to exercise more and reduce stress.”

“Because you don’t have to lose weight or whatever—”

“There are other reasons people run, Joe.”

“In winter?”

“You don’t have to do it,” I cried.

I turned and he was standing there, looking me like he couldn’t figure me out. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yes, Joe, I’m good.”

“Because you were crying when you left the party. You were pretending not to, but you were crying.”

Ah, Joe. He really was a sweet kid. I patted his shoulder, surprised he was still standing so firm in my corner. Surprised he was so solid under his sweatshirt. Man, the guy was working out somewhere.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Don’t you have work to do?”

Joe smiled and left, and I turned back around to put one more pushpin in my flyer. Maybe this was stupid—I mean, I couldn’t guarantee anyone was going to do it, much less Sam. I couldn’t guarantee Sam wouldn’t see right through this and be pissed. But he was mine now. My employee. My guy in the warehouse and I took care of my people. I would be outside every morning ready to run.

For Sam.

Whether he was there or not.

Sam

As far as first days went, this one hadn’t been bad. Mostly taking down Christmas decorations and breaking down empty boxes. Denise was a good person. The staff worked hard, even on bullshit tasks. There was a serious team vibe.

And it was all because of Sophie.

All because of this…stuff she did.

Food swaps on Mondays when people brought in casseroles and homemade chicken wings and cakes, and everyone could fill up Tupperware containers and take them home for dinners or save them for lunches. Trivia night happy hours on Fridays.

And now meditation afternoons and morning runs.

I pushed my finger down on the thumbtack until I could recognize what I was feeling. Until it went from itchy to good to the hurt it was supposed to be. I just wanted things to feel the way they should. The way that made sense.

When all the physical feedback you got was messed up, it put you off balance. Made the whole world and your place in it feel unsafe. I didn’t know what I could trust—not my body or surroundings, the ground under my feet.

But I knew who I could trust.

Sophie. Always.

She was doing that for me. The meditation and the running. Putting Denise on me.

For me.

After the weekend. Despite the weekend. I didn’t know which one. Both? Sophie was a miracle.

“You coming?” Denise stuck her head into the break room and I pulled my finger back from the thumbtack. She and some of the rest of the warehouse crew were taking me out for a drink. Sophie, I’d noticed, because I noticed everything about her, had taken off early, saying she had to do some work on a budget pitch she had for her brother.

But I knew she was stepping away in part so I could…bond or whatever with the staff. Or maybe, and probably more likely, she was just uncomfortable around me. The same way I was uncomfortable around her.

This was why I’d stayed away all those years. This was what I was scared of.

Ruining what we had.

If she was going to do this for me, I had to do something for her. Move her past me.

Past us.

13

Sam

When I’d woken up in Landstuhl—the military hospital in Germany—I’d moved my arms and legs and wiggled my toes. Checked my junk and been able to remember my name. I’d known, of course, my career was over. I didn’t have any more ambushes left in me. I wasn’t going to lose another spotter. Another friend. My nerve was gone; I felt its absence in my gut. I felt the vacuum where my duty and my will to serve and my sterling belief that I was on the side of angels had been.

I was now former Marine. And once I’d come to