Page 30 of Noel Secrets

She had stopped under a lamplight, her figure a dark silhouette against the golden glow. For a moment she looked like something out of a dream, her coat billowing in the winter wind.

Michael ran to her, closing the distance. His hands found her forearms, gripping her. “I won’t let you do this alone. Do you hear me? I would never forgive myself. Just like you’d neverforgive yourself for staying. Well, I can’t stand by and do nothing either.”

Her eyes glistened in the light. “Why, Michael? Why are you doing this?”

He hesitated. The answer burned in his throat, terrifying and raw.

At last, he shook his head. “Because I was wrong. I was wrong to treat you so horribly when you needed me most. You came to our house as a kid—you needed a friend. And I failed you.” His grip tightened. “This is my chance to fix that. To make it up to you. I’m not letting another day go by with me standing on the sidelines while you fight alone.”

For a moment, she just stared at him. Then, her arms wrapped around him, sudden and fierce. She buried her face against his chest, and the dam inside him broke.

He wrapped her tightly, pressing his chin to her hair. “You’re not doing this alone,” he whispered. “I won’t leave your side.”

She pulled back slowly, her eyes searching his.

He saw the war inside her, the battle between trust and fear. The part of her that longed to believe him and the part that still bore the scars of his rejection.

It hurt. God, it hurt.

Without another thought, he lowered his head, brushing his lips against hers. Gently at first. Just to let her know he was sorry. Just to promise he would never treat her the same.

But then she kissed him back, giving him her trust, and something inside him became clear. Jayda had always been important to him. Always. And now he couldn’t hide it any longer.

He deepened the kiss, one hand sliding to her back, pulling her closer, anchoring himself to the only thing in this moment that felt real and safe.

Until the crack of a gunshot split the night.

Chapter Eight

Gunfire cracked the night like an exploding firework, sharp and jarring, snapping Jayda back to the reality of the threat on her life.

She stumbled against Michael, her lips tingling, her breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a scream. They had kissed. She had kissed her archenemy.

And now, bullets were flying while the warmth of Michael’s mouth on hers could still be felt. Nothing made sense.

“Run!” Michael’s voice echoed in the night with urgency, his hand seizing hers before she could blink.

They bolted, boots pounding the icy pavement, weaving between lamppost shadows. The sting of cold air burned Jayda’s lungs, but she didn’t dare slow. Trouble had found them again. She should’ve been annoyed that Michael had jumped from the train after her. She should’ve snapped at him for interfering.

But she wasn’t annoyed. She was grateful.

As bullets sparked against a metal trash can just feet away, Jayda realized she had never in her life been so glad not to be alone.

Michael pulled her toward the cover of a stone archway, his arm instinctively braced against her back as another shotcracked in the distance. The sound ricocheted through the city square, bouncing off windows and brick walls, impossible to pinpoint.

Her pulse thundered. “Where is he?”

Michael shook his head, his expression fiercely focused. His other hand rested against the bricks, shielding her with his body. His eyes darted across the street. “I don’t know. Keep moving.”

They sprinted again, this time dodging a row of iron benches and ducking behind a pillar wrapped in garland and twinkling lights. The absurdity hit her then—how something as beautiful as Christmas decorations could become cover in a street chase.

A shot rang out, splintering the wooden frame of a storefront across the street. Jayda flinched, clutching Michael’s hand tighter.

The strength of his grip startled her. She had never held someone’s hand in desperation like this. Not since she was a child clinging to her mother’s before sickness tore them apart. Independence had been her armor. Needing no one had been her mantra.

Yet here she was, tethered to Michael Blair—the boy she used to despise, the man she thought still resented her—and all she wanted was not to let go.

They cut a sharp turn, lungs burning, legs aching. Jayda thought her chest might split open when suddenly a sound rose ahead that froze her in place.