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I’m just also devastated that such a surely less-than-wise decision is bringing her so much complicated pain.

Because there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.

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Or maybe there is actually something I can do about it?

Maybe I could make a point of connecting with December’s parents? Talking to them myself? Seeing if I can’t get through to them?

Communication is something I believe in. And if the way December shut down earlier this evening at the Mistlemore Palace is any indication, it may be safe to say that they’ve not created a space easy for her to communicate in. Judging by the phone calls I’ve caught her on in the weeks since she left, it seems they do a whole lot of talking and not enough listening.

But I’m big, and I can be loud.

Maybe if I’m persistent, I can make them listen?

Planting my palms to my eyes, I block out my bedroom ceiling and sink deeper into the extremely soft bed December picked out when we went mattress shopping earlier this year. Over the past few months, I think I’ve well and truly deleted any cooties from when Alister stayed here using it, but the real reason I haven’t switched the beds back already is that I like knowing this is the bed December chose.

It’s a marshmallow.

It reminds me of her.

I like everything that reminds me of her.

I bet if I can package the your daughter is literally the reason I wake up in the morning feeling alongside the I’m about one more year away from being a millionaire reality up together, her parents will at least give this situation a chance. I can do a heck of a lot with a chance.

It doesn’t even matter if they accept me. I just need them to respect their daughter as a full-grown adult.

Which…

Means that my determination might not matter at all.

Raking my fingers back into my hair, I open my eyes and glare up through the darkness, hating how utterly helpless I feel.

I just want to fix it.

Like a leaking pipe or a rickety chair or a nail pop or a creaking hinge.

But I can’t.

I can’t just fix it, because it’s not mine to fix, and I sure as heck know I haven’t been hired for this job.

While I’m steadily stewing deeper in my frustration, my phone lights up, filling my bedroom with its gleam. Glancing at my nightstand, I squint into the brightness at a text and just barely make out the four displayed words.

My Dece: Come here.

Frustration abandons me, and I rise to the call, exiting my room to knock on the door across from it.

“Come in,” her small voice beckons, so I abide, beholding her tucked in around a pillow she’s coddling like a koala.

My heart stutters, nearly stopping.

Behind her, her uncovered window glows, shedding moonlight inside the space. White clings to everything in the yard, brightening her lovely silhouette as snow continues to fall in sheets.

Regaining my sense, I shake my head and take my gaze off the enchanting woman before me. “What’s wrong, Dece?”

“Can’t sleep.” She curls up, tighter. “Cold.”

I turn to her closet. “I should have an extra blanket in here if you didn’t move it when you unpacked your things.”