Fighting Our Way (Broken Tracks 2)

She bites her bottom lip as I place her in her wheelchair. “Partly…” She looks back up at me, shaking the thoughts from her head as she narrows her eyes playfully at me. “But you also disturbed my binge session, mister.”

Bracing my hands on either side of the wheelchair, I lean forward, placing a soft kiss on her lips. “You’ll get over it.”

She starts to push herself away from the car and I quickly grab a blanket from the back seats and run after her. “Wait up!”

She turns her head over her shoulder and grins. “Can’t keep up, huh?” She pushes her arms forward, going faster while still gazing around the park.

A grin spreads over my face as I up my pace, walking beside her and holding up the blanket. “Stop for a second so I can put this over your legs.”

“What?” She comes to a stop, her head reeling back as her eyes widen at what I’m holding. “You are not putting that on me.”

I step in front of her, rolling my eyes. “You’re going to get cold otherwise.”

“Don’t you dare,” she grinds out, wheeling herself backward. “I have a coat on, I’ll be fine.”

Matching her pace, I step forward again with the plaid blanket out in front of me. “You’re being ridiculous, just put on the blanket.”

“I mean it, Nate. I’m not an old man!” She holds her hand up. “Step. Away.”

Chuckling, I counter, “I know for a fact you’re not an old man,” with a wink. “But you’re also not moving your leg muscles so you’ll get cold. Stop being so stubborn.”

“I swear to God, if you put that blanket—” I lay the blanket over her lap, her hands batting me away. “No!”

“Just keep it there. I don’t want you getting sick a week before Christmas. I promise you don’t look like an old man.”

“Fine.” She tucks the blanket around her legs, her movements slow and jerky. “You’re totally ruining my street cred, but whatever.” The side of her mouth quirks up before moving into a grim line. “You know, my arms are suddenly so tired.” She flops them down on her lap dramatically, biting her bottom lip to keep her smile at bay.

“Is that so?” I walk behind her, grabbing the handles. “I guess I’ll have to push you like the old man you are then.”

“Just call me Earl from now on,” she comments, her voice serious before her laughter floats out of her, wrapping around us. It feels good to hear her laugh—I’ve missed the sound of it.

When she stops, we’re basked in silence apart from the sounds of nature, and I take in a lungful of cold, fresh air. “I love this time of year.”

“It always makes me want to get under my duvet and watch Netflix all day.” She turns her head, looking at me out of the corner of her eye knowingly.

“You can’t sit inside watching Netflix all day a week before Christmas. You need to be out doing holiday things like… shopping or baking or… crafts.” She snorts. “Okay, maybe not crafts but I do want some Christmassy goodness coming my way.”

“So go buy a tree and we can watch Home Alone on Netflix.” She shrugs. “Win-win.”

“Unless I have a Christmas cookie in my mouth, it’s not a win.”

“Okay, so I’ll make the cookies, you get the tree, and then we can watch a Christmas movie.” She holds the blanket up. “We can cover ourselves with this—” She cuts herself off. “Wait a minute.” Twirling her head around as far as she can go, she asks, “Is this the blanket?”

“The blanket?” My brow furrows.

“Yeah, you know: the one you used on our first date?”

I can’t believe she remembered. “I guess it is, yeah.”

I watch as her throat bobs on a swallow, her eyes glassing over before she clears her throat and snuggles deeper under the blanket. “I love this blanket.”

“Don’t want to say I told you so but…” I smirk and she turns back to face the front. “So… you want me to get a tree?”

My mind has been so busy I completely forgot it was Christmas next week until yesterday.

Her head moves up and down on a nod. “Yeah, a real one.” She lets out an audible breath. “We always had a real one when I was growing up. There’s nothing like the smell of a room with a real tree in it.”

I push us over to a bench and sit down beside her wheelchair I place at the end. “My mom always has one in every room of the house. It’s her favorite holiday.” She looks down at her hands, rolling the blanket between her fingers. “When was the last time you spoke to your parents?”