I don’t hesitate. Harper’s fingers twist in my sleeve and I look for Josh. He’s still in the bathroom. I grab Kayla instead, who’s appeared like a ghost between us. We shuffle-squirm into the car like a chain of paper dolls. We go to the back, maybe because it’s the closest door. I wind up in the middle seat again, Harper’s fingers digging into my arm and Kayla’s eyes sharply focused on the spectacle outside.

The truck doors open—both driver and passenger sides—and two men step out. I was wrong. He did stop looking for us—just long enough to bring Corey along.

Behind the counter, he’d looked reedy and pale. Weak. But here in the darkness of this parking lot, it’s different. Corey’s heavy canvas coat could be hiding anything.

Both men have thin mouths and small, mean eyes, and I am afraid of them. Because I am sure they mean us harm.

They approach Brecken, who’s standing at the driver’s door, his shoulders back like he’ll take on both of them if he has to. Brecken isn’t small, but I have zero confidence in his abilities against these men. There’s something about the way they watch him. Like hunting people down on Christmas Eve isn’t all that out of the ordinary in their world.

Brecken moves for the driver’s-side door, but Corey steps in front of his path.

“Where the hell you think you’re going?” he asks.

“Home for Christmas,” Brecken says, and I cringe, because smart-ass is not the card I’d play here.

The father moves closer. “You haven’t paid for the gas to get you there, boy.”

“Look, if you haven’t noticed, the highway is closed, and you aren’t really chock-full of ATMs around this county, so I can’t get your money.”

“Bet one of you little rich kids has some cash. Sure the hell don’t have any respect, do you? You think you can just walk—”

The wind kicks up, snatching the rest of his words from the air. Harper’s fingers are cold and hard on my wrist. She holds me so tightly my skin pinches against my bones. I hiss, but she won’t release me. She keeps her wide eyes on the window and leans her head closer to me.

“What are they saying?” I ask softly.

“I don’t know. Lock the doors,” she whispers.

“We can’t. Josh isn’t back,” Kayla says, the sudden clarity of her voice a shock in the quiet cabin. She is fully alert.

Brecken isn’t in the car, either, but I don’t say that. I don’t need to. Outside the men are muttering, but I can only pick up snatches of words, my brain matching voices to men.

The father shouts, “—little fucking thief!”

Corey interjects, “You don’t—”