Blue Christmas (The Moody Blue Trilogy | Book One) (38 page)

The story
continued, placing a love-sick Hannah on a beach in Florida. Rescued by fellow
Out
of the Blue
member, Sergio Cruz, “recently jilted by his psychotic jailbird
girlfriend.” More pictures. Sergio and Liza in Hawaii, leis around their necks.
Liza, dressed in an orange jumpsuit, hands behind her back in handcuffs, her
feet in chains. A forlorn Sergio, standing alone somewhere on a beach. The tale
unfolded about “the steamy pairing of two rejected lovers . . . the
college coed who won’t be satisfied until she has them all . . .”

She wadded the
paper into a ball and threw it across the cabin. Shelby entered, barely missing
the pitch. Hannah snapped open her seat belt. “Where—”

Shelby pointed to
the rear of the cabin, rushing to assist her to the restroom. Hannah made it
just in time before throwing up.

Shelby picked up
the intercom. “Brad, hold up. Give us a few minutes. We have a sick passenger
back here.” They could hear the engines’ downward whine as the pilot delayed
their departure.

Several minutes
later, Hannah emerged from the restroom. Shelby handed her a cool wet cloth and
helped her back to her seat. She pulled out a couple of the “party bags” in
case she should get sick again and set them on the table. “Is there anything I
can get for you?”

Hannah nodded her head, closing her
eyes. She placed the cool cloth over them.

Shelby fastened
the seatbelt for her then addressed Sergio. ”Can we take off or do you want to
wait?”

“No, get us out of
here. Now.”

“Leave me alone!”

Kylie felt her kitten’s
paws clawing at her hair accompanied by a loud symphony of annoyed meows.

“Katy, leave me alone!” she
whined, pulling the comforter over her head. Not to be outsmarted, the cat
crawled under the covers, cranking up her purring machine as she pressed her
paws on Kylie’s face.

“What is the
matter with you?” she yelled, throwing back the covers. She picked up the cat, not
buying the kitten’s look of innocence. Then she heard it. The doorbell was
ringing. Not one simple ring. Someone was holding the button down causing a
non-stop chiming of the bell.

Kylie checked her
clock. It was five minutes past midnight. She jumped out of bed and climbed
into her robe as she hurried into the living room. She peeked out the peephole
and jumped back.

Sergio Cruz!

Her heart raced.
She could feel the heat spreading up her neck.

Open the door.
She
knew she should, but she couldn’t. She was too angry.

“Kylie! Open up!
It’s Sergio.” It was an urgent and controlled shout, probably an attempt not to
wake her neighbors.

She turned her
back against the door and folded her arms across her chest. How could he come
here? How could he even
think
of coming here?

The door rattled
behind her as he pounded on it. “Kylie! Come on! Open up!”

She threw open the
door. It must have caught him by surprise, his hand still fisted to knock
again. Behind him stood Hannah.

She looks
awful. What a surprise.

Sergio started to
walk in. Kylie didn’t move.

“What is your
problem, Kylie? It’s late and we’re exhausted and you have no idea what we’ve—”

“What? A little
too much fun in the sun?” Kylie planted her hands on her hips.

He stopped cold, searching
her face for an explanation. She hoped her sarcasm covered the anger she felt.
But more than that, she prayed he couldn’t see the hurt that had riddled her
since she picked up the tabloid at the convenience store.

Hannah picked up
her bags and moved around Sergio. “Kylie, please—I just want to go to bed. Can
we just—”

Kylie didn’t
budge. “Sorry, Hannah. You know the rule here. No overnight male guests.”

Hannah looked as
if Kylie had slapped her. Then her face crumbled. She pushed Kylie out of the
way and ran into the apartment. Sergio followed, grabbing Kylie by the elbow
and kicking the door shut behind him.

“What is the
matter
with you?! That was out of line, Kylie.
Way
out of line.”

He dragged her to
the sofa and gently pushed her onto it. He sat on the coffee table directly in front
of her, knee to knee. They looked up simultaneously as Hannah slammed the
bedroom door.

“Kylie. Listen to
me. If you have one shred of loyalty in your heart—”

“
Loyalty?
That’s pretty ironic coming from—”

He put his hand over
her mouth. “Will you
please
just shut up and listen to me?”

She glared at him
with the meanest eyes she could muster. Then she relented, slowly nodding her
head. He lowered his hand.

“If you care
anything at all about your friend in there—the one I believe you once told me
was
like a sister
to you—then I suggest you hear me out. That tabloid is
trash. It was all contrived . . . twisted.
Nothing
happened between Hannah and me. I can’t believe I’m even having to defend
myself—or her—because there was—
is
—nothing between us.”

Kylie folded her
arms again. “How do you explain those pictures?”

The exasperation
on his face startled her. “I told you before I left. I had business in Orlando,”
he continued, his tone impatient. “I stopped by to check in on Hannah, talk to
her, just like I told you I was going to do. We spent time together between my
meetings. We walked on the beach. We talked. Mostly about what she’s been
through with Jason. We ate a couple meals together. Kylie, I went as a friend
and I’ve come back as a friend. Nothing more. You have to believe that.”

Kylie rolled her
neck, her eyes locked on his face. Seeing that tabloid at the convenience store
had thrust her heart into a meat grinder. She didn’t want to believe it but the
pictures were too convincing. She thought she knew Hannah better than that. But
then she’d remembered—hadn’t she also been charmed by Sergio Cruz herself? So
charmed that she betrayed her best friend’s secret whereabouts?

Hannah had left
town so upset, so devastated by what the press had done to her. She was still grieving
over the sudden loss of Jason. Of
course
she would be vulnerable,
wouldn’t she? The thoughts, the pictures, the story that accompanied them. And
while Kylie knew it probably wasn’t as “steamy” as the paper espoused, she
allowed herself to believe that Hannah and Sergio had found comfort in each
other’s arms. It actually made sense, considering what Sergio had just been
through as well.

Now she wasn’t so
sure.

“But you were
embracing each other! I saw the picture, Sergio. That was hardly a friendly
hug.”

He gripped her pajama-covered
knees with both hands. It hurt. “But don’t you get it, Kylie? That’s how these
rags work! They take a picture, most of them photoshopped, and put a caption
below it to say whatever they want. You
know
that! Think about it. They
could take a picture of the president standing beside some child star, put some
bogus caption under it, and the whole world thinks there’s some kind of kinky
relationship going on there. They don’t bother with truth because they peddle
lies. It’s been done thousands of times to thousands of people.

“I’m telling you, Kylie,
it’s a farce. And instead of being angry at your best friend, you might think
about giving her a little credit. She took this really hard. She’s been
throwing up all the way home.”

“She has?” Kylie
felt her countenance melt instantly. “But Hannah
never
throws up. She
must be—oh, Sergio, I’m so sorry!” She jumped up, starting toward her bedroom.
“I can’t believe I let myself be taken in by all that stuff.”

He dropped his
head back, raising his hands in triumphant resignation. “Finally! Thank God, we’ve
got
that
settled. Why don’t you go see how she’s doing? I think she
could really use a friend right now. Besides, I’m starving. You got anything to
eat?”

“How can you even
think of eating at a time like this?”

He opened the cabinets,
the refrigerator, then the freezer compartment. “Ah. Cookies & Cream. Want
some?”

“No, but by all
means, help yourself.”

Still, she dreaded
facing Hannah after her heartless accusations.
Some friend I am! I can’t
face her. Not yet.
 She stalled the apology by turning back toward the
kitchen and sitting down at the small kitchen table. She watched as Sergio tried
a couple of drawers before he found the utensils, fishing out a large wooden
spoon. He didn’t bother finding a bowl.

“Uh—” Kylie
started, watching him dig right into the carton. He looked up at her. She pasted
a smile on her face and said nothing. He winked.
Oh no. Not that wink again.
She felt the blush and prayed it wasn’t splotchy.

“So what can I do
to help her?” she asked. “She’s been through so much. How can I—”

The bedroom door
flew open. Hannah stood in the doorway. Fresh from a shower, she’d changed into
plaid PJ bottoms and a thermal shirt, her wet hair wrapped in a towel. “Sergio.
You’re still here. Good. I have something I need to say to both of you.”

She joined them in
the kitchen, grabbing a spoon out of the open drawer. She snatched the carton out
of Sergio’s hands and scooped a big spoonful before handing it back to him. She
pulled out a bar stool and sat down.

“Kylie, I don’t
know what you’re thinking or what—”

“It’s okay, Hannah,”
Kylie interrupted, jumping up to give her a hug. “Sergio explained everything.
I’m
so sorry
I doubted you.”

“Good. Then I
won’t bother with that speech. I’ve made a decision.”

They both looked
at her expectantly. Her tone was unusually assertive. Sergio set the carton of ice
cream on the table.

“I took a long,
hard look at myself in the mirror just now. And I didn’t like what a saw at
all. I saw a shriveled up, coward of a woman who’s let one too many people
stomp all over her. I’ve let them tear me to shreds, reducing me to this . . .
this little
wuss
of a person who just threw her guts up all the way from
Florida to North Carolina.

“And I decided I’m
not going to live like this anymore. I’m not gonna take it anymore. Not the
press, not the lies, not the harassment . . . and no offense, Sergio,
but not even
Out of the Blue
.”

He leaned back in
his chair.

“My life has been
a total wreck since that night Laura came into my store. I know it was all
unintentional. Nobody meant for
any
of this to happen, but that’s beside
the point. I’m sick and tired of being a victim to all of it, and I’m not going
to stand for it anymore. I’m done. With
all
of it.”

“Well, Hannah,
that’s great but—”

“No, Sergio. Let
me finish. Day after tomorrow, I’m going to grab my backpack, go to class, and
finish my senior year. If I get hassled every step of the way, then so be it.
If the press is camping at my doorstep, let them. If they call me a slut or a
tramp or a nymphomaniac, let them. Because
I
know the truth. I know who
Hannah Brooks is, and she’s none of those things. Their words can’t hurt me anymore
because I refuse to
let
them hurt me.”

“You go girl!” Kylie
shouted, shoving her fist into the air. “I am
so proud
of you! Preach
it, sister!”

“I’m not kidding, Kylie.
I’m totally serious.” Hannah’s face mirrored her words. “I will not run and I
will not hide. Those days are
over
. I’m going to get my degree, then I’m
going to show the world what
real
journalism is. Somebody has to make
these people accountable for their lies and for the way they flippantly attempt
to destroy the lives of others. And I think I’m just the person to do it.”

“All this from
looking in the mirror just now?” Kylie asked, smiling.

Hannah pulled the towel from her
hair and tossed it toward the bedroom door. She shook her head then
finger-combed her wet curls and blew out a long, slow breath. “Not entirely. I
had a lot of time to think in Florida.” Her angst gave way to a sense of
relief. She paused, looking down at her hands. “And, to be honest, I prayed a
lot too. More than I ever have.”

She looked up at Sergio.
“It’s really kind of ironic, if you stop and think about it. I’ve learned more
about prayer from hanging out with a bunch of rock stars than I ever learned at
Sunday school.” She tried to smile, but it just wasn’t there. “I watched what
can happen when people pray. I mean, c’mon—Jackson’s miracle didn’t just ‘happen,’
did it? I believe with all my heart God saved him because of the thousands of
prayers that went up for him. And I figured, well, maybe God would help me too
if I’d ask Him.”

Hannah stood up
and walked to the faucet where she rinsed the spoon and placed it in the sink. “And
in spite of everything that went down the last few hours, I refuse to be
distracted from what I’ve learned. I feel like this change of heart is a result
of those prayers I prayed in Florida. No, I take that back—I don’t just
feel
it, I
know
it. Because God showed me I can either roll over and die, or stand
up and face the challenge . . . change the direction I’m headed
and get on with my life.”