14. Thorne

FOURTEEN

Thorne

Frosty the snowman knew the sun was hot that day / So he said, 'Let's run and we'll have some fun / Now before I melt away.'

1:52 pm

We stumble back inside from the snow, still laughing and shaking off the cold. My face is numb, my gloves soaked through, but it's been a long time since I've had this much fun. The snow tubing was worth every second of freezing my ass off.

Woodley looks over at me, her cheeks flushed from the cold, snowflakes still caught in her hair. She's smiling, really smiling. And for a moment, I forget that we've been stuck here, snowed in with no meeting, no flights, no way out.

"Let's warm up by the fire," I suggest, nodding toward the massive hearth in the corner of the lobby.

She nods, rubbing her hands together. "Please. I can't feel my fingers. But I do appreciate the mittens, thank you for being prepared!"

I lead the way, and we find a spot by the fire, the heat already working to thaw out my frozen limbs. I glance down at her shivering beside me. "I'll get you something hot. Hot chocolate?"

She gives me a grateful smile. "That sounds perfect."

I head over to the bar, ordering a hot chocolate for her and a scotch for me. As I wait, I think back to the way she laughed as we raced down the hill, the lightness in her eyes. I've never seen that side of her before, and it's endearing.

When I get back, I hand her the steaming mug of hot chocolate and sit down beside her on the hearth. She cups the drink in her hands, blowing on it to cool it down, her eyes fixed on the fire.

"Thanks," she says, taking a careful sip.

I take a sip of my scotch, the warmth sliding down my throat as I lean back against the hearth. "That was fun," I say, looking over at her. "I can't believe how fast you took off on that last run. I thought you were going to crash straight into the snowbank."

She laughs, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "I thought I was going to, too. I had no control."

"I could tell. You should've seen your face—pure panic."

"Shut up," she says, nudging me with her elbow. "I didn't see you slowing down either."

I smirk, shrugging. "I've got skills."

She rolls her eyes, but she's still smiling. We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the crackling of the fire and the quiet buzz of the lobby around us filling the space. It feels... easy. Relaxed. Different from how we've been since this whole trip started.

Woodley takes another sip of her hot chocolate, staring into the fire. "I haven't had that much fun in the snow since I was a kid."

I glance at her, surprised by the comment. It's the first time she's mentioned anything remotely personal about her past, and it catches me off guard. "You're too serious," I say, half-joking, but there's a real note to it.

She laughs softly, but there's a hint of something else in her expression—something almost guarded. "I had to get serious fast," she says quietly, not looking at me. "Sometimes life doesn't go as planned. Sometimes you have to move outside of your comfort zone to live your authentic life."

I pause, taking in her words. She doesn't offer more, but something about the way she says it makes me stop. There's more to what I think she wants to say, but I let it sit between us if she wants to expound. I want to ask, but I also know better than to push.

Instead, I just sit there, watching her as she stares into the fire, lost in her thoughts. We don't know each other really, so this trip has been a crash course in each other. I'll take what I can get when she is ready to share. Because I definitely want to know more.

Before I can think of what to say next, a burst of sound fills the lobby. A chorus of small, high-pitched voices singing a Christmas carol. I look over to see a group of kids. "Who are these guys?" I ask the server who walks up to our table at the same time I am aware of the singing.

"Oh, it is Mother Nature's gift. These kids were down the street for a Christmas play in the little play house next door and the roads are too impassible for them to get home safely right now, so the hotel invited them and their families to come hang out here. They offered to carol around the lobby. Aren't they the cutest?"

"That's so cool! I hate they are stranded, but, I'm not complaining about the windfall," Woodley chimes in.

They're singing "Jingle Bells," and their voices carry across the room with that innocent, chaotic energy only kids can pull off. I guess we aren't the only ones stuck, but they are certainly making the most of it.

Woodley glances over, and I catch the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. The heavy mood from just a minute ago seems to lift, and I feel it too—a lightness I wasn't expecting.

The kids are completely out of sync, half of them a beat too fast, the other half barely keeping up, but it's impossible not to laugh at their enthusiasm. One little girl in the front is practically screaming the words, while a boy beside her is waving around a tiny bell like it's a full-on percussion instrument.

"They're giving it their all," Woodley says, her voice soft with amusement.

"They've got spirit, I'll give them that," I say, taking another sip of my scotch, feeling some of the tension ease out of my chest.

As the carolers finish up their song with an enthusiastic shout of "Hey!" at the end, the guests around the lobby clap, and the kids bow as if they've just performed on stage with the Rockettes.

The kids start on another song, this time "Silent Night," and it's a little more subdued. Their voices are softer, and more in tune. I glance over at Woodley again, and she's watching them with a faraway look in her eyes.

There's a softness in her face that makes me wonder what her Christmases were like. Based on what little I know of her and the few hints she's dropped on this trip, I'm guessing they weren't as idyllic as mine.

"They're pretty good," I say, nudging her a little.

She nods, smiling at the kids. "Yeah, they are. This whole place feels like a little Christmas bubble, doesn't it? It almost makes me forget about all of the horrific turn of events that brought us here and made us hostages in this city."

I glance out the window, the snow falling thick and fast, turning the world outside into a swirling white void. She's right. In here, with the fire, the carolers, and the holiday spirit, it almost feels like we're exactly where we're supposed to be. Not stuck.

The carolers finish their song, and the guests clap again, the room filled with a warm, festive energy. One of the younger kids, a boy who can't be more than five, runs over to the fire and almost trips over his own feet. Woodley laughs softly, shaking her head.

They move on to another part of the lobby, and the energy they leave behind stays with us. It's like the Christmas spirit has settled in around us, wrapping everything in a glow that makes it perfect.

I turn to Woodley, my voice softer now. "You ever do anything like that when you were a kid? Caroling?" I figure a harmless question about her childhood might soften her to want to open up some.

She shakes her head. "No, that wasn't in our repertoire."

Interesting choice of a word. Her tone is distant again. She smiles at the kids as they move away, their laughter echoing through the lobby. What are you holding onto so tightly, Woodley Price?

"Well," I say, nudging her with my elbow, "my mom made my sister and me do it a few times. I resisted, but I will admit only to you, hearing these kids make me feel a little nostalgic."

She laughs, the warmth returning to her eyes. "I bet little Thorne was a cute caroler."

"I'm not so sure about that, but I was definitely the kid at the front yelling," I say, standing up to head back to the bar.

"Somehow, I'm not surprised to hear that."

As I order the drinks, I smile to myself that I'm actually enjoying myself. It's Christmas, after all. Maybe we're not as stuck as I initially thought.

As I wait at the bar for the drinks—another hot chocolate for Woodley and a scotch for me—a commotion near the front desk catches my attention. A woman's voice rises, panicked, cutting through the general hum of the lobby. I glance over, seeing her frantically gesturing toward the hotel staff, her face pale and tear-streaked.

Something in me shifts, an instinct kicking in. I abandon the drinks and head toward the scene.

The woman is practically pleading with the staff. "My daughter Sophie…she ran off. I can't find her anywhere!" Her voice cracks, and I see her hands trembling as she clutches a scarf to her chest.

"What happened?" I ask, stepping up next to the staff member, my tone calm but urgent.

The woman looks at me, eyes wide with fear. "She's only five," she says, her voice barely steady. "We came from the theatre, with the other kids caroling, and she... she got upset. Said she was going to run away because I wouldn't let her have more candy. I thought she'd calm down, but now I can't find her, and I've already checked the theatre. She's not there." Her voice breaks again, panic clear.

I glance out the window, where the snow is coming down harder now, wind whipping in fierce gusts. "You think she went outside?"

She nods, her breath hitching. "Yes, one of the children told me that she walked out while I was looking everywhere inside for her."

"I'll help look," I say immediately. There's no time to waste.

I head back to our table, grabbing my coat and hat. Woodley looks up at me, concern flashing in her eyes. "A little girl's missing," I explain quickly, pulling on my jacket. "She ran off. I'm going out to look."

"I'll come with you," Woodley says, already getting up, but I shake my head.

"I'll be quick. Stay here in case she comes back inside." I grab my coat from our tubing and put on my damp mittens.

Woodley opens her mouth to argue, but I'm already heading toward the door. The cold hits me the second I step outside, brutal and biting. The wind makes it hard to see more than a few feet ahead, but I push through, my boots crunching through the fresh layer of snow as I circle the hotel.

"Sophie!" I call out, my voice swallowed by the wind. The snow is blinding, each gust feeling like a punch to the face, but I keep moving, scanning the ground for any sign of movement.

Then, just as I'm about to turn the corner, I spot something—a small figure huddled beneath a snow-covered bush, half-buried in the white drifts. At first, I think it's just a pile of snow, but then I see the little shape trembling violently.

"Sophie?" I shout, my heart pounding as I rush toward the little girl. It must be her.

She's sitting there, her knees tucked into her chest, trying to wrap her too-thin coat around herself. Her lips are blue, her teeth chattering uncontrollably, but there's a stubborn set to her jaw, even as she shivers. "I'm not going back!" she shouts, her voice tiny but fierce against the wind.

I kneel down, brushing the snow from her small shoulders. "You can't stay out here," I tell her firmly. "It's too cold. You're freezing."

She shakes her head, tears mixing with the snowflakes on her cheeks. "I don't care! I'm not going back!"

"You're tough," I say, my voice softer now, "but even the toughest people need help sometimes. Let's get you warm, okay?"

Her resolve wavers, and after a moment, she nods. I scoop her up in my arms, cradling her as I make my way back toward the hotel. She's so cold, her little body shaking uncontrollably, and I pull her close, shielding her from the wind as best I can.

When I step back into the lobby, Woodley is there, waiting by the door, her face pale and tense. As soon as she sees the girl in my arms, she rushes forward.

"She's freezing," I say as I set Sophie down gently. The girl's mother runs over, her face crumpling with relief as she wraps her arms around her daughter, pulling her close.

Woodley is silent beside me, but I can feel the energy radiating off her—something sharper than concern. Her eyes flicker between the girl and her mother, and there's a tension in her body that wasn't there before.

"She was determined," I murmur, still watching Sophie. "Even in this storm, she didn't want to come back and she was standing her ground. That grit will prove useful in her life as an adult."

Woodley's reaction is immediate. Her jaw tightens, and she folds her arms, eyes narrowing slightly as if she's holding something back. For a moment, I think she's going to say something, but she stays quiet.

I glance at her. "You okay?"

She nods, but her expression is distant. "Yeah. It's just, some people don't stop running, even when the odds are stacked against them. Even when it's dangerous."

There's something in her voice, something raw, almost bitter, that makes me pause. I want to ask her what she means, but I hold back, sensing that whatever's going on in her head is too heavy for this moment.

We stand there for a long beat, the reunion of the mother and daughter playing out in the background, but the weight of Woodley's words lingers between us.

She's not just talking about Sophie.

The drinks sit forgotten on the table between us, but neither of us reaches for them. Woodley's been silent since we got back inside, and I can't shake the image of her standing there when I brought the little girl in. Her face was tense, something storming behind her eyes.

I turn to her, watching as she stares out at the snow, her arms still crossed tightly across her chest. "You've been different since we found her," I say, my voice quiet. "She's safe, she's okay. You don't have to worry anymore."

She doesn't look at me, doesn't respond at first. Then, finally, she sighs, a sound full of something heavier than I expected. "That girl. I see myself in her," she says softly, almost like she's talking to herself. "Even when it was dangerous, even when she was cold and alone, she didn't want to come back."

Her words hang in the air between us, and suddenly, it clicks. This isn't just about the girl. There's something more, something buried beneath the surface, and I realize Woodley sees herself in that little girl.

"She reminded you of yourself?" I ask, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

Woodley flinches, her grip on her arms tightening, and for a second, I think she's going to shut me out. But instead, she closes her eyes, letting out a shaky breath. "Yeah," she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. "She did."

I lean forward, trying to understand. "What do you mean?"

Woodley finally looks at me, and there's something raw in her eyes, something vulnerable I've not seen in her before.

"I'm like that," she continues, her voice trembling slightly. "I've been running, and even when I knew it was dangerous, even when I knew I could end up stranded, alone, I didn't stop. I didn't want to go back. I couldn't."

I'm not quite sure what she's saying or how to respond. I don't want to stop the flow of her sharing, so I pause and give her some space.

"You didn't want to go back to what?" I ask, my voice hoarse.

Woodley takes a deep breath, her gaze dropping to the table. "To them. To my family. You've been thinking this whole time that I came from nothing, haven't you? That I've been trying to claw my way out of some kind of poverty."

I don't answer, because yeah, that's exactly what I thought. I built this whole story in my head about who she is: this tough, scrappy woman who fought for her place in the world.

My brain can't fathom what she is talking about if that isn't the case. Is her dad a mafia don or something?

She shakes her head, her voice quiet but steady. "That's not my story, Thorne. I didn't run away from a poor family. I ran away from wealth. From privilege."

Her words knock the wind out of me. I sit back, staring at her, trying to wrap my head around what she's saying. What I thought I knew and what she is saying doesn't square. "You... ran away from privilege?"

Woodley nods, her fingers gripping the edge of the table like she needs something to hold on to. "My family, they're powerful. They are wealthy in a way that most people can't comprehend, the type of wealth that makes people bend to their will. They use money to control everything: people, decisions, lives. I didn't want to be a part of that world. So I walked away."

"You disowned your family because you didn't want their money?"

Her laugh is bitter, almost pained. "It wasn't about the money. It was what that money represented and how he made it. Let's just say my father is not a good man. I didn't want that life. I didn't want to be like them."

The vulnerability in her voice cracks something open inside me. This whole time, I've been watching her fight, admiring her resilience, her strength. This whole time I had it completely wrong. She wasn't fighting to get somewhere. She was fighting to get away.

"And that girl," Woodley continues, her voice trembling now, "she reminded me of myself. I mean, I know she was just a little girl upset with her mom. That's very different than what I'm talking about. But she was out there, determined not to go back, even when she was in danger. It was that resolve that reminded me of myself."

Her words land with a weight I wasn't expecting, and in that moment, I see it—the defiance, the strength, the sheer determination she's carried all along. I still don't know the full story, but it's clear how deeply she feels about walking away.

Most people would've been swayed by the money, by the comfort of staying in line. But not her. Whatever her family's business was, she had the guts to turn her back on it, to choose her own path over a fortune. That kind of resolve... that takes a rare kind of courage.I lean in, my voice softer now. "But you don't have to run anymore."

She doesn't say anything, but the look in her eyes says it all. For the first time, she's letting someone in, letting herself be seen. And for the first time, I see her—the real her.