4. On the radio “Irreplaceable” by Beyoncé

CHAPTER 4

ON THE RADIO: “IRREPLACEABLE” BY BEYONCé

It’s snowing. Hard. This is why Damien has four-wheel drive and the most expensive wiper blades you can buy. After crossing the river and entering New Hampshire, he makes the turn onto Airport Road and feels the car downshift to take the snowy hill.

He climbs steadily, passing the main entrance to the municipal airport. It’s not a popular taxi destination, and until today, he didn’t even know that there was a second airport terminal behind the regular one. A private terminal.

Lebanon, New Hampshire isn’t exactly a destination for millionaires. It’s just a place Vermonters visit to buy cheap booze at the liquor outlet and shop at Target.

But sure enough, the road curves around the top of the hill and brings him to a small parking lot in front of a compact terminal building. There’s a wreath on the door, and beyond the front windows, orange flames flicker in a fireplace.

So this is how the other half flies. He cuts the engine and sits back to wait for Nicolette.

Since it’s her, he’s five minutes early. He’d never want to make her wait. He pulls out his phone and checks it for messages just in case her charter arrived already.

But no. The only message is from his eighteen-year-old sister, Zara. “Call me back!” she says. “Emergency.”

He hits the redial button in case it’s an actual emergency. Knowing Zara, it could really go either way. “Hey,” he says when she answers. “What kind of emergency are we talking about?”

“Can I use your car on Saturday night?”

He closes his eyes wearily. “Probably not, buddy. The holidays are my busy time.” He needs to drive drunk people around and earn tips. “You know this.”

“But there’s a party, and everyone is going.”

“If everyone is going, then finding a ride ought to be easy.”

“But Damien?—”

Her complaints escalate, but he tunes her out, spotting a glow in the distant sky. The glimmering spark grows larger and more defined as the jet approaches. The lights on the wings and fuselage blink rhythmically, blurred by the gentle snowfall.

“Hey, Zara?” he says when she takes a breath. “I’ve got to go. My fare is here.”

“What if you could drop me off at the party?” she asks. “And pick me up later? I’ll do all your laundry or something. We could barter.”

He sighs again, because he gets it. He really does. She doesn’t want to ask one of her friends to drive all the way out to the trailer park to pick her up. She doesn’t like to remind people where they live if she can help it.

“Let’s see how Saturday shapes up,” he says.

“Okay!” she says quickly.

“And please don’t use the word emergency unless it really is.”

“Well…”

“ Zara .”

“Okay, okay.” She sighs. “Bye, Demon. I hope you get a big tip.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

He tosses his phone aside. Then he reaches into the glove box and pulls out a Santa hat, tucking his head into it before getting out of the SUV.

The jet is coming in for a landing now, its engines a low hum that gradually increases in volume. The landing lights cut through the darkness, illuminating the runway in a stark white beam. He can see the sleek body of the aircraft now, its nose slightly tilted up as it prepares for the landing. And then the wheels touch down smoothly, a dusting of snow flying up around them.

How much fun would that be? Damien asks himself as the jet brakes tidily to a stop and taxis toward the little terminal. Driving a taxi in the sky .

A ground-crew member, bundled in a heavy coat and hat, approaches the aircraft with a light wand in hand, guiding it into its final position as the engines slow and then quiet.

Damien feels a hum of expectation. This will be the fourth or fifth time he’s driven for Nicolette. His raging crush has only gotten stronger over the past couple years. Picking her up is not a job anymore—it’s an event. He loves hearing her stories from college. Or any stories, really. She’s always full of life and adventure.

She’s as sweet as she is exciting. And that’s just so rare.

The jet’s cabin door opens with a mechanical whir, and a set of stairs extends down to the tarmac. The interior lights illuminate a uniformed flight attendant at the top of the stairs. She looks around briefly then steps back inside.

Damien feels his pulse kick up with expectation. He doesn’t even know if this is the right jet, but he’s walking toward the fence like a moth to the flame.

A moment later, Nicolette appears in the doorway, wearing a wool coat and jeans. She starts down the stairs, then spots Damien and grins widely. Her feet speed up, and he winces internally as she trots toward the snowy ground, bumping her suitcase down each step behind her.

Careful . He’s well aware that she doesn’t know how to pack a suitcase that weighs less than fifty pounds. At the bottom of the little stairway, she all but skids toward him at the fence. “Hi!” she calls. “Great hat!”

“Thanks,” he says, grinning back like a fool. “Did you plan on climbing that fence? Or is there another way out of there?”

She looks up at the top of what must be a ten-foot chain-link, as if actually considering it. “Good point. Hold on.” She smiles again and then turns for the little terminal building, dragging her case through the snow.

Damien strides into the terminal to meet her there. It is, of course, part of his job to carry her luggage. That’s what he tells himself as he practically sprints inside to see her. The bounce in his step has nothing to do with Nicolette’s smile or the squeal she makes as she drops her bags and leaps toward him.

Somehow, he manages to catch the hug that’s hurtling his way. “Hey!” he says uselessly. “Good flight?”

“I’m so glad to see you!” she squeals. “And I’m also really glad exams are over.”

He laughs and lifts her up off the ground playfully. “And here I thought I was special.”

“Oh, but you are,” she says. “You’re definitely the most fun thing about this evening.”

“Because…?” He sets her down and grabs her suitcase and carryon. As predicted, they weigh as much as a small car.

“Because of the Step Monster’s caroling party.” She makes a face. “It’s awful.”

“Not a fan of caroling?” he asks as they head toward the parking lot.

“Oh, caroling is fun. But this party is misnamed. It’s actually a concert—her and the Twins of Evil.”

Last summer her father eloped with the woman Nicolette refers to as the Step Monster, and so now she has two step-siblings.

“They play instruments and sing. All three of them. Which should be fun, but somehow isn’t.” She skips through the parking lot, kicking up snow. “So drive slowly, okay? I might be able to miss the first half. I can tell her the roads were slick and unplowed.”

Damien opens the passenger door for her. Last time he drove her to the airport, she’d waved off the backseat and climbed in front with him. “Kind of silly of me to sit in back, right?” she’d said. “Makes it harder to talk to you.”

And, yeah, it also makes it easier for him to get way too invested in the hour or so they share together. But it’s the best kind of torture.

After she’s tucked safely into the car, he opens the hatch and hauls her luggage into the back. “I didn’t even know luggage could weigh this much. What do you have in here?”

“Gold bars. Weapons. The bodies of my enemies. ”

“Right.” He closes the back and then climbs into the driver’s seat. He starts the engine and notches the heat up, but then turns to her without putting the car in gear. “You know,” he says quietly. “On my way down, there was an accident in the northbound lane. Traffic was stopped. But it’s probably taken care of by now.”

“Bummer,” she says. Then she grabs his wrist suddenly, and a zing of warmth runs up his arm. “God—am I a terrible person? I don’t actually want someone to have an accident so I don’t have to listen to my step-mother warble her way through Greensleeves.”

“But what if nobody had to die?” he suggests with a smirk. “You could just say we got stuck waiting for the accident to clear. And we could, I don’t know, get a pizza at Lui Lui.” He points out the window. “It’s not even a mile from here.”

Nicolette sits back in her seat suddenly. “Damien Rossi, you are a genius ! What do you like on your pizza?”

“Just about anything.”

“We’re doing this!” She rubs her hands together. “I’m starving. And at home she’s probably serving something like saddle of rabbit in fig sauce.”

“Huh,” he says, navigating out of the parking lot. “Sounds a little fussy.”

“She invented fussy,” Nicolette scoffs. “And she makes it very clear that I don’t measure up to her standards. There are all these little comments about my clothes. My hair. My lack of makeup. While her kids smirk at me in their designer wear.”

“Hmm.” Damien has a few thoughts about that, which he should probably keep to himself. But he’d bet any amount of money that Nicolette’s Step Monster is jealous of a girl who looks ready to star in a Hollywood role after exam week.

There can’t be many women in Vermont prettier and more enchanting than Nicolette.

If there are, he’s never met one.

Thirty minutes later they are seated in a booth, finishing their shared Caesar salad, and waiting for their pizza. The place is packed, but they were shown to the last available booth, which is in view of the open-jawed pizza oven where flames dance cheerfully inside. George Michael sings about giving his heart away over the sound system.

“God, I needed this,” she says, rubbing her eyes. “Calories are necessary before I face the family. I’m so tired. I crammed for my poli-sci exam until three o’clock in the morning.”

“Did it go okay?”

She shrugs. “I guess. I know a lot more about the differences between Mexican, Canadian, and American democratic principles than I ever wanted to.”

“And your writing?”

“What writing?” Nicolette grabs her straw and takes a sip of Coke. “I can hardly remember the plot of my book. There’s just no time to work on it. But what about you? Do you have your sketchbook?”

“It’s in the car,” he dodges. Last time they were together, he shared some of his pages, but it made him feel self-conscious.

“Where in the car?” Before he can even process the question, she slides out of the booth.

Seriously? “Don’t go out in the snow. It’s not worth it.”

“I beg your pardon.” She leans on the table, looming over him in a sweater that looks as soft as a cloud, and a body that does things to him. She meets his gaze with her bright blue eyes. “I will absolutely get a little snow in my hair to find out what your broody vampires have been up to since September.”

Damien sighs. The vampires aren’t all that inspiring. But he can’t say no to her. It’s just not a thing he can do. “Sit,” he says, sliding out of the booth. “It’ll be easier for me to find than you.”

She grins up at him triumphantly.

He trots outside, grabs the damn sketchbook out of the glovebox, and carries it back inside to hand it over.

“Don’t make that face,” she chirps, taking it from him. “I’ve been reading about voting demographics and French history for two weeks. I need a little vampire mischief. And last time you promised you’d make one of them look like me.”

He did, and that’s half the problem. The new character is called Selene Nightshade, and she’s very pretty, with a perky bust and an impish smile. He wonders if Nicolette will take one look and see right into his horny mind.

Or maybe he’s got an inflated sense of his artistic skills. Either way, it’s embarrassing.

She opens the book and quickly shuffles to the new material, while he sips his Coke and questions all his choices.

It takes a few minutes, but she lets him know the instant she finds Selene by letting out a squeal. “Omigod, Damien! You made me a badass.”

“I tried.” He shrugs.

In the story, Selene is a daring vampire who runs an underground network of safe havens for vampires fleeing from vampire hunters. She just happens to do this brave work in lowcut tops and a ponytail.

“Can I have a copy of this panel? I want to put it on my wall at school.” She flips the book around and shows him a page where Selene is fighting off a burly human.

He squints at the drawing, seeing only its flaws. “I guess? Makes me worried for your decor, though.”

She laughs happily and closes the book. “The only reason your modesty isn’t super annoying is because it’s real. Who else have you shown this to?”

This question is also embarrassing, because literally nobody else has seen it. “Eh, it’s not done, you know?” There isn’t anyone else in his life who’s demanded to see it, except for his younger siblings, and it’s easier to say no to them. He’s been practicing for years.

A server turns up just then to slide their pizza onto the table. “Careful, it’s molten ,” he says. “If you value your taste buds, I’d give it ten minutes.”

That’s really no problem for Damien. He’d happily sit here all weekend with Nicolette.

She pushes a lock of straw-colored hair behind her ear and peers at him. “Look. Maybe I’m being nosy, but did you ever think of going to school for this? Vermont is like the only place in the country with a school just for graphic novelists. ”

He has, in fact, thought of this. The Center for Cartoon Studies is right across the river from where they’re sitting now. But they’re probably looking for a different sort of student. “I might not be their kind of guy,” he says gruffly.

She picks up the book, opens it to a page with an elaborate fight scene, and faces it toward him. “Really? If this isn’t their type of thing, then I’d like someone to explain to me what the hell they’re doing over there.”

“Well…” It won’t be easy for someone with a Duke pedigree to understand. “It’s not the art. It’s…the Rossi family doesn’t often darken the door of a college.”

She closes the book and puts it down. “College isn’t the only way to get ahead in the world, in spite of what my dad thinks. But it is the best way I know to meet people who are interested in the same stuff as you. Doesn’t that appeal to you a little bit? Meeting a bunch of other people who just want to talk about this?” She taps the book with her finger.

“Well, sure,” he admits. “It’s not that I’m uninterested. I just can’t really imagine it. And I can’t really swing the expense.” He’s already looked at the cost, and it isn’t cheap.

“Wouldn’t there be financial aid?” she presses.

“Not much,” he says quietly. “It’s a tiny school. Besides, I work a lot, and my family needs my income right now.” It’s been a difficult year at home, with lots of unexpected expenses. The twins won’t graduate for another six months, and his mother needs to move into a better neighborhood.

Nicolette’s face falls. “God, I’m sorry to bring it up. It’s none of my business.”

“Don’t worry about it. I have time. And a few other ideas for paying for school. It’s just going to take me a little while to get started.”

“So what happens next in the story?” She reaches over the pizza to poke his arm.

And there’s that warmth again. Whenever she touches him, he feels it. “You tell me.”

“Because you don’t know? Or because you want to know if you’re sending the right signals? ”

He laughs. “It’s a little of both. I’m torn between a couple of different ideas.”

Nicolette slides out of the booth again, picks up his sketchbook, and then slides next to him. His heart makes an unforgiving skitter.

“Okay, so on this page?” She points to the hero. “I thought Jart was going to attack. But then he gets all coy with the vampire hunter, and it kept me on edge.”

“Yeah? Sweet,” he says casually. But inside he’s bursting, because building suspense is exactly what he’d meant to do.

She goes on to make a couple of other predictions, before setting the book aside. “Do you think this pizza is cool enough to eat now?” She drags her plate to the empty spot on the table in front of her and reaches for a slice. “Guess I’m about to find out.”

Damien takes a slice after she does. He let Nicolette choose the toppings, of course, and she went with meatball, onions, and ricotta.

Hell, she really is the perfect woman. The first bite makes him want to weep.

The waiter reappears and smiles down at them. “Does this date night need anything else? A beer or two, maybe?”

Damien, having no idea what to say about this false assumption, balks.

But Nicolette doesn’t miss a beat. “Do you want a beer, darling?”

“No, I’m driving,” he manages.

Nicolette’s smile lights up her whole face. And it lights a fire inside Damien that’s almost as hot as the flames from the pizza oven. What he wouldn’t do to make her smile.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t take all night to eat a pizza. Not thirty minutes pass before the server is asking them if they need a box for the last two slices and dropping the check in its little billfold.

They both grab for it at the same time.

“Hey!” Nicolette yelps when he gets his hand on it first. “You’re not paying that.”

“It was my idea,” he says. “A guy’s gotta eat.”

She shakes her head, accepts the box from the server, and slips the last two slices inside. “At least take the leftovers. If I took them home, the twins would just scarf them down before I got a chance.”

This is probably what will happen at Damien’s house, too, but he takes the box anyway.

They head out into the snow, and Damien has to drive fairly slowly when they reach the highway.

“Do you need to call home?” he asks. “It will take us another forty-five minutes to get there.”

In the passenger seat, wearing his Santa hat and looking cute as hell, Nicolette pulls out her phone. “No texts. My father probably forgot I was coming home tonight. He always looks a little surprised when I turn up.”

Damien is silent for a moment. “I’ve never met your dad, but I don’t have a great impression.”

“Why?” She turns to him quickly.

He doesn’t speak for a moment, and it’s partly because the truck in front of him is kicking up a cloud of snow and partly because he needs to choose his words carefully. “Every time you mention him, he’s blowing you off somehow. I just don’t get it. You’re, like, the perfect daughter. Going to college. Studying hard. Nice to everyone. What the hell does it take to get his attention?”

Beside him, she goes absolutely still.

Crap . “God, I’m sorry. Don’t listen to me.” He’s said too much, and it’s none of his damn business.

“Damien,” she whispers. “I think that all the time— what the hell does it take ? I’ve never figured it out.”

Aw . “You still shouldn’t listen to me. My dad left when I was a teenager. I’m just painting your situation with my own brush.”

“Maybe it’s the same brush, though.” She pulls off the Santa hat and smooths it on her lap. “My dad is still physically in my life. But after my mother died, it’s like he forgot that I exist. And now he’s got this new wife and new kids and…” She presses a hand over her mouth, as if to stop herself from saying more.

“Eh, I knew he was an ass,” Damien murmurs. “What he does to you seems almost more cowardly than what my father does to his kids. Like, yours will stick around, but he’ll freeze you out because you remind him of his dead wife. ”

She lets out a little gasp. “That’s what my therapist said. Almost word for word.”

He snorts. “Well maybe if this taxi thing doesn’t work out, I can become a therapist.” He puts the blinker on to exit the highway.

“Yes!” She cackles.

Grinning, he eases onto the off-ramp. He’s just begun to decelerate when a flicker of movement registers in his peripheral vision. A deer, stepping onto the road.

For a nanosecond, all he registers is the snow-globe beauty of the swirling flakes in the headlights and the big brown eyes of the doe. But then Nicolette gasps, and his reflexes kick in. He jerks the wheel to the right.

The tires lose grip momentarily, sending the Jeep into a slide. Damien feels the vehicle’s rear end slip. His right hand shoots out to brace Nicolette against her seat.

A surge of adrenaline fires inside him as the Jeep fishtails. But he steers into the skid with practiced ease, the way his father—the same complicated fucker who made his childhood so confusing—taught him to do on these same snowy roads.

The tires catch traction, and he countersteers again, bringing the vehicle back under control in a matter of seconds.

After they stop safely at the end of the ramp, it takes him another second to realize he’s got his whole arm pressed against Nicolette’s chest. He quickly removes it. “You okay?”

“Uh, yup,” she replies with a nervous laugh. “Nice driving.”

“Thanks.” He takes a breath. “Wasn’t really a close call, though. I actually paid that doe to do that so I could cop a feel.”

She barks out a shocked laugh, which makes him laugh, too. And then they’re both in hysterics, the kind that a harried moment can cause.

Eventually he remembers how to breathe, and another car winds down the ramp to stop behind them.

Looking both ways, as cautious as a granny, he pulls out onto the road to drive her home. The last few miles are uneventful. The only thing that’s odd is that the Overlands’ gate is standing open.

He pulls up the winding path to find the driveway mobbed with cars and the magnificent house positively blazing with light. There are Christmas trees in every front-facing window and a giant wreath on the front door.

“Holy shit,” Nicolette breathes. “It’s like the North Pole threw up on the house. And whose cars are these? She must have invited half of Vermont.”

Not my half , thinks Damien. He spots a Land Rover, a BMW, a Mercedes, and a Porsche Cayenne.

“Hey, you want to come in?” she says suddenly.

He looks over at her, startled. He’s dying of curiosity, and he’d follow Nicolette anywhere.

For a moment, he allows himself to picture it. His hand on her back as they navigate the room. Her smile lit by candlelight and the glow of a Christmas tree. A shared glance when the music gets particularly awkward.

And then a kiss goodnight.

But a second later, reality creeps in. Her picky stepmom won’t be any nicer to Nicolette if she invites the taxi driver in his jeans and his North Face ski jacket to her party.

“I shouldn’t,” he whispers. “It’s a weekend at Christmastime. That’s, um, prime driving hours.”

“Oh,” Nicolette says. Then, with a jerk of anxiety, she peers at her watch. “Oh geez ! You should have said something! How many rides did you miss? We didn’t have to stop for pizza…”

“No, it’s fine,” he says quickly. “My idea, remember?”

But she’s already scrambling out of her seatbelt and opening the door. “Thanks for everything.”

He has to hurry out of the car to catch up with her as she fumbles for her luggage. He manages to lift the bags out, but before he has a chance to say anything, she’s tugging them up the walk toward the house.

“Happy Christmas, Damien,” she says from the porch.

“Take care,” he says, feeling helpless and all wrong. He watches her yank the rolling suitcase over the threshold. “Call me anytime.”

Should he have just said yes to coming in? But to what end?

You don’t belong at this party .

An elegant woman swans into view in the open doorway. She’s wearing a floor-length cranberry-colored dress. She gestures wildly at Nicolette’s bags, as if urging her to clear them away.

Nicolette turns around, though, and manages a smile and a wave at him before someone else closes the heavy wooden door.

Tightly.