Shaye Evans

“Ouch. What is that?”
“Water, you wimp.” Humor colored his tone and when I looked up, he was smirking again, but this time it was different. He was beaming, radiating—like he used to.”
― Shaye Evans, Christmas Wishes

“What kind of a father could do that?! It was bad enough—”
I cut him off. “Wait, what?” I snapped my head toward him, knowing my gaze was glassy, the corners of my eyes stinging with tears that had forced their way to the surface.
“How could your dad do that to you, let alone at this time of the year? And after everything with your mom—Christmas is about family.”
“Wait,” I sniffed, wiping my eyes with the backs of my hands. “You were calling my dad a prick?”
“Yeah, who else? Why are you cryin— Oh, Harper, no, I didn’t mean you.”
― Shaye Evans, Christmas Wishes

“Sorry.” I sniffed again, wiping the corner of my eye.
“Why are you apologizing for crying?”
“Because it’s weak.”
He scoffed. “Showing emotion is a sign of strength, Harper. Too many people hide how they feel.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Because they’re scared of the consequences of showing how they feel,” he whispered, looking away.”
― Shaye Evans, Christmas Wishes

“Whoa.” I snapped my head toward him then glanced over my shoulder to a gurney being rushed up the hall.
“You’re sure you’re okay to leave? You’re not very… aware.”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I nodded.
“So what did the doctor say?” he questioned as we continued down the hall.
“He was concerned about the graze,” I said. “Told me to keep an eye on it and gave me some bandages to redress it every day.” I reached up and touched the bandage, trying to remove the creamy-colored gauze from my line of vision. It was protruding from beneath my eye. “He redressed it, and not well, I might add.”
― Shaye Evans, Christmas Wishes