1900
Spot watched the snowfall outside the window of Gracie's old room in lodging house and sighed.
It was his first Christmas without Gracie.
A whole year. His first year without Gracie since he was four. A whole year without her in his life.
He sat on her old bed and ran his hand over the covers. That was where she used to sleep. It was also where she made her money after the strike. Shuddering, Spot stood up and walked to the window.
He remembered the last night they spent together. He had walked her back to her house after the party at Medda's and they made love until the early hours of the morning.
Made love. That is what it had been. Spot didn't want to pay for it, and Gracie didn't want money for it. They had just wanted to be together. Then, like an idiot, he'd left early, only waiting until after she was asleep.
He remembered the way she fit perfectly into his arms – her cheek against his shoulder, her warm even breath on his chest.
He remembered the way she'd smiled at him whenever she saw him, even after he'd kicked her out. That smile that made his stomach do flips; that he would spend the minutes before he fell asleep thinking of more ways he could make her smile.
He remembered how safe he'd felt with her. Ever since his mother had died when he was 3, the world had been a dangerous place – he always had to be on his guard. But when he was with Gracie, he could let his guard down. He didn't have to worry about being Spot Conlon, leader of the Brooklyn newsies – he could just be regular Patrick Conlon.
He'd almost told her he loved her. He should have told her he loved her. He had loved her. He had always loved her – and he spent a year hating himself for never saying or doing anything about it.
He blamed himself. When he realized how he felt about her two years ago, he should've asked her to be his girl. She belonged with him. If he had done that, she would've never slept with Blaze. She would never have prostituted herself so she could eat. He would have never kicked her out. She would have never had to get rid of the baby. They would've been fine.
Why had he been so damn stubborn?
Gracie sat at her windowsill and looked out over the street. Church was just getting out and some Christmas carolers were singing as people walked home.
Christmas was so different in Nevada. Christmas was also much hotter in Nevada. She missed home. She missed New York. She didn't miss the stench of garbage or the creepy men who'd visit her in the house. But she missed the snow. She missed her view of the Brooklyn Bridge. She missed Racetrack. But most of all, she missed—
She couldn't think about him without tears stinging the back of her eyes. For the first few months she was gone, she was so angry with him. Now she just missed him. Desperately.
She thought about their last Christmas Eve together, both of them warm and tangled up in each other.
"Don't leave, Gracie. I'll make things better. We can change things."
His voice still echoed in her mind. She'd wanted so desperately to believe him. If she had stayed, would he have stood by what he said? Would things have changed?
"You say it and I'll quit the business." Spot's grin faded. "You say it and I'll move back to Brooklyn. I'll become a newsie again. No more other men. It'll be you and me."
It took Spot a moment to find his voice. "Gracie…"
"You can't hide it anymore, Conlon," she said. "Not from me."
Spot took her hand. "It's not that easy, Gracie."
No. Nothing would have changed. He wanted her to stay. She just wanted him to admit that he loved her. If he couldn't say it, what made her think anything would have changed?
She sniffed and realized there were tears running down her cheeks.