Chapter 15 Noelle
NOELLE
They arrive a little after seven.
The headlights sweep across the snow outside just as I’m lighting the last candle on the mantel.
Before I can even talk myself out of it, I’m at the window, watching their truck pull into the driveway.
The cold night air seeps in through the cracks of the frame, carrying the faint sound of their voices.
When I open the door, they’re there on the porch, bundled against the cold with pink cheeks from the wind.
Each one of them carries something: a gift bag, wrapped boxes, store-bought side dishes, a bottle of wine.
“For your dad,” Grant says, lifting his bag as if it needs explanation.
I fight my smile.
I tell myself to act normal.
To keep my voice even and not let my anxiety show on my face as they kick the snow off their boots and hang their coats on the rack by the door.
But the second they step further inside, the air changes.
The living room feels smaller somehow.
The glow from the Christmas lights winding around the tree, more of them strung up around the banisters, throwing little halos of color against their faces.
The fire crackles in the hearth, and the scent of cinnamon sugar hangs in the air from the cookies I just pulled out of the oven.
It’s supposed to be comforting, having a cozy home set up and ready to use to welcome them to dinner.
Instead, it feels like deja vu.
Six years ago, this same room looked almost identical.
The tree stood in the same corner. The stockings hung in the same order, minus one.
The same roaring fire in the fireplace, its light painting gold across the walls. But back then, everything had been different.
I’d been different.
This is the room where they first kissed me.
Where Grant’s hand found the back of my neck as he pulled me in and whispered something that made my pulse stutter.
Where Dean’s laugh broke against my mouth right before he kissed me under that mistletoe until I forgot my own name.
Where Callum had looked at me with that steady intensity that stripped me bare long before he ever touched me.
This was the room where I stopped being just Noelle and found myself becoming something more, something holy when they breathed my name against my skin.
When their mouths moved in sync with our bodies, when every whispered praise felt like a promise that none of us knew how to keep.
And now, six years later, here we are again. Standing in the same space, surrounded by the same warmth but with a chasm of time, and pain, and unspoken things stretched between us.
“You’re here!”
Eli bursts into the room, his PJ top backward and one leg of his pants pulled up to his knee.
He chatters endlessly as they unload their gifts onto the coffee table, his eyes widening when they present him with a few of his own too.
His small hands tear at ribbons and paper before I can tell him to slow down, but for a moment, as he lifts his new set of race cars and tracks into the air, all feels right in the world.
Callum’s voice pulls me back. “It’s nice to see you.”
“Yeah,” I say, swallowing hard. “You too.”
For a moment, none of us speak.
The only sounds are the pop of the fire and Eli’s laughter as he sits on the floor and starts unboxing the tracks to put them together.
I force myself to move before I get stuck permanently to this spot on the floor and head into the kitchen to check on the roast turkey.
It’s the only thing I can do to keep busy and pretend the ground under my feet isn’t trying to swallow me whole.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” I call over my shoulder before the emotion in my voice gives me away.
Behind me, I hear Dean murmur something to Grant, followed by the sound of Callum’s quiet exhale.
And as I lean against the counter, trying to catch my breath before having to walk back in there again, I realize something terrifyingly simple: no matter how much time has passed, no matter how angry or guarded or rational I’m trying to be, being near them still feels the same.
I still want them just as badly as I did back then, and just as badly as I did less than a week ago.
Maybe that makes me a fool. Hell, more than a fool.
It’s pathetic, really, after everything that’s happened. I should’ve built walls high enough that even the memory of their touch couldn’t reach me anymore.
Cutting them off was supposed to be my big change, but standing in this kitchen with their laughter spilling in from the next room, all I can think about is how easy it would be to fall again.
Maybe I’m addicted to the chaos they bring, the way they make the air around me feel alive.
Maybe it’s because, for all the fear I feel and the mistakes I’ve made to lead me to this point, being with them is the only time I ever truly felt like myself.
Dinner comes and goes in a blur of laughter and contentment I didn’t realize I’d missed until it was right there in front of me again.
For a few hours, it almost feels like old times.
But as the night wears on, the sugar crash hits Eli like a freight train.
He’s curled up on the couch before I even finish loading the dishwasher, his little body slumped against Grant’s chest.
One of his race cars is clutched tight in his small hand.
Grant’s big hand rubs lazy circles on Eli’s back, his expression soft in a way I’ve rarely seen before.
It’s unguarded and tender.
My chest squeezes at the sight.
“I’ll take him up,” Grant says quietly when Eli’s breathing evens out.
“Let me show you his room,” I reply before I can think twice.
The two of us move together through the dimly lit hallway, the creak of the old stairs familiar beneath my feet.
Eli stirs once but doesn’t fully wake, his hand still gripping the toy as he nuzzles his cheek against Grant’s chest.
In his room, the glow of the nightlight washes everything in a soft hue of yellow. I pull the blankets down and gesture for Grant to lay him in the center.
He does so carefully, his every movement gentle.
I show him how to tuck the covers just right, tight enough to make Eli feel safe but loose enough that he can still kick them off later when he gets hot like he always does.
Grant follows my instructions wordlessly, a soft smile on his face. When he finally steps back, I swear I catch the faintest sheen in his eyes.
My heart feels full watching him act like a father, even if only for tonight.
Soon, the sound of quiet footsteps announces the others.
Callum appears in the doorway first, his expression soft, followed by Dean who holds a mug of tea he must’ve made while we were upstairs.
They both linger there for a moment, watching silently.
Then Dean crosses the threshold, setting the mug down on the nightstand next to the bed and leans forward. He presses a kiss to Eli’s forehead, murmuring, “Goodnight, champ,” before brushing back a curl that’s fallen across his face.
Callum follows, his hand resting lightly on Eli’s blanket for a brief moment.
He rests his hand over Eli’s chest, soaking in the soft pulls of breath.
His gaze flicks to me then, an emotion crossing his face that turns his usually unreadable expression tender.
My eyes burn and I blink hard because I can’t help wondering would this have been our life?
If I’d told them about Eli six years ago, if I hadn’t shut them out, if I hadn’t let fear make every decision for me…would nights like this have been our normal?
Would this…this warmth, this peace, have been ours forever?
The ache in my chest deepens.
Dean straightens, his blue eyes finding mine in the dim light. He studies me for a moment.
Then, without a word, he moves closer.
His arm slips around my waist, pulling me gently until my back is against his chest.
The familiarity of it nearly undoes me. I should pull away—I need to pull away—but my body doesn’t listen.
He presses his lips near my ear and whispers, “Come on.”
It’s not a question, or an order, just a quiet request wrapped in want.
He keeps an arm around me as we step into the hallway, the others following silently behind.
Eli’s door is shut with a soft click.
The lights are dim, the house hushed except for the faint crackle of the dying fire downstairs.
My dad won’t be home until morning and for some reason, that brings me comfort.
The warmth of Dean’s body seeps through me and by the time we reach my bedroom door, my resolve has completely dissipated to nothing.
He pauses in the doorway, turning me gently to face him.
The shadows catch on the lines of his face, the same one that’s haunted my dreams more times than I can count. For a moment, neither of us speaks.
But then as his thumb brushes lightly over my jaw, I realize with a soft inhale that the past I’ve spent years trying to bury is standing right here in front of me.
And I want it more than anything.