EPILOGUE
DAWSON
They’d brought him home this morning, home to Moose’s place where he was supposed to be part of this Christmas celebration, part of the family chaos and joy. And he was part of it—sitting here on the couch with his inflatable cast propped up, surrounded by people who cared about him.
But his entire world had fractured two days ago.
Shifted into something he didn’t recognize, and now everything felt slightly off-kilter, like looking at life through a broken lens.
No.
Focus on today. Focus on being here with Moose and this Christmas morning and getting back on his feet. That was the plan.
Simple. Achievable.
Don’t think about anything else.
Especially Kiana…
Caspian, Shep’s silly rescue dog hadn’t left his side since they’d brought Dawson home this morning.
Not to eat, not to go outside, not even when Hazel had tried bribing him with bacon.
Now the dog lay pressed against the couch where Dawson’s leg was propped up, his eyes tracking every movement in Moose’s living room.
Needy, maybe.
Wrapping paper scattered across hardwood floors, the scent of pine from the tree mixing with coffee and something cinnamon from the kitchen. Winter sunlight streamed through the windows, casting everything in that soft golden light that should have made him grateful.
Should have.
The panic kept trying to surface—images tried to push through. Sounds. The weight of decisions that couldn’t be undone.
Stop. Don’t go there.
Focus on this moment. This room. Moose’s voice drifting from the kitchen. Hazel’s laughter. He was going to get through this day. Then tomorrow. One step at a time until he was back on his feet and could pretend the world made sense again.
“Uncle Dawson, look!” Hazel bounced over to the couch, Christmas pajamas wrinkled from a morning of present-opening. “Daddy got me art supplies and Mommy got me new books and look at this snow globe from Uncle Axel!”
She held up a glass sphere containing a tiny Christmas village. When she shook it, white flakes swirled around miniature houses and ice skaters.
“It’s beautiful, kiddo.” His voice sounded normal. Amazing how you could sound normal when everything inside was static.
“I made it snow!” She shook it again. “Just like outside.”
Dawson glanced toward the window. Snow had started falling again—fat, lazy flakes that possessed nothing of the fury of the previous storm.
Caspian lifted his head, studying Dawson’s face with those too-intelligent eyes and his tail giving a tentative wag against the couch cushions.
“He really likes you,” Hazel said. “Daddy says dogs can tell about people. That they know who needs them most.”
Whatever.
Hazel plopped down on the floor beside Caspian, immediately starting to pet him. “Are you gonna keep him? Because I think he already picked you.”
Before Dawson could answer, Tillie appeared from the kitchen carrying a small wrapped box, her face glowing with something that made Moose stop mid-conversation with Axel and Flynn, who’d arrived an hour ago, Flynn sporting her new engagement ring.
At least someone was heading for a happily ever after. Well, and Moose and Tillie, and, apparently London and Shep…
Just him. Stuck on the sofa, in a cast, watching life.
“Dawson.” Her voice carried warmth as she approached the couch. “I have something to show you.”
She opened the box, revealing tiny yellow baby slippers nestled in tissue paper.
“Yellow baby slippers,” she said, her smile radiant. “The ones I was going to give to Moose. But now I think…we wanted to give them to you.”
He stared at her.
“And ask you if you’d be the baby’s godfather.”
Oh wow. He swallowed.
“If it weren’t for you—”
He put a hand over hers. “The baby would have been just fine. I just…took you to the hospital, Tills.”
“You made me go. You were brave for me. And…” She crouched in front of him. “And I need you to be brave for yourself.”
He swallowed, his jaw tight. Nodded.
Whatever.
Tillie pressed a kiss to his cheek and got up.
Flynn walked over to him then. “Doc said you should start physical therapy in a few days. I’m driving you. We’ll get you back on your feet.”
Great. Just what he needed—a babysitter.
But he looked at Flynn, his gaze holding hers. “Any news from the—”
“No.” She squeezed his hand. “She’s still unresponsive.”
A stone fell through his heart, but he nodded. “And Rosa?”
Her mouth tightened. “She critical.”
So, peace, love and joy all around.
She got up.
A knock came at the door.
“I’ll get it,” Hazel announced, bounding toward the entryway.
“Hazel, wait—” Moose started, but she was already opening the door.
From his perch on the sofa, he made out a man, maybe mid-thirties, wearing a heavy leather coat and a white hat. Didn’t look like Santa, but…
“Merry Christmas. Is there a girl named Hazel here?”
Moose had walked up behind him. “Wilder?”
Right. Wilder Frost. He’d met the guy a few years ago—he’d been involved in a drug bust with the Sorros brothers. The memory pinged inside, along with Wilder’s loss.
Now, the man stepped inside, snow dusting his worn coat, carrying something bundled in a blanket. “Hey Moose,” he said. His eyes held warmth as he nodded to the assembled group.
“I can’t stay long, but…I needed to take a trip down to Anchorage, and after Winter got her plane working, she buzzed me down here last night.
Sorry to interrupt your celebration,” he said, “but I had to check in with my vet on my recent litter of husky pups. I’m headed back to the homestead in a bit, but I…
well, there’s a certain puppy here who needs a home. ”
He pulled back the blanket, revealing a small ball of gray and white fur with bright blue eyes. “This one’s the runt, but she needs a good home.”
Shoot, even Dawson could admit the pup was cute. A husky, with big blue eyes, an unsteady gait. The little thing plopped on the floor, face first, then scrambled up.
Hazel squealed with joy. “A puppy? For me?”
“If your name is Hazel.”
“It is!”
“I met…um…an elf who knew you, and he said that he’d been looking for a pup. And I think Santa sent him exactly my way because this pup is looking for a home.”
Hazel sat on the floor, running her hand over the puppy. “She can live here.”
“Can she?” Wilder asked seriously. “Because she’s going to need someone who can teach her properly. Someone who’ll be patient with her.”
“I will! I promise I’ll take really good care of her!”
Moose and Tillie exchanged glances. Some silent communication passed between them before Moose nodded.
“If Santa thinks she needs a home...” Moose said.
The puppy scrambled into Hazel’s lap, licking her face. Hazel fell back laughing.
Moose picked it up, off Hazel, set the pup back on the floor.
“I think she does.” Wilder said as he crouched next to Hazel. “What are you going to call her?”
Hazel studied the small face seriously. “Fluffy. Because look at all this fur!”
Yeah, that sounded right.
The puppy wiggled in Hazel’s arms, small yips of excitement filling the room.
And he felt none of it.
He could see it—their joy. Wanted to join in, but he stood with a pane of glass between them. Separated by a before and after. A happy ending.
And…this.
Caspian lifted his head, studying Dawson’s face with those amber eyes that seemed to see everything. Fine. He could stay.
And maybe Caspian could sense something Dawson couldn’t—that underneath the fractured pieces and the determination to just keep moving forward, there was still something worth saving.
The memories stirred, pushing against his resolve to stay present. The little girl’s face. The scream that dug into his soul, haunting.
Not today.
He gripped the couch cushion, anchoring himself to this moment. Focus on getting back on his feet. Yes. But for now, there was this. A warm living room full of people loved him. A dog who’d seemed to have chosen him. The sound of Hazel’s laughter as a puppy tried to eat her hair.
It wasn’t healing.
Not yet.
But maybe it was a foothold. A place to stand while he figured out how to put the fractured pieces back together.
“I guess it’s just you and me, bub,” he murmured to Caspian.
One day at a time. One moment at a time. One breath at a time.
Starting with this one.
Outside, snow continued to fall, blanketing the world in clean white. Inside, his family celebrated life and love and the promise of good things to come.
And somewhere between the warmth of the fire and the weight of Caspian’s head on his knee, Dawson began to believe that maybe—just maybe—he might survive this after all.