Chapter 44
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Roman
Alright, so it’s Christmas morning, and I’ve got a plan.
Well, we have a plan.
It’s simple, really… give Sloane the best Christmas of her life. Easy, right? In theory, sure.
I’m up early. Not because I’m some Christmas enthusiast, but because my brain refuses to shut the hell up.
I’m pacing the room too fast, thinking about the gifts, wondering if they’re good enough, and mostly… how the hell we’re going to make breakfast.
But y’know, that’s what the whole team is for.
I make my way to the kitchen, and it appears to be a war zone, albeit a very quiet one. Creed’s already standing in front of a frying pan, staring at it as if it just insulted his family. I mean, I can practically see the wheels turning in his head. I bet he’s wondering if he should eat it raw.
Ezra’s in the corner, scrolling through his phone for what? I don’t know. Recipes, I assume.
“Guys, we’re gonna screw this up, aren’t we?” I lean against the counter, watching Creed turn a piece of toast over that might’ve been, at some point, an actual slice of bread.
Ezra doesn’t even look up from his phone.
“Just focus on the gifts,” he hisses, sounding way too calm for a guy who’s about to ruin this breakfast. “I’ve got this. We’re fine.”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, glancing at the charred remains of toast. “We’re totally fine.”
I take another look at Creed, whose brows are intensely furrowed. “You good, man?”
Creed looks up at me, dead in the eyes, and deadpans: “This was supposed to be bacon.”
“Uh… what happened?” I ask, glancing over at the pan, which, at this point, could be used for a science experiment.
He sighs. “The meat… got away from me.”
I’m about to crack a joke, but then I remember, Sloane’s still asleep, and we’ve got, like, an hour before we drag her out of bed. And, yeah, we’re all running on nerves and caffeine, but there’s no way this is going to be a disaster. No way at all.
I clear my throat. “Okay, okay, let’s fix this. Focus. Ezra, did you find a recipe yet? Can we fix this?”
Ezra holds up his phone and points at the screen. “I think I found one… called ‘Burnt Offerings for the Brave.’”
I blink. “That sounds… reassuring.”
“Look, it’s not about the food,” Ezra says, eyes still glued to the screen.
“It’s about the experience, the essence of it all.
It’s about the love, my friend… this morning, this moment, the feeling that we pour into everything we do.
It’s not just breakfast; it’s a declaration, a promise wrapped in the chaos of our efforts. ”
“Yeah, well, if you’re offering love with a side of charred toast and bacon that’s now a tragic metaphor for our lives, I’ll pass,” I mutter.
Creed shoots me a glare, ready to throw the spatula at me. “Hey, I’m doing my best here!”
“I know, man, I know,” I say, holding my hands up in mock surrender. “Just… let’s focus, okay?”
I pace around the kitchen, and I’m trying to figure out how we’re going to make this work. Sloane’s going to wake up soon, and I need to make sure this feels special. I can’t screw this up.
“Alright, I think the eggs might be salvageable,” Creed declares happily. “Just gotta… flip them gently.”
“Gently? You just used World War III tactics to crack them.”
Ezra leans over, shaking his head. “If we survive this, I’ll count it as a Christmas miracle.”
That’s when I hear it. The faint rustling of sheets from the other room. My stomach does this flip-flop. Sloane’s awake. This is it.
We all freeze.
Then, like some synchronized breakfast ballet, we all jump into action. I grab the coffee pot, Creed grabs a towel to wipe his hands, and Ezra slams his phone down.
I rush into the bedroom, grinning idiotically. “Merry Christmas, Sloane.”
She blinks up at me, clearly disoriented, her hair wild, her eyes still sleepy.
“Merry Christmas. You’re up early,” she says, surprised. “What time is it?”
“Time to get up,” I say, jumping onto the bed. “Come on, it’s Christmas. We’ve got breakfast, gifts, and the best time of your life waiting for you.”
She squints at me. “Well, breakfast sounds delicious. I’m just grateful you didn’t burn the house down.”
“Uh, yeah, we’re trying,” I declare. “It’s a masterpiece. I promise.”
“I’m not sure I believe that,” she mutters, but I can tell she’s smiling already.
She sits up, rubbing her eyes, and I offer her a hand to help her out of bed. As she stands, I catch the slightest glimpse of what I’d been hoping for, the first cracks of real joy on her face. I’m pretty sure I’d do anything to keep that smile there.
We walk into the kitchen. I can feel her hesitation; she’s unsure if this is going to be a disaster or something special.
Creed is standing by the stove, grumbling under his breath as he tries to salvage what’s left of the eggs. Ezra is sitting back, holding up a mug of coffee as if it’s the holy grail.
Sloane raises an eyebrow, surveying the scene. “You’re… really trying, huh?”
“Trying and failing spectacularly,” I say with a grin. “But we’re getting there. We promise.”
Sloane settles into the chair, eyeing the plates of food that have been placed in front of her with mild skepticism.
The eggs are… well, they’re more scrambled than anything else, and the toast looks like it’s been through a fire, literally. I don’t even know how Creed managed to make bacon look sad, but here we are.
Sloane gives him a side eye as she takes a tentative forkful of the eggs, then instantly makes a face. “It’s… interesting.”
“Interesting? That’s the most generous word you could’ve used,” I say, laughing. “Did you find a new level of flavor we missed?”
Creed grumbles something under his breath, probably about how the eggs were supposed to be perfect, but I can see him trying not to smile.
“Okay, okay,” Ezra pipes up from his spot at the counter, where he’s nursing his coffee like it’s the last thing keeping him alive. “We’re doing fine. These eggs… they have character.”
“Yeah, character like a train wreck,” I reply, shoveling a bite of eggs onto my own plate. They’re not great, but it’s not like we’ve got much of a choice at this point.
She laughs softly, and I feel the morning lifting. I’m not sure if it’s the mess we’ve made or the fact that we’re here, together, but something special is already happening.
Sloane settles into her seat, looking between all of us as we scramble to get things together. “So, what’s the plan for today?”
I glance at Creed, who might be about to call it quits with the eggs, and then at Ezra, who’s got a twinkle in his eye.
“Today’s all about you,” I say, a little more seriously than I intended. “We’re gonna make sure this Christmas is one you won’t forget.”
Sloane’s eyes soften, and I see the slightest flicker of emotion behind them. She’s been guarded, unsure, but this moment, this chaotic, perfect morning, is exactly what she needs.
The rest of the morning’s a total disaster, but somehow, it’s still perfect. Laughter’s bouncing off the walls, the kitchen’s a war zone, and none of us can cook worth a damn, but we’re all in this together. That’s the thing. It’s messy, real, and full of way too much caffeine.
At least we’re trying.
Which is what I hope she remembers as I take Sloane over to the Christmas tree, where her pile of gifts is waiting.
“What is this?” she asks, cocking a brow.
“What does it look like? Gifts for you.”
Sloane crouches down, her fingers brushing over the neatly wrapped packages. I can’t help but watch her, trying to gauge her reaction. I can see the joy shining in her gaze.
“That one’s from me,” I declare, lifting the green package to give to her. “I hope you like it.”
As she unwraps, my heart races, trying to figure out whether this jacket’s gonna make me look as genius as I think I am or just some guy with terrible taste in fashion. We’ll see, won’t we?
Sloane’s staring at the leather jacket, her eyes shining. It’s a gamble, and I’m terrified I’ve messed it up. But when she runs her fingers over the smooth material and her eyes flick up to mine, I can tell it’s working.
And for a second, I forget about the jacket. Forget about everything, really. It’s just her looking at me in that way.
She bites her lip, and I can tell she’s weighing her words. “It’s beautiful.”
I grin. “Thought you might like it. It’s got your name written all over it.”
“Yeah? How do you know?” she shoots back, her eyebrows raised, and I can hear the hint of a smile trying to escape.
I lean in a little to mess with her. “Because you’ve got that look, Sloane. That ‘I’ve got a wardrobe full of plain jackets, but this one is gonna change my life’ look.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a glimmer there. “You really have no filter, do you?”
“I think you’ve figured that out by now.”
Sloane doesn’t argue. She takes a deep breath and gives me a smile that’s somehow both playful and sincere. “It’s perfect, Roman. Thank you.”
I can’t stop the grin that spreads across my face. “Hey, it’s Christmas. Gotta get it right.”
“It’ll look great on you,” Creed says, lifting his own gift to her. “You did a good job, Roman. I hope you like mine too, Sloane.”
Luckily, Sloane totally gets the cookbook. “So, you don’t always want to keep eating clean, Creed?”
“Maybe you’ve changed me.”
Sloane chuckles at that, and I can see her glancing between the guys, taking in everything. This is what it’s all about.
As Sloane unwraps the journal from Ezra, I know right away it’s going to hit her in the gut. Ezra’s got a way of picking gifts that land hard. It’s a talent.
When she holds the journal, there’s something in her eyes. Maybe a little surprise, perhaps a little… something more. She’s suddenly carrying all this love and intention in her hands.
“Wow, Ezra,” she says. “This is… it’s beautiful.”
Ezra shrugs, pretending it doesn’t mean anything, but I can see the way he’s watching her. He’s totally in his element.
“Just a little something for you to write in,” he says, his tone cool, but I catch the sincerity behind it. “No pressure.”
“No pressure?” Sloane laughs. “Are you kidding? This is such a thoughtful gift.”
“Well, yeah,” Ezra says, his usual cool detachment slipping just a little. “It’s not like I’m handing out socks here.”
Sloane’s looking between all of us now, the journal, the cookbook, the jacket, all of it. And then her gaze settles on me, and I see something shift in her eyes. She reaches down and pulls out three wrapped packages from under the tree, and for a second, I can’t help but hold my breath.
“Alright, guys,” she says. “Now it’s my turn.”
She hands the gift to Creed first, and he grins excitedly, “What is this?”
“Open it, and find out,” she replies with a wink.
Creed tears through the paper, revealing a sleek, custom set of drumsticks.
They’re simple, with his name engraved on one side and a tiny star on the other, the symbol we’ve all adopted for the band.
He stares at them for a moment, as if trying to let it sink in, and then, much to his own surprise, he grins.
“These are… perfect,” he says, trying to cover up the way the gift actually hits him.
Sloane leans back, crossing her arms and watching him with a soft smile. “I figured you’d like them. They suit you.”
Next, she passes Ezra his gift, a first poetry edition book, its cover worn but elegant. I can see his eyes light up as he runs his fingers over the embossed lettering.
“This… this is perfect,” he gasps. “How did you find this?”
She shrugs. “I’ve got my ways. Thought you’d appreciate it.”
Ezra lets out a soft chuckle. “You know me too well.”
And then, it’s my turn. She holds out her gift to me with that familiar glint in her eyes, the one that says, I know you’ll appreciate this. I unwrap it slowly, my heart beating faster than I expect.
It’s a vintage leather band for my watch. One that I need but haven’t gotten around to. Only this is a lot nicer than anything I would have brought for myself.
My jaw drops slightly, and I look up at her, trying to keep my cool. “Sloane… this is… amazing.”
I can feel that shift again. The way this whole morning has gone, our messed-up breakfast, the gifts, the laughter, it’s more than presents. It’s connection.
The fact that we’ve been here, together, not just as bandmates, but as something that feels like family.
“Alright,” I say, clapping my hands. “Now that we’ve all successfully shown off our taste, what’s next? Dinner?”
Sloane gives a small laugh, her eyes dancing. “You guys sure about that? I’ve seen the chaos in the kitchen already.”
“Hey,” I say, throwing my hands up in defense. “We survived breakfast. We’re practically pros now.”
Sloane smiles, and I feel like maybe we’ve really got this—this Christmas, this moment—all figured out.