Chapter 8
EIGHT
MIGUEL
The first thing I hear when I wake is the wind outside, brushing against the cabin walls like it’s trying to find a way in. Hopefully, it dies down so we can drive home tomorrow. The second thing I hear is Caleb snoring softly into the pillow beside me.
He’s sprawled across most of the bed, blanket half on the floor, one arm hanging off the side, hair a mess. His mouth’s open just enough to let out that faint little sound that would normally drive me crazy, but right now it just makes me grin.
He’s adorable like this.
Do we have to go back? I want to freeze this moment and keep us here. Holed up in this tiny cabin, being with each other without the prying eyes of everyone in our lives. Nobody to tell us that we shouldn’t want each other.
I can dream.
That’s when it hits me. It’s Christmas morning.
Time to make today special for my man.
I slide out of bed carefully, trying not to wake him, and tiptoe downstairs.
The fire’s burned low in the fireplace, but a few embers glow red beneath the ash.
I toss a couple of logs on, coax the flames back to life, and head into the kitchen to set the kettle on top of the stove.
Then I pull up my playlist of old-school Christmas classics and let Nat King Cole’s voice fill the space.
It’s playing low enough to not wake him. If anything, it might keep him asleep a little longer so I can get everything ready.
By the time the smell of coffee mingles with the cinnamon-sugar swirl of the rolls reheating, the whole cabin feels alive again. I’m plating eggs and bacon when I hear soft footsteps behind me.
Caleb stands at the bottom of the stairs, wrapped in the comforter from the bed like some sleepy-ass burrito. His eyes are still half closed, but he’s smiling.
“You’re too cheerful,” he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes.
“Morning, sunshine.” I set two plates down on the table. “Santa came early. Again.”
He groans, sliding into a chair slowly. “You’re not allowed to make that joke before I’ve had coffee.” I catch the slight wince as he situates himself.
I slide his mug over. “Then drink up.”
Caleb takes a sip and exhales with that tiny, contented sound he makes when he’s actually happy. “Not gonna lie. My body is sore, and that’s saying a lot because I’m used to feeling sore from practice and games… but this is different.”
“We might need to pace ourselves when it comes to the sex Olympics. Just because we have all this time to fuck, doesn’t mean we should.” I chuckle, but inside I am chastising myself for taking it too far.
“Hey,” and I look him in the eyes.
“Yeah?”
“I’m fine, you know that, right? Nothing you did I didn’t want. I enjoyed every second.” The look on his face calms the feelings building inside of me. He’s okay.
“Okay, baby.”
“You did all of this,” he smirks, then looks around. “For me?”
“Yeah. Cinnamon rolls, bacon, eggs, and coffee. I would’ve heated up some tamales but… I figure we’ll save those for a snack before dinner tonight.”
He laughs into his mug. “Fair. You know, this feels a little too domestic.”
“Get used to it.” I grin, leaning back. “I’m a very domestic person.”
We eat slowly, trading lazy smiles across the table. Outside, the snow’s still falling, flakes drifting thick and heavy past the window. This is the kind of morning that makes you forget the rest of the world exists.
It’s just him and me.
Halfway through breakfast, I glance up from my plate. “So,” I say. “Do we FaceTime our parents before or after getting high?”
Caleb almost chokes on his coffee. “What kind of question is that?”
“A serious one. I need to plan my morning.”
He pretends to think, twirling his fork. “After. Definitely after. I don’t have the energy to deal with my dad’s guilt trip sober.”
“Good call.” I grab the little amber bottle from the counter and hold it up, shaking it. “Tincture or joint?”
He eyes it, then grins. “Tincture. Faster.”
I pour a dropperful under his tongue, then mine, and we both sit there, pretending not to count the seconds until it hits.
When it does, Caleb starts giggling first. “Okay, you can’t laugh,” he says, which immediately makes me laugh.
“Bro, I’m already laughing.” Grabbing my phone from the counter and ushering him to the couch, where we sit side by side. “Tuck that blanket up around your neck. Wouldn’t want them to see all those pretty marks I left you with.”
“You’re ruining it.” He hides his face in his hands, trying to get it together before I hit the FaceTime button.
The call connects. My mom answers first, her face bright and soft, hair pulled up, holiday earrings jingling in her ears. Ashton’s in the background with his coffee, already looking like he’s halfway done with his patience for the day.
“?Feliz Navidad, mis amores!” Celeste beams. “You look so handsome! Look at you two!”
“Hey, Mom,” I say, trying not to sound high. “Merry Christmas.”
Caleb waves. “Merry Christmas, Celeste. Hey, Dad.”
Dad squints at the screen. “Why do you sound like you’re in slow motion?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Bad Wi-Fi.”
Caleb snorts, trying to play it off as a cough.
Celeste’s too busy talking over us to notice. “Did you open presents yet? Eat breakfast? I made bunuelos and champurrado, hopefully next year, you’ll both be home to have some and I’ll even make extra for you to take back to the dorms, Caleb.”
“We ate,” Caleb says, straight-faced except for the tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Miggy made cinnamon rolls.”
Celeste gasps. “He did? ?Ay, qué lindo! Did he remember the frosting this time?”
Caleb’s shoulders shake. “He did, yeah. Extra frosting.”
It takes Dad all of a few seconds to figure out what’s going on, he narrows his eyes. “You two are high, aren’t you?”
We both freeze.
Celeste swats his arm. “Ashton!”
“What? Look at them! They’re smiling too much.”
“Maybe they’re happy!” she scolds.
I lose it first. Caleb follows. Celeste just laughs, shaking her head, while Dad mutters something about “choosing to go to the mountains to get high over being home with the family” under his breath before leaving the room.
“Be safe and take care of each other,” Mom says, giving me a look that makes me feel like that statement is mostly directed at me.
“Siempre, mamá.”
By the time the call ends, we’re both crying from holding in laughter. Caleb flops back onto the couch, still giggling.
“You realize,” he says between breaths, “Dad’s gonna bring this up every holiday for the next decade.”
“Worth it,” I say, wiping my eyes. “Totally worth it.”
We move to the living room floor, cross-legged in front of the tree, our pile of gifts small but perfect.
“Okay,” Caleb says, handing me a wrapped box. “Yours first.”
I tear the paper carefully. Underneath is a small cedar box, smooth and dark with a carved design on top. It’s beautiful, a bunch of trees with a wolf. I lift the lid, and the rich scent of wood hits me. Inside are little compartments—one for a lighter, a grinder, rolling papers, and space for bud.
“You made this?”
He looks shy suddenly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Had it made. Custom. I thought it might look good at your condo… you know, instead of everything scattered in the junk drawer.”
I run my hand over the lid again. “Caleb, this is perfect.”
“Yeah? I know it’s not a lot…”
“Yeah.” I lean forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “It’s the best damn box I’ve ever seen.”
He smiles, relief showing in his eyes. “Your turn.”
I grab the two boxes I’d hidden behind me and hand them over. “Big one first.”
He rips into it, eyebrows lifting when he sees the soft grey fabric. “A blanket?”
“Mm-hmm. It’s one of those weighted ones.”
He runs his hands over it, smiling softly. “It’s heavy.”
“That’s kind of the point.”
“Yeah, I know.”
I grin. “It’s for when you’re away. Games, dorm nights, whatever. I, uh... Slept with it before I wrapped it, so it smells like me.”
His mouth drops open in disbelief. “You did not.”
“Did too.”
“That’s... Really thoughtful.”
“Now you’ve got a portable me for when we can’t be together. Imagine it’s me holding you.”
He’s silent when he opens the smaller box. Then he goes completely still.
A single key lies inside on a leather fob.
He looks up, confused. “I don’t understand, Miggy.” Pulling the key out and looking it over, then his eyes drift up to mine.
I swallow, suddenly nervous in a way I haven’t been in years. “It’s a key to my condo.”
He blinks. “Why?”
“Because,” I say quietly, “my home is your home, baby. I want you to always have a way to come back. Even if I’m not there.”
The silence that follows isn’t awkward, it’s heavy in the best way, thick with meaning.
Caleb stares at the key for another heartbeat, then crawls across the rug and into my lap. His hands slide around my neck, his forehead pressing to mine.
“Fuck, Miggy,” he whispers, voice cracking just enough to hit me straight in the chest. “You’re gonna make me cry.”
I wrap my arms around him, holding him close. “That’s not the goal.”
He shakes his head, laughing through it. “I don’t think you understand what you’ve given to me… the past month and a half...”
I lean in and kiss him, soft and slow. “I think I do.”
We stay like that for a long time. Music humming low, his heartbeat pressed to mine, lost in our own little world where nothing else matters but us.
It’s quiet.
It’s warm.
It’s us.
Right now, it doesn’t feel like a world where we’re fighting to survive—it feels like something we finally get to live in.
Together.