Chapter 23
Carol
Evervale wears real Christmas like perfume, strong enough to choke you, sweet enough to make you stay.
The lights string across Main Street like veins. The air smells like pine and sugar cookies. For the first time since everything burned, I don’t flinch when I see smoke curling from chimneys.
Inside the clubhouse, the party’s already humming, music, laughter, the clink of bottles. Lil Nick’s Ol’ Lady wrangled half the town into showing up. Honey’s stirring something on the stove that smells like heaven and heartburn at once.
Humbug’s been different lately. Still scowls, still growls when someone gets smart, but he’s… lighter. When he thinks I’m not looking, he runs his hand over my belly and smiles like he can’t believe any of it’s real.
Tonight’s supposed to be the big one, the Executioners’ Christmas party. Used to be a whiskey-soaked brawl, but this year, Frost said we’re doing it “family style.” That means food, toasts, and, if Honey’s right, a surprise from Humbug.
She’s been smirking all damn day.
“You sure you’re okay with all this?” she asks while she curls my hair, pinning a sprig of holly behind my ear.
“I think so,” I say. “I don’t even own a dress anymore.”
She grins. “I’ve got a red maternity one. Made Nick forget how to breathe.”
When I put it on, I find out why. It’s as low cut as our sweaters from Sno-Globes. Seeing the girls on display, I kind of miss the place.
I walk downstairs wearing it, and the room goes quiet.
Frost whistles low. “Well, Merry damn Christmas.”
Humbug’s behind the bar, stringing up lights that don’t need adjusting. He looks up, and I swear he forgets where he is. His hands still. His mouth parts.
“Damn,” he murmurs.
“Language,” I tease, rubbing my huge belly. Like I could ever hope the bikers won’t curse around a baby.
He grins, slow, hungry. “That dress oughta be illegal in three counties.”
“Careful,” I say. “Santa’s watching.”
He laughs, shakes his head, and goes back to pretending he’s not watching me every time I move.
The brothers pass bottles. Someone cranks the jukebox. Then Frost bangs his glass with a spoon. “All right, settle down, boys. Humbug’s got somethin’ to say.”
Humbug shoots him a look but steps forward anyway. The room hushes.
He clears his throat. “I ain’t good at speeches,” he says. “But this club’s seen hell this year. We’ve lost brothers. Lost friends. But we’re still here.”
He regards me then, eyes steady, voice softer. “And somehow, I got back what I thought was gone for good.”
My heart starts pounding.
“Carol,” he starts. “You walked into my world with peppermint and light, and I tried like hell to push you out because I didn’t think I deserved you. I lied, I broke things, I almost let you burn because I was too damn proud to admit I was scared.”
The room’s quiet except for the crackle of the fire.
“But you…” He shakes his head. “You made me believe in something I never had use for. Magic. Hope. Christmas, even. You gave me a reason to be better. And tonight, I’m makin’ it right.”
He nods to Frost, who pulls something from behind the bar, a small cut, black leather, stitched neat and new. Humbug steps toward me.
The patch gleams in the light. PROPERTY OF HUMBUG.
My breath catches.
He holds it up, voice low. “Ain’t about ownership. It’s about promise. About every lie I’m done tellin’ and every truth I’ll fight to keep. You and the baby… you’re my family. And this is me ownin’ up to it.”
The brothers cheer. Someone hollers, “About damn time!”
Tears blur the lights. “You sure?” I whisper.
He smiles that crooked grin. “I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”
Humbug drapes the cut over my shoulders. It’s heavy.
Then he leans down and kisses me, slow, deep, everything unsaid poured between us. The club roars, clapping, hooting.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. “You look good in my colors,” he murmurs.
I laugh through the tears. “You think this gets you out of groveling?”
He smirks. “Peppermint, I was hopin’ the groveling would come later… preferably horizontal.”
The laughter that breaks from me feels like freedom. Frost lifts his glass to shout another toast, but Lil’ Nick steps forward, raising his hand.
“Hold up.”
His voice is rough, serious enough to cut the noise in half.
Every head turns.
He looks at me… really looks. Not like the club’s bartender or Humbug’s woman.
“Before that Enforcer of mine gets down on one knee, I need to say somethin’.”
My heart stutters. “What…?”
He drags a hand over his beard. “Should’ve told you a long damn time ago. But I was stupid and proud and young, and by the time I knew better, the years were gone.”
Humbug stiffens beside me. The room is dead silent.
Lil’ Nick’s voice cracks.
“Carol… I’m your father.”
The floor drops out from under me. The lights blur. A sound escapes me, small, shocked, involuntary.
Humbug’s arm shoots around me instantly, steadying me as my knees threaten to fold.
Nick takes a step closer, eyes shining. “I ain’t askin’ for forgiveness. I ain’t askin’ for nothin’. I just… couldn’t let him marry you without you knowin’ where your blood really comes from.”
For a moment, nobody breathes.
Then I whisper, “You… you could’ve told me.”
He swallows hard. “I’m tellin’ you now. Your mama left me for a good reason. I followed her here to this Christmas town, started the club. I dared anyone to mess with her.”
“So, mom knows but never told me you were right here all along.”
“We fought about that a lot.”
Folding her arms, Honey nods in agreement. I realize I have a stepmother and she’s pretty cool.
My chest constricts. Pain. Relief. Confusion. All tangled.
But then his eyes soften, tentative, hopeful.
“Baby girl,” he murmurs. “You always reminded me of her. Your mother. I’ve watched you from a distance your whole life. Didn’t think I deserved to be in it after how I treated your mama. I changed, but I never forgave myself.”
A tear rolls down my cheek. Humbug’s thumb wipes it away.
The moment is too big, too much, but somehow exactly right.
Humbug squeezes my hand. “You okay?”
Somehow, I nod. “Yeah. I… yeah.”
Lil’ Nick steps back, clearing his throat. “All right, Jack. Finish what you were about to do.”
That’s when he drops to one knee. “Peppermint, will you be my Ol’ Lady?”
“You single?” I ask.
“Yes,” he answers, letting me know Trina finally gave in.
I say, “Yes.” And grab his collar on his way up, kiss him again, harder.
Until Frost yells, “Get a room!”
We do.
The second the door shuts, he’s on me… slow hands, careful, reverent, tracing the curve of my jaw, the line of my neck, down to the swell of my stomach.
“I keep dreamin’ I lost you again,” he whispers. “Then I wake up and you’re still here, and it damn near kills me all over… just softer.”
“You didn’t lose me,” I say. “I just had to find my way back.”
He sinks to his knees, presses his forehead to my belly. The warmth of his breath makes me tremble. “I’m sorry, both of you,” he says, voice shaking.
I thread my fingers through his graying hair. “Then stop sayin’ sorry and start showin’ me.”
He looks up, eyes silver in the low light. “That what you want, Christmas girl? For me to sleigh you?”
“That’s what I need. To be sleighed.”
When he rises, his hands are steady, but his voice isn’t. The kiss that follows isn’t desperate. It’s claiming, earned. His callused palms bracket my face like I’m the one thing in the world he still trusts. Every breath tastes like redemption.
His mouth trails fire along my throat. His hands slide down, cupping the curve of my hips like he’s memorizing every inch before the world changes forever.
“Humbug…” I breathe, tugging his shirt over his head.
He kisses me again, deeper, hungrier, and I feel him guide me backward toward the bed.
His palm spreads wide over my belly, and that’s when it happens.
A sudden, unmistakable warmth floods down my legs.
I freeze.
He pulls back instantly. “Carol? You okay? Did I hurt…”
“No,” I gasp. “But my water just broke.”
His eyes go wide. Wild. Terrified. Reverent.
“Oh, hell,” he says, voice cracking. “It’s time?”
“It’s time,” I whisper.
And then he laughs, broken, joyful, disbelieving, before grabbing his cut, his keys, and yelling through the closed door.
“FROST! HONEY! SOMEONE GET THE DAMN TRUCK. SHE’S HAVIN’ THE BABY!”
The clubhouse erupts on the other side. Boots pounding. Voices shouting. Someone screams, “I TOLD Y’ALL SHE’D GO ON CHRISTMAS!”
Humbug cups my face again, forehead pressed to mine, both of us shaking.
“You ready?” he asks, breathless.
“No,” I laugh-cry. “Are you?”
“Not even close,” he says. “But we’re doin’ it anyway.”
He grabs my hand, strong and sure.
And just like that, Evervale’s Christmas miracle begins.