Chapter 24
Carol
When my water breaks, I don’t believe it at first. One second, I’m about to climb Humbug like a Christmas tree. The next, warmth spills down my legs and pools on the clubhouse floor.
I freeze.
Humbug does not.
I’ve seen him walk into bar fights cool as ice. I’ve seen him drag a bleeding man across asphalt without breaking a sweat.
But right now?
He’s absolutely losing his mind.
Honey shoves him aside. “Move, you giant panicked toddler. Carol, baby, how far apart are the contractions?”
“Two minutes,” I pant, holding my belly.
“GET THE TRUCK!” Humbug roars.
“We don’t need the truck yet,” Honey says.
But he’s already gone.
By the time Lil’ Nick skids his pickup to the door, Humbug’s scooping me up like I haven’t gained a million pounds, carrying me through the falling snow.
Evervale blurs past us as Nick floors it toward the hospital.
Honey sits in the back with me, one hand on my knee, the other gripping the handle above her head like the truck might lift off the ground.
“Just breathe, sweetheart,” she says.
“I AM breathing,” I snap. “You breathe with your entire pelvis splitting in half!”
When we burst through the hospital doors, a nurse jumps at the sight of me, panting, gripping the wheelchair handles, red dress soaked through.
“Labor,” Humbug barks. “Fast. She needs a doctor. A team. Hell, call NASA if you need to.”
“Sir,” the nurse says. “Please don’t tackle anyone. Walk beside us.”
“I’m not leavin’ her,” he mutters, glued to my side as they roll me down the hall.
The paper snowflakes taped to the walls flutter as we pass. The whole place is twinkling like Evervale threw up in here, stockings, garland, lights everywhere. It should feel comforting. It doesn’t.
When they get me into the delivery room, the bright lights and beeping machines make everything suddenly too real. Humbug paces the width of the room, running both hands through his hair, then back down again, like if he stops moving, he’ll combust.
“Everything okay?” he demands.
“Yes,” the nurse answers for the fiftieth time.
I squeeze his hand so hard he hisses.
“You did this to me,” I growl.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re never touching me again.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re very agreeable,” the nurse observes.
“He’s terrified,” I say, glaring at him between breaths.
“I ain’t terrified,” Humbug argues. “I’m… concerned.”
A contraction slams through me. I scream.
“Okay, maybe I’m terrified,” he admits.
When the anesthesiologist comes in holding a needle the size of a candy cane, Humbug goes sheet-white.
“You’re puttin’ THAT in her spine?!”
“You wanna trade places?” I snap.
He shuts up immediately.
Once the epidural kicks in, the edges blur enough that I can breathe again. Not relax, never relax, but breathe.
Out in the hallway, I hear pacing, heavy boots, muttering, someone clearing their throat theatrically.
Then Frost’s massive head pokes in.
“How’s she doin’?” he whispers like a giant trying to be sneaky.
“Like a damn warrior,” Humbug answers, puffing his chest.
Honey kicks them all out. “Get gone! Y’all sound like a herd of reindeer out there!”
Feet shuffle. Doors close. Silence returns.
I exhale. “They all came?”
“They weren’t stayin’ behind,” Humbug says quietly. “You’re family.”
Tears hit my eyes out of nowhere. Hormones. It’s absolutely hormones.
Hours pass in waves of pain and pressure and nurses telling me to rest, like I can. Humbug doesn’t leave my side. He stares at the monitor like he can will the heartbeat line to stay steady.
When the doctor finally walks in and says, “Time to push,” something fierce and terrified awakens inside me.
Fear and hope and heartbreak and joy, all mixed up like Christmas punch.
“Push,” she says.
And I do.
And scream.
And curse Humbug in ways I didn’t know I was capable of. He holds my hand through every second, voice low and strong.
“You got this, Peppermint. You survive everything. You’re gonna bring our kid in like a warrior.”
I push again, body shaking.
“I can’t!” I sob.
“You CAN.” He leans in, forehead touching mine. “Carol, look. Look at me. You brought magic into a man who didn’t believe in anything. You can do this. We’re almost there.”
Another contraction. Another push.
Then.
Release.
A rush of relief that steals every breath.
Then a cry, raw and new and furious.
Our baby.
My whole body goes warm as they place him on my chest, warm, slick, squirming, perfect. My tears fall onto his tiny head.
“Hi,” I whisper through a broken laugh.
Humbug makes a sound I’ve never heard from him, a noise of pure, wrecked awe.
“He’s ours?” he whispers.
“Ours,” I breathe.
He stands frozen until they tell him to cut the cord. His hands shake so bad they have to guide him.
“Right here, Daddy,” the doctor says.
Daddy.
Something cracks open inside him.
He cuts it, voice trembling, and they take the baby to weigh him. Humbug hovers like someone might steal him.
Jack Jr., I decide right then, returns wrapped tight in his blanket, and Humbug cradles him like he’s glass.
“Hey,” he whispers.
In recovery, Jack Jr. sleeps in his bassinet, little chest rising and falling. Humbug sits beside me, holding my hand, thumb brushing my knuckles.
A soft knock.
“Visitors?” the nurse asks.
I nod. “Yeah. Family.”
The door opens.
Frost enters first, carrying a stuffed reindeer as big as the baby.
“He’s small,” Frost whispers like he’s afraid to wake him.
“He’s perfect,” Honey corrects, wiping at her eyes.
Brothers peek in behind them, suddenly shy in their chains and leather. But Lil’ Nick waits at the threshold, hat twisting in his hands. His eyes are locked on the bassinet.
“Nick?” I say gently.
He swallows hard. “Should I? I mean, could I? I’m her dad but…”
“You’re his granddad,” I say. “Get in here.”
He steps forward like the floor might crack under him. Humbug lifts the baby and offers him over. Nick hesitates, then takes him, trembling.
“Hey there, little man,” he whispers, tears slipping down his cheeks. “I’m your granddad. I… I’m here now. If you want me.”
Jack Jr. blinks up at him. Nick kisses his head, breaking completely. My heart swells so painfully I think it might burst. I lean against Humbug, and he presses a kiss into my hair. Everything feels bigger. Softer. Safer.
And a week later…
Snow drifts lazy over Evervale again, soft enough to look fake, but real as ever.
From the clubhouse porch, I can see the spruce tree glowing in the town square. Same lights, same song over the speakers, but this year, it feels different.
This year, I’m right where I need to be.
The baby stirs against my chest, a tiny fist clutching my hair.
He’s perfect, stubborn brows, soft mouth, his daddy’s storm-gray eyes.
The brothers argued over names until I laughed and wrote Jack Jr. on the birth certificate.
Humbug pretends to hate it, but every time someone says, “little Bug,” he grins like a fool.
Inside, the New Year’ party is in full swing. Honey’s yelling about burnt pie crust. Frost is trying to deep-fry a turkey. And the jukebox is stuck on Run Rudolph Run.
Humbug steps outside, flour on his cut, sleeves pushed up. He still has that rough scowl, but his eyes go soft the second he sees us.
“You know, Peppermint, we could open a bakery.”
“Maybe,” I say, already dreaming.
“Cold?” he asks, already reaching for the baby.
“Not with you two here.”
He takes Jack Jr., kisses his tiny head, then my forehead. “Looks like you finally got your forever Christmas.”
I laugh, throat tight. “Guess the Grinch didn’t steal it after all.”
“Careful,” he warns, smirking. “You start callin’ me that, I’ll change the kid’s name.”
“Too late. Jack Jr.’s on the birth certificate.”
He groans like he’s suffering. He’s not.
The wind kicks up, carrying laughter and barbecue. He slides an arm around my waist, the baby tucked safe between us.
“You remember what I told you the night we left Pine City?” he asks.
“You said magic was for kids.”
He nods, brushing his nose against my temple. “Was wrong about that too.”
When he kisses me, it’s steady and sure, the kind that means tomorrow is real, that the bad nights can stay buried under all the snow.
Inside, Frost shouts for another toast. Honey curses about the pie. Someone sings off-key.
None of it feels like noise. It feels like home. I look up at the sky, flakes spinning slow.
“You think we earned this?”
Humbug grins, wicked and boyish. “Earned? Hell no. Stole it fair and square.”
I laugh so hard the baby stirs and blinks up at us. Humbug looks down, his whole face melting.
“Welcome to Evervale, little man,” he murmurs. “Where Christmas never dies, and your mama sleighed the motorcycle man.”
Then he looks at me, eyes full of forever. And standing there under the falling snow, wrapped in the arms of a man who burned and rebuilt himself for love…
I finally believe him.