Chapter 72
KENT
Iwas used to sleeping in on Christmas morning. Usually, I showed up for Christmas dinner long after all the craziness of Christmas morning was over. Or I would spend the day at a bar or on a yacht. Christmas had stopped being about family for me a long time ago.
But not today. Sylvie poked me awake before the sun was even up.
At first, I tried to tell her she was crazy.
Then I remembered being a kid on Christmas morning.
We got up before the sun was up. There were going to be a lot of anxious kids and parents hoping to have breakfast before they attempted to get home.
By seven, we were dressed and making our way to the lodge. We immediately jumped into the controlled chaos of serving breakfast to a lodge full of unexpected guests.
The kitchen was a whirlwind of activity. Stacy was directing traffic between the stove, the coffee station, and the serving area. Brom was manning the griddle flipping pancakes and bacon.
That’s when Phineas Withers appeared in the kitchen doorway, still wearing his velvet green bow tie from the night before.
“You’re all making a mess of those eggs,” he announced, surveying the scene with critical eyes. “Step aside and let someone who knows what he’s doing show you how it’s done.”
I half expected Emmy to bristle at the criticism, but instead she grinned and handed him an apron. “Be my guest, Mr. Withers. We could use all the help we can get.”
What followed was nothing short of miraculous. Phineas took over the egg station with the confidence of a man who’d spent decades perfecting his technique, regaling us with stories about his late wife while he demonstrated the art of the perfect poached egg.
“My wife used to say that a proper poached egg was like a love letter,” he said, gently lowering eggs into simmering water. “It had to be tender, perfectly timed, and made with complete attention to detail.”
Within minutes, he’d moved on to hollandaise sauce, whisking egg yolks and butter like he had been a chef at some point in his life. With him, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had been. I had only known the man a short time, but he was proving to be full of surprises.
“Turn up the music!” Phineas called over his shoulder. “Cooking should be joyful, not a funeral march!”
So much for being a Scrooge, I thought, watching this transformation with amazement.
The cranky old man who’d been shouting at strangers on street corners had been replaced by someone who was clearly in his element.
I wondered about the man before he lost his wife.
I had a feeling he would have been the life of a party before grief and the bottle claimed him.
Over breakfast, the main dining room buzzed with conversation and laughter. Guests were raving about the food, comparing notes about their unexpected sleepover adventure, and making plans to return for future holidays.
I wasn’t technically involved with the business just yet, but the impromptu sleepover turned out to be one hell of a marketing tactic.
“Can we go home now?” Aspen asked for what had to be the fifth time. “We saw all the presents Santa left, but Mom and Dad are torturing us by making us wait until after we eat.”
“I think I’m in the mood for three coffees this morning,” Stacy said with exaggerated thoughtfulness, taking an impossibly slow sip from her mug. “Maybe four. It is Christmas, after all.”
The kids groaned in unison. I couldn’t help but laugh at their dramatic suffering.
“Come on,” I said, standing up from the table. “Let’s go outside and work off some of that energy. Build some snowmen or something. Give your mom time to caffeinate.”
“Can we have a snowball fight?” Alder asked, his eyes lighting up.
“Only if you promise not to aim for the face,” I said, already heading toward the coat closet.
What followed was twenty minutes of pure, ridiculous fun.
We built targets out of snow, lobbed snowballs at each other with varying degrees of accuracy, and generally acted like kids who’d been let loose in the world’s best playground.
I went easy on the little ones. Not like the first time.
The last thing I wanted to do was ruin their Christmas morning with a snowball injury.
By the time we came back inside, red-cheeked and covered in snow, the breakfast rush had died down considerably. Guests were getting ready to head back into town now that the snow had stopped and the roads had been cleared enough to make travel less treacherous.
“Hey.” Sylvie waved me over. “Can you help these guys?”
I looked at the older couple and nodded. “Absolutely.”
I took the woman’s arm and guided her outside and down the steps. I walked them to their car and quickly scraped the snow from the windshield while they sat inside getting warm. I gave the man a thumbs-up, letting him know he was good to go.
I turned back to the lodge, looking forward to getting warmed up when I saw a flashy car coming down the driveway.
My stomach jumped into my throat. The vehicle was sleek, expensive, and completely out of place in the rustic mountain setting. It reminded me of myself when I first showed up in a car that didn’t belong. Something told me the person was here to see me.
“I’m getting déjà vu,” Sylvie said, suddenly standing beside me.
“No shit,” I murmured. “Who’s this big city asshole showing up in his fancy car?”
She laughed and leaned into my side affectionately. We watched as the car parked. A tall, dark-haired, well-dressed man got out. For a moment, I couldn’t process what I was seeing. Then recognition hit me like a physical blow.
“What the fuck?” I breathed.
“What’s wrong?” Sylvie asked.
It was Austin. My older brother Austin, who I hadn’t seen in years, was standing in the parking lot of Northwood Lodge on Christmas morning.
When he spotted me, his face broke into that grin that had always been able to charm anyone within a fifty-foot radius.
“Merry Christmas, little brother,” he called out with a friendly wave.
I stood there stunned, unable to form words, as Austin opened the back door of his car and began pulling out bags and boxes.
“I heard you threw a serious Christmas party here,” he said, as if showing up unannounced was the most natural thing in the world. “Thought I’d bring some extra fixings.”
“Little brother,” Sylvie repeated. “This is one of your brothers?”
I shook my head. “That’s the other black sheep. I haven’t seen him since he walked out on our family.”
She nudged me. “I think you should offer to help.”
I finally moved toward him. He shoved a bag at me. “Carry that for me.”
“What the hell is all of this?”
“Gifts. For the new family.”
I had no words.
Sylvie appeared. “Hello,” she said with a bright smile. “I’m Sylvie.”
I felt like an idiot for not introducing her. I was just so stunned. “Austin, this is Sylvie. Sylvie, this is my brother, Austin.”
Austin looked at her. Like really looked to the point I was thinking I was going to have to kick his ass.
Then he smiled. “So you’re the one.”
“I’m the one?” Sylvie questioned.
“The one that helped my little brother find the balls to stand up for himself.”
She grinned. “That’d be me.”
Austin nodded once and then shoved a box filled with more wrapped gifts in her hands. “Those are going to be for you.”
“What?” She looked at me, then the gifts, then back at me.
I shrugged. I didn’t know what the hell to say.
We carried everything in. I introduced him to the rest of the family.
Everyone seemed to be confused. They knew a bit about my family, but they had no idea the history or dynamics.
Sylvie seemed to sense I needed time with Austin and took the gifts and placed them under the tree while distracting her family.
“What are you doing here?” I finally managed to ask when I could get him alone for a moment.
Austin shrugged, but there was something vulnerable in his expression that reminded me of the brother I’d grown up with. “The way you described this place made it seem pretty awesome. And maybe I was tired of spending every Christmas by myself.”
The admission was a surprise. Austin had always been the strong one, the one who seemed completely self-sufficient. The idea that he’d been lonely and that he’d driven hours to be here because he didn’t want to spend another holiday alone was sad.
“You’re always welcome here,” I said, meaning it completely.
Austin’s smile was genuine this time, not the practiced charm he used with everyone else. “Thanks, Kent. That means more than you know.”
Then his expression grew more serious. “Have you heard from Dad?”
I shook my head. “Not since yesterday when he basically disowned me.”
Austin was quiet for a second. Then he put his hand on my shoulder. “Take some advice from someone who’s made every mistake in the book—reach out first. Wish them all a Merry Christmas. Take the high road, unlike I did. Then if it all falls apart, at least you know you didn’t do anything wrong.”
The advice was unexpected but felt right. Austin had never been one for taking the high road in family conflicts, but maybe his years of exile had taught him something about regret.
Sylvie reappeared and offered to make Austin a plate. He followed her into the kitchen, leaving me with the time to make that call.
I found a quiet corner of the lodge, pulled out my phone, and called my dad. I was ready to extend the olive branch, even though I fully expected it to be rejected.
It went straight to voicemail, which wasn’t entirely surprising. Christmas morning was probably hectic at the family estate, with all the traditional activities and formal gift exchanges.
I called Kathy next.
“Kent!” Her voice was warm and delighted when she answered. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart!”
“Merry Christmas, Kathy,” I said, feeling a rush of homesickness at the familiar sound of her voice.
“Could you put me on speakerphone? I wanted to wish everyone a happy Christmas.”
“Of course. Hold on.”
There was a rustling sound and I could hear the background noise of Christmas morning at the Bancroft estate. Laughter, conversation, and babies crying.
“Kent’s on the phone!” Kathy announced. “He wanted to wish everyone a Merry Christmas!”
There was a chorus of responses. Hudson’s voice, Diana, Hayes, Kameron, Dane, and the rest of them, along with what sounded like all of Kathy’s sons and their families. But I didn’t hear my father’s voice among them.
“We miss you, brother,” Hudson called out.
I felt a surge of emotion. “Tell everyone I love them.”
“We love you too,” came the collective response. I had to close my eyes against the sudden sting of tears.
After I hung up, I stood there for a moment, processing the complex mix of emotions churning in my chest. Part of me wished I was there, participating in the traditions I’d grown up with, surrounded by the huge family that was a little dysfunctional, but they were mine.
But then I looked across the room and saw Sylvie laughing with Austin, who was regaling them with some story that had them all grinning.
I saw the natural warmth and acceptance that had welcomed me in despite every reason they had to be suspicious.
They were welcoming Austin as well. They didn’t care about what he did or why he was here instead of with the rest of the family.
Here was better. Definitely better.
Austin caught my eye across the room and raised his coffee mug in a small toast. That was his stamp of approval. It meant a lot.