Eli
THREE
By the time Mom called everyone to dinner, the house smelled of roast turkey, buttery dinner rolls, and whatever magic she'd put into her mashed potatoes.
“Wash your hands!” she shouted from the kitchen before we could even reach the bathroom.
“I'm almost twenty-one!” Cheyenne called back.
“And capable of carrying more germs than a toddler,” I told her.
“I hate it here.”
“You live three hundred miles away.”
“Exactly. I escaped.”
I snorted and headed toward the dining room. Behind me, Niall let out a quiet laugh. A real one, not the polite chuckle he'd been using since we arrived. My chest warmed.
The dining room looked exactly the same as it always had, with the same oak table covered in a decades old tablecloth, with the same Christmas-themed centerpiece Mom had brought out every December for as long as I could remember.
The same slightly crooked angel hung from the chandelier because Dad insisted it gave the room character.
Mom argued every year that it looked like it was about to fall.
Dad called it tradition, Cheyenne called it a fire hazard, but nobody had the heart to take it away from him.
Niall paused beside me as we approached the table.
"You okay?" I asked quietly.
His gaze roamed over the place settings, the bowls of food already waiting in the middle and the easy chaos of my family settling into their usual seats. "Yeah."
I knew that tone—it meant he wasn't. Not entirely. I brushed my fingers against the back of his hand.
His eyes found mine. A small smile tugged at his mouth. Better.
Mom immediately started issuing orders. "Rick, sit down."
"I'm helping."
"You're standing there holding a spoon."
"It’s called supervising."
"Sit!"
So Dad sat.
Cheyenne grinned. "Mom's Christmas spirit is really just seasonal dictatorship."
"I heard that."
Niall choked on a laugh.
Mom threatened him with the serving spoon she’d confiscated from my father. "Don't encourage her."
"No promises," he said. For a second, he looked surprised he'd said anything at all.
Cheyenne slapped the table. "Oh, I like him."
"You liked him before he took your side," I reminded her.
"True." She pointed at Niall. "But now I know he appreciates quality humor."
I snorted. "That's one way to describe it."
"It’s the correct way."
Niall’s laughter grew until he tossed his head back, and the sound hit me square in the chest. God. I loved that laugh.
Most people saw the grumpy hockey captain.
They didn't see this version, the one whose eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed.
The one who looked younger, lighter—happier.
And for the first time since we'd arrived, he didn’t seem to be meticulously selecting every word he said.
He was just... here. Exactly where he belonged.
The conversation drifted easily after that. Hockey came up briefly—mostly because Dad wanted to know how the season was going at Michigan U—but thankfully, nobody turned dinner into an interview.
Instead, the embarrassing stories began—Cheyenne truly had no sense of self preservation. “You know,” she said casually, helping herself to another dinner roll. “Eli used to cry every year when we took down the Christmas tree.”
I nearly choked. “Oh my God.”
Niall immediately turned toward me, a smile quirking the corner of his lips. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“It wasn't nothing,” Cheyenne said. “He was, like, seven and absolutely devastated.”
“I liked Christmas.”
“You held a funeral for the ornaments!”
Mom and Dad laughed. Even Niall was trying—and failing—not to smile.
“There was no funeral,” I argued.
“There were speeches.”
“There were not speeches.”
“Oh, you’re right—they were eulogies.”
I dropped my head into my hands. “Traitor.”
Cheyenne looked delighted. “You called the angel ornament a brave soldier who gave his life in service of Christmas.”
The entire table erupted. Niall doubled over with a proper belly-aching laugh. Not polite laughter or the careful version he used around strangers. I stared at him. God, that sound. I didn't think I'd ever get tired of hearing it.
He finally looked up and caught me staring. “What?”
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
A smile tugged at his mouth.
I’m a liar. It wasn’t “nothing”. I was in love with him. Hopelessly, embarrassingly, and completely in love with him. Unfortunately, for my sister, I wasn’t going to let her win because of it. “Why don’t we talk about Cheyenne’s childhood?”
Cheyenne's eyes narrowed. “Eli.”
“Remember your sophomore year in high school?”
“Don't.”
“The vampire phase?”
“No,” Cheyenne groaned.
Niall looked between us. “The what phase?”
I grinned. “She watched one vampire movie and decided she was a creature of the night.”
“Oh my God.”
“She wore nothing but black for three months straight.”
Mom laughed so hard she had to put down her fork. “Oh, I remember that. She made us keep the blinds closed.”
“It protected my aesthetic.”
I grinned. “You hissed at sunlight.”
“It was a joke!”
“You carried an umbrella to protect you from the sun.”
“It was July.”
Niall lost it. A full-bodied laugh burst out of him, loud enough to make the whole table laugh harder, even Cheyenne. For a few minutes the conversation dissolved into complete chaos. Everyone talked over each other, and sitting right in the middle of it all was Niall. Relaxed. Comfortable. Happy.
This was the first time he'd ever sat around a table like this since losing his parents.
The first time he'd been surrounded by family noise and holiday chaos and people who actually cared about him.
My chest tightened. Because for all the jokes and laughter, I knew this wasn't easy for him.
I knew there were moments when grief still caught him off guard.
Mom must have been thinking something similar. Her smile softened as she looked across the table. “Niall?”
He glanced up. “Yes?”
“What was Christmas like for you growing up?”
Silence fell over the table, everyone listening intently.
Uncertainty flickered across Niall’s face before he looked down at his plate.
For a second, I wondered if he'd dodge the question.
Instead, the corners of his mouth twitched with the tease of a smile.
“My mom loved Christmas. She started decorating ridiculously early. Like... midnight on Halloween early.”
"She sounds like she was a great mother," Dad said.
"She really was." Niall smiled. “Every year she'd make sugar cookies from scratch, and every year she would complain that Dad would steal all the dough before she could bake them.”
Dad pointed at him. “Now that's a Christmas tradition.”
“He called it quality control.”
“Reasonable.”
Niall laughed softly. “Mom never believed him.”
"Because she wasn't buying it," Mom explained.
“Exactly.”
The smile stayed on his face, but I could see something else there too. Something tender and sad. “She used to make all of us wear matching pajamas every Christmas Eve.”
But this time, when Niall smiled, there was something softer behind it. Not just happiness, but memory. Love, remembrance. And somehow still being able to talk about them.
The stories kept coming after that.
Mom wanted to know everything about the sugar cookies. Dad wanted to know whether Niall's family had any Christmas traditions involving sports. Cheyenne somehow managed to turn the conversation into an argument about the validity of Die Hard was a Christmas movie.
"It takes place at Christmas," Niall pointed out.
"So does my annual emotional breakdown over wrapping gifts," Cheyenne shot back. "That doesn't make it a Christmas movie."
Dad nodded solemnly. "She's got a point."
"Thank you."
Laughter erupted around the table. I found myself watching Niall instead of participating.
At some point, he'd stopped sitting ramrod straight.
His shoulders relaxed, his smile came easier.
And every now and then, I'd catch him studying the table.
There was always this little look on his face afterward.
Something soft and almost disbelieving. Like he still couldn't quite believe he was sitting here and waiting for someone to make him leave, but nobody was going to do that.
Mom was pressuring him into second helpings of food, Dad was talking hockey with him like a second son, and Cheyenne had apparently decided Niall was her new best friend.
Which was honestly a little rude considering she'd known me our entire lives.
The final proof came when Mom brought out dessert: pies, fudge, cookies, brownies, and a whole cheesecake.
"Mom,” Chey said, her eyes wide. “We could feed an army."
"Good. If one shows up, we're prepared."
Eventually, Mom declared the evening over and began ordering us to bed. Cheyenne protested, naturally. Dad pretended to take her side. Mom threatened to hide the fudge, which ceased the arguing immediately. A few minutes later, Niall and I escaped to my room.
The house settled around us as doors clicked shut one by one. By the time I stripped down to my boxer briefs and climbed into bed, the only sound was the distant hum of the air conditioner.
Niall, also in his underwear, sat beside me staring at the floor.
I nudged his knee with mine. "You okay?"
His mouth curved slightly. "Yeah."
The answer came too quickly. I waited. Eventually, he let out a breath and leaned back against the headboard. "This is weird."
I smiled. "Weird bad or weird good?"
His eyes met mine. "Weird good."
Something warm spread throughout my chest. I shifted closer and lay next to him, our legs brushing.
Niall scanned the room before his gaze returned to me. "I forgot what this feels like."
"What?"
He was quiet for a second. "Being around people who..." He stopped and shook his head. "People who actually want you there."
My heart squeezed. "Niall."
"It's not that I didn't have teammates. Or friends." He looked down at our joined hands. "It's just different."
I threaded my fingers through his. "Yeah."
His thumb brushed over my knuckles. "My parents would've liked you."
The words caught me off guard. "You think so?"
A small smile tugged at his mouth. "My mom definitely would've liked you."
"Because I'm so charming?"
He huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes. "No. Because you’re a people person."
I gasped.
He laughed again, softer this time. "She would've loved that about you."
Emotion tightened my throat. I leaned over and brushed my lips against his temple. For a moment, neither of us spoke. We didn't need to. The quiet felt comfortable.
"I love you," I whispered.
Niall's eyes softened. "I love you too."
Those words still did something to me every time. I kissed him. Slowly at first. Then deeper when his hand slid into my hair and held me in place. The kiss lingered, warm and unhurried, carrying everything we didn't need words for. Love. Gratitude. Hope.