Chapter 43
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Devon
Aggressively cheerful Christmas music draws me from a peaceful sleep.
I squint one eye open, brain lagging ten steps behind. My body aches everywhere from cleaning trash off the side of the highway all morning. I'd barely made it home in time to kiss Christian out the door on his way to work before I crashed, intending to spend the rest of my day off unconscious.
And now someone is singing Jingle Bells in the living room.
Groaning, I slide off the bed and shuffle toward the door to peek out into the apartment.
The first thing I see is a tree. A whole-ass Christmas tree, half-lit and leaning slightly to the left.
Owen stands in front of it wearing pajamas, hair a mess, still singing as he wrestles with a string of lights.
“… Am I still asleep?” I croak.
He startles, nearly dropping the lights. “Oh! Shit. I wanted this to be a surprise.”
I blink at the tree again and the box of ornaments by his feet. There’s tinsel draped over the arm of the couch, too. “What the hell are you doing?”
“It’s December,” he replies indignantly, like that explains everything.
“Don’t you have your own place to desecrate?”
His lips pop open in offense as he turns to continue unraveling the lights. “I'm going to pretend you did not just say that when I'm doing something nice for you.”
Blowing out a breath, I retreat into the bathroom to throw on some sweats and brush my teeth. By the time I rejoin him in the living room, the tree's already lit up and twinkling.
“Wow,” I mutter. “You move fast.”
“I had a system,” he grumbles, hanging an ornament on a branch. “I was going to have this all decorated and presents wrapped before you both came home from work and now you've ruined it.”
My brows knit together. “It's my day off. Did you say presents?”
“It’s our last Christmas here. At least, the last one with all of us under the same roof.”
“Oh,” I say flatly, still not understanding what the big deal is.
He shoots me a look. “What, you don't like Christmas?”
“My grandparents never decorated, except for the Nativity scene. We didn't do gifts.”
From the way Owen gasps in horror, you'd think I just confessed to murder. “What did you even do on Christmas?”
“Church, usually.” A memory pops into my head—one of my grandfather's belt biting into my flesh for falling asleep during a three-hour sermon—but I shake it away. “Dinner and prayer. Scripture reading.”
“No wonder you don't have any whimsy,” he says forlornly, eyes big and brown and sad.
“Whimsy wasn't exactly encouraged.”
“Well, it is now.” Leaning down, he grabs an ornament from the box at his feet and holds it out to me. “New tradition. Owen and Devon decorate every year, starting today.”
I stare at the little glass bauble like it might bite me. “I don’t know how to do that.”
He blinks. “Uh… hang it up?”
“No. The… tradition part. At least one that doesn't involve getting as strung out as possible to make the day go by quicker.”
Something shifts in his expression, the teasing giving way to clarity.
He just resumes decorating again like I didn't fuck up the moment with my sob story.
“The thing I love about traditions,” he says lightly, hanging the ornament on an upper branch, “is that they're like promises. I promise to still be here next year to put up a tree with you, and so on. Then it becomes a tradition.”
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “That’s a lot to promise.”
“Not really. Being your friend isn't a burden, Dev. Now use your monkey arms to help me with the topper.”
I don’t really know how to process that, so I just take the silver star from his hand and fit it onto the top of the tree without a word. It wobbles for a second before settling into a tilted position.
“There,” Owen announces, satisfied. “Perfect.”
Stepping back beside him, I cross my arms and take the whole tree in. It's crooked, missing a whole row of lights, and the ornaments don't even match. But Owen’s looking at it like it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
“Okay,” he exclaims, clapping his hands once. “I’m grabbing the wrapping paper and gifts out of my car. Go away so you don't see what I got you.”
“I didn’t get you anything,” I say quickly. “Or anyone.”
He pauses with one foot already out the door, keys in hand. “So? I'm doing this for me, not you.”
The door shuts behind him before I can respond, leaving me alone with the tree. Its lights flicker unevenly at me like some kind of plea for help in Morse code, and I tug at my hair until it stings a little.
Gifts were always a no-go for me because nine times out of ten, they came with expectations. A favor in return, or something to be held over my head later on. It always felt like a liability. Maybe I don’t have to feel that way anymore.
Reaching out, I nudge the star to straighten it just a hair as I marvel to myself. “Tradition, huh?”
A promise to be there long enough to start one. As permanent and terrifying as that sounds… It also feels safe.
Like I've finally found something in my life worth keeping, and something worthy of keeping me.
Christian’s hand is warm in mine when we step inside his mom's house on Christmas Eve.
Heat and noise spill out all at once, sounds of laughter and music hitting my ears. The smell of something buttery-sweet makes my stomach roil, half from hunger and half from nerves. I hesitate just long enough for Christian to notice, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in a quiet check-in.
“You good?”
“Yeah,” I lie, then decide to go with the truth instead. “No, wait. Hang on.”
He shuts the front door softly, moving closer with a frown. “Okay, you've been twitchy all morning, man. What's up?”
I rub my damp palms on my jeans. “I didn’t get you anything for Christmas.”
Christian's brows jump. “Dev, I don't care—”
“I know,” I cut in quickly. “I tried. I stood in like three different stores this morning and felt like an idiot in all of them. Everything was wrong, like I’d either make it a big deal or completely miss the mark. So, all I’ve got is the truth.”
My pulse kicks up as I take his other hand in mine, dropping my gaze. “I’ve spent most of my life treating my heart like it was something to keep locked up so it couldn’t be used against me. And I don’t know how to wrap that battered fucker up with a bow or how to make it look nice.”
I glance up at him then, at the glow in his hazel eyes. “But you already have it. I just… never said it out loud. So I'm saying it now.” Stepping forward, I softly press my lips to his. “I love you. For sure this time. That’s it. That’s the gift.”
He just stares at me in complete shock at first. Then a smile lights up his face so bright that I’m nearly blinded. “Dev,” he whispers, resting his forehead against mine.
“You don’t have to say it back. I just… needed you to know.”
He lets out a shaky laugh. “Too bad. I love you, too. Been trying to say it for weeks now, but I was scared.”
My chest caves in on itself, and I wrap my arms around him tightly. “Don't ever hold back, hot shot. I want to hear you say it constantly. Forever.”
“Forever,” he agrees, tucking his face into my neck to breathe me in.
For once, my heart isn’t racing because I want to run, but because it finally knows where it belongs.
“Thank you,” Christian says quietly against my throat. “You nailed it. Best gift ever.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You gave me the one thing I actually wanted.”
“What’s that?”
“You.” A small, crooked smile pulls at his mouth, and I swear if we weren't currently on his mother's porch, I'd bend him over the railing right this instant.
Speaking of.
The front door flies open, spilling light over us as his mom steps onto the porch.
“Mijo!” she exclaims, rushing forward to kiss his cheek. Her soft eyes land on me. “Devon, sí?”
I nod, suddenly hyperaware of where my hands are and the fact that I've never officially introduced myself to her. “Sí. Um, mucho gusto.”
She laughs warmly, but gasps when her attention drops to our fingers linked together. As soon as she calls something rapid-fire over her shoulder in Spanish, Christian groans loudly. “Are you serious right now?”
My grip on his hand tightens. “What did she say?”
Before Christian can answer, Carlos snorts from the doorway. “She said it’s about time he came out to her. And that she thought he'd never do it.”
My brain short-circuits instantly as Christian leads me inside. The house is brightly decorated in gold accents, kitchen counters laid out like a buffet.
His sister, Sofia, cups a palm around her ear from her spot on the couch. “Wait, say that again.” She squints at us, then breaks into a maniacal grin. “Oh my God, pay up!”
The room explodes into noise.
Carlos swears, Christian’s aunt and uncle mutter something about losing, and even Marisol sighs heavily from beside a large Christmas tree with a few of her little cousins on her lap.
Christian spins in a slow circle. “What the hell is going on?”
Sofia begins gathering twenty-dollar bills from everyone. “We had a bet.”
“A bet on what?”
She jerks her chin toward me. “Whether you’d be dating that one before Christmas.”
I freeze, still trying to process what the hell is happening.
“I said before New Year's,” Carlos adds glumly, slapping the money into his sister’s hand. “You won by like seven hours.”
Christian stares at his family in utter shock. “You were all gambling on my love life?”
Sofia turns to me triumphantly. “Thank you for making me rich.”
“Uh.” I choke out a stunned laugh. “You’re welcome? I guess?”
Christian drags a hand down his face, muttering under his breath. “This is unbelievable. How the hell did you know when I didn't even know?”
His mom replies in Spanish, too fast for me to hear, but I catch Taylor's name. When Christian’s face turns slightly red, I give him a curious look. He seems embarrassed.
“She said she always thought I'd end up with Tay until he started dating Huck.”
His sisters burst into laughter.
I glance between them, trying to catch up. “She… thought you’d end up with Taylor?”
Carlos snorts. “Everyone did. They were like, joined at the hip.”
“That's called friendship,” Christian argues weakly.
“Sure, hermano.”
I tongue my lip ring to keep from laughing at the fact that Christian looks like he might actually melt into the floor.
His mom pats his cheek fondly before pointing at our feet as she walks away. He kicks off his shoes, and I follow suit, still reeling from the fact that his family… knew. They knew he wasn't straight and they were just waiting for him to accept it himself, like it was no big deal.
I catch him watching me closely from the corner of his eye. “I never felt anything for Tay,” he says quietly, brows knitted in worry. “Not like I do for you.”
Stopping short, I turn to give him my full attention. The noise of the house fades into the background. “I know.”
He searches my face, still tense. “You do?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “What you and I have is different.”
That seems to catch him off guard. “I just didn’t want you thinking—”
“I don’t. About Taylor, or anyone else.” I glance around the house, at the family moving easily through each other’s space. “If anything, it kind of explains a lot.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It's not like you didn't come out because you were scared.” I meet his eyes again. “You just hadn’t figured it out yet.”
His mouth curves into a small, shaky smile. “That sounds way better than how it felt.”
“Most things do in hindsight.”
He reaches for my hand again, squeezing my fingers tightly. “You still okay being here?”
“I’m okay being with you.”
The tension finally drains from his shoulders as he places a chaste kiss on my lips. “Good. Because I’m not letting you escape this time.”
“Bold of you to assume I want to,” I whisper, and I mean it.
Christian grins easily, tugging me toward the living room, where his family is already calling for us.
And as I follow him, for the first time in my life, it feels like the happiness enveloping me is one that I deserve to have.