Chapter 17
WILLOW
The days after my kidnapping are quiet and slow.
Penny’s finally home from the hospital—still weak, but better.
I should feel the same. In some ways, I do.
I can breathe without shaking. I can sleep without hearing his voice.
But I can’t paint. Every time I try, the smell of turpentine turns my stomach, and the canvas feels like a threat instead of a promise.
I tell everyone I’m just tired, that I’ll get back to it soon.
But they see it—the distance in my smile, the way I flinch when someone closes a door too hard.
Cast keeps finding reasons to stay close. Vincent hovers more gently than before, like he’s afraid to touch something fragile. And Damien—he never says it out loud, but he watches me the way he used to watch the kids when they were sick, waiting for signs of fever.
I ignore it all, because I’d rather focus on the parts of the house that feel normal. The ones that breathe. My morning coffee. The children’s laughter. The smell of cinnamon and hearth. How determined I am to make Christmas feel like Christmas.
I sit on the balcony with a steaming mug between my hands. The cold air bites at my cheeks. The world is muffled, quiet, heavy with fresh snow. Beyond the railing, the pine trees bend under their weight like old men bowing to the season.
For a moment, everything is still. The coffee is bitter and perfect. I don’t feel as broken as I am, right now.
“Mom! It’s snowing again!” Rose’s voice cuts through the hall like a bell, bright and breathless. “And it’s sticking this time!”
I blink, startled out of my quiet, and glance through the glass doors just as she bursts into the room, wearing her red robe and mismatched socks, curls wild from sleep. Behind her, Theo thunders in with one boot on and one off, holding the other as he hops out of the house.
“Mom, look!” he announces. “There’s enough to make a snow fort!”
“You say that every year,” Cast’s voice drifts from the hall, low and amused. “And then you quit halfway through and start a snowball war instead.”
“You need a fort for a snow ball fight, Pops!!” Theo shouts back, laughing.
Rose spins toward me, cheeks pink. “Can we go outside now?”
“Breakfast first,” I say automatically, setting my mug down and brushing snow off my sleeves. “And hats this time. You nearly froze your ears off yesterday.”
She groans, dragging out the word mooom like a song as she kicks her foot against the patio.
Vincent strolls out barefoot, hair tousled from sleep, holding a mug of his own. The light hits him through the window, softening the lines that stress carved into his face. “I’ll help with breakfast,” he says, voice still thick with sleep. “You sit. You look like you were finally relaxed.”
I smile faintly. “It’s okay, my coffee is cold now anyway.”
He smirks. “I’ll refresh it..”
Vincent steps closer, the steam from his mug curling between us. His hand brushes mine briefly as he takes the empty cup from my fingers, the touch warm and grounding. Before turning, he leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek—soft, hesitant, careful in a way that still surprises me.
His lips leave behind the faintest trace of heat, and my chest tightens with something fragile and human—trust trying to grow back in the scarred places.
It’s been hard. Harder than I ever admit out loud.
Learning how to stand next to him without thinking about everything we’ve lost, everything we almost didn’t get back.
But we’re trying, and that’s what matters right?
When he disappears inside, I follow him, brushing snow from my hair as I step over the threshold. The scent of cinnamon and maple drifts from the kitchen.
Penny’s sitting at the table, her cheeks flushed pink, a tiny smile ghosting across her face. She’s wearing one of Cast’s oversized sweaters, sleeves hanging past her hands, and she’s pushing marshmallows around in her cocoa like they’re little boats.
“How’re you feeling, sweetheart?” I ask, coming to rest a hand on the back of her chair.
She looks up, eyes still tired but bright. “Better,” she says softly. “A little dizzy.”
I smooth a strand of hair from her forehead, my thumb brushing the warmth there. “Okay let me know if you feel any worse, alright?”
“Okay,” she nods.
“She’s been up since six,” Cast calls from the stove, flipping pancakes like a man possessed. “Said she didn’t want to miss Santa in case he came early.”
Penny giggles, half hiding behind her cup. “Pops burned the first batch.”
“I did not,” Cast says without turning. “They had extra seasoning.”
“Charcoal is not a seasoning,” Vincent says dryly from the counter, pouring my fresh coffee. He slides it across to me, the smallest smile tugging at his mouth. “Café à la Beaumont.”
“Watch it, Beaumont,” Cast mutters, but there’s no real bite to it.
Penny grins between them, her small laugh like sunlight in the room. I can’t help it—I smile too, sinking into the chair beside her, wrapping my hands around the warm mug Vincent just set down.
Damien appears in the doorway, Santa hat slouched sideways on his head, an unamused expression twisting his mouth.
I stare at him for a beat, then grin. “You look festive.”
He sighs. “I lost a bet.”
“What bet?” I ask, half-laughing.
Cast’s smirk grows slow, deliberate. “Oh, the usual,” he says, flipping a pancake with the confidence of a man who’s absolutely lying. “We were playing cards last night after you went to bed. Loser wears the hat at breakfast.”
Damien crosses his arms. “You neglected to mention that the cards were marked.”
“They weren’t marked,” Cast replies smoothly. “You just have terrible instincts.”
Vincent lifts his coffee, hiding a grin behind the rim. “He’s not wrong.”
Damien glares at both of them, then looks at me as if I might save him. “You see what I deal with? This is abuse.”
I lean my cheek against my hand, pretending to think. “Hm. Depends what the stakes were.”
Vincent arches a brow. “Oh, you should ask that part.”
Damien shoots him a warning look. “Don’t.”
Cast ignores him completely, a glint in his eyes. “Loser was supposed to wear the hat and serve breakfast shirtless, but I was feeling merciful.”
“Merciful?” Damien says incredulously. “Then why did you glue this fucking hat to my head?”
“Ooooo,” Elise sings, before sticking her tongue out at Damien. “Papa said a bad word!”
“He did,” I smile poking Elise on the tip of of her nose. “You know what that means?”
“Swear Jar!” Penny and Elise yell in sync and I turn to see a narrowed-eyed Damien.
“For the love of—”
“Pancakes!” Vincent laughs as he cuts off Damien, swinging around a huge plate of nutella crêpes.
“Daddy, those are crêpes,” Rose corrects as he slides one onto her plate.
“Oh, right,” he winks, dishing out the rest of the food.
The room fills with laughter. Even Penny—small and bundled in her oversized pajamas—lets out a sleepy giggle from where she’s perched on a stool.
“Papa,” she says, voice soft but mischievous, “you look like a grumpy Santa.”
He glares at her for a second, then sighs and adjusts the hat. “That’s because I am a grumpy Santa.”
“Mom,” Rose whispers, cupping her hands around her mouth like she’s plotting something top secret, “we should get him a reindeer nose.”
Theo gasps, eyes lighting up. “And a beard! I can make one out of marshmallows!”
Damien groans, already seeing his fate unfold. “Save me, please,” he mutters, sliding behind me and looping his arms around my waist like I’m his human shield. His breath is warm against my neck; the tone is mock despair, but I can hear the laughter tucked underneath it.
I can’t help laughing, nearly spilling my coffee. “Alright, my little elves,” I say, raising my voice over their giggles, “the faster you finish breakfast, the faster we can go outside—and the faster you can start a snowball fight with grumpy Papa.”
Cast looks up from the stove, spatula in hand, narrowing his eyes. “I heard that.”
Rose grins, utterly unbothered. “Good!”
Damien groans louder, pressing his forehead against my shoulder. “You’re no help,” he accuses, his voice muffled. “You realize this is war, right?”
I take another sip of coffee, feigning calm. “You started it.”
He retaliates immediately, fingers sliding to my sides, tickling until I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe. “Damien!” I gasp, pushing at his chest.
He smirks. “What’s wrong? No backup from your elves?”
“You’re on, Sterling,” I shoot back, shoving him away and nearly knocking the Santa hat off his head.
Rose cheers. “Snowball war!”
Theo pounds his tiny fist on the table. “Team Mom!”
Damien clutches his chest in mock betrayal. “Et tu, Theo?”
“Sorry, Papa,” Theo says with a grin. “You’re going down.”
Damien stands in the middle of two forts and a bucket of premade snowballs still wearing his Santa hat, hands on his hips, surveying the battlefield. “Alright,” he declares, “rules are simple. No snow down the coat, no crying, and no surrendering to tiny terrorists.”
Rose squints up at him. “You’re going down.”
Theo points dramatically. “For Mom!”
I laugh, pulling my gloves tighter. “That’s my boy.”
Damien feigns a look of betrayal. “Unbelievable. Traitorous offspring.”
Elise raises both mittened hands and yells, “Team Mom!” Her voice is high and proud and absolutely devastatingly adorable.
From the porch, Penny giggles, wrapped in a blanket and holding up two big sheets of cardboard she’s clearly drawn on in marker: one says TEAM MOM, the other, NO MERCY.
“See?” I say, smirking at Damien. “Even the injured are rallying behind me.”
He gasps, clutching his chest. “You’ve turned my own family against me.”
“Correction,” I say, scooping snow into a neat ball, “they were never on your team to begin with.”
I launch it—perfect hit, straight to the front of his coat. The thud echoes, followed by his stunned silence.
Rose whoops. “Direct hit!”
Theo cheers like it’s the Olympics. Elise falls over laughing, rolling in the snow.
Damien stares down at the small white patch on his chest, then up at me with mock menace. “Oh, it’s on now.”
I duck behind the old oak tree, motioning the kids to follow. “Alright, team,” I whisper, crouching down. “We hit him in waves. Rose, flank from the left. Theo, you and Elise cover the front. He’s big but slow.”
“I heard that!” Damien yells from somewhere behind the snowman.
I grin. “He’s also loud.”
Theo tosses a snowball that misses by a mile, but the effort counts. Rose gets closer, darting between bushes, her coat flashing red. Damien retaliates, lobbing a snowball that bursts harmlessly against the tree behind me. Snow dusts my hair.
“Oh, you shouldn’t have done that,” I murmur, grinning like a wolf.
I scoop, pack, and throw. This one hits his shoulder—another clean shot. Damien stumbles back, laughing. “You’re ruthless!”
“Compliment accepted!” I shout.
Then he moves—fast, for someone his size. Before I can reload, he crosses the distance between us in three strides, scoops me clean off my feet, and spins me around. I shriek, kicking uselessly as he hoists me over his shoulder like a sack of flour.
“Got the general!” he crows. “Surrender or your leader gets it!”
The kids erupt in protest. Rose gasps dramatically. “Put Mommy down, Papa!”
Theo readies his arsenal. “Attack!”
Elise squeals, flinging handfuls of snow that barely reach his knees.
Penny’s laughter rings out from the porch. “No mercy!” she shouts, waving her sign like a flag.
Damien tries to shield himself, still laughing. “You wouldn’t dare hit your Papa!”
Rose hits him square in the hat, knocking it sideways despite the glue keeping it firmly on his forehead. Elise throws snow at his legs until he starts to wobble. I’m half laughing, half breathless, yelling, “Traitors! Don’t hit the hostage!”
“It’s war!” Theo declares, followed by a deep battlecry.
I’m laughing so hard my sides ache. Damien drops to his knees, still holding me but using me as a shield now. “I surrender! Team Mom wins! Team Mom always wins!”
Theo and Rose dive onto him anyway, tackling both of us into the snow. Elise plops down on top like the cherry on a sundae, clapping her mittens together. The pile of us collapses into laughter and tangled limbs.
Damien’s breath is warm against my shoulder. “This is mutiny,” he says between gasps.
“This is justice,” I counter, brushing snow from my hair.
From the porch, Penny holds up her sign again, laughing so hard she nearly drops it. “Team Mom forever!”
The front door bangs open, and Cast steps out onto the porch, his voice carrying easily over the chaos. “Alright, mijos! The elves have filled up the stockings!”
The announcement stops everything. Even Damien, mid-laugh, freezes as all four kids turn toward him with wide, sparkling eyes.
“Stockings?” Rose whispers, like it’s sacred.
Theo’s jaw drops. “Already?”
“Now?” Elise squeals.
Cast grins, crossing his arms. “That’s what happens when the house is full of good little monsters.”
Rose gasps, grabbing Theo’s arm. “We have to go see!”
“Wait for me!” Elise yells, struggling to get up as Damien gently lifts her off my lap and sets her upright.
Penny’s already at the door, hopping from foot to foot, blanket falling around her shoulders. “Hurry, hurry!”
The kids take off toward the house, boots crunching, laughter echoing through the crisp air. I stay behind for a moment, still sitting in the snow, catching my breath as I watch them go—four small streaks of color vanishing into the warm gold glow spilling from the doorway.
Cast lingers by the porch railing, eyes meeting mine. “You did good,” he says, his breath visible in the cold.
“Yeah, well,” Damien says, nudging Cast with his shoulder as he steps up beside him, “they get their terrorist tendencies from you.”
Cast smirks. “What can I say? I raise fighters.”
Damien huffs a laugh, then turns back to me. He extends his hand, snow still clinging to his glove. “Truce?” he asks, his grin boyish beneath the lopsided Santa hat.
I take his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. “Until tomorrow,” I tease.
He laughs, brushing snow from my coat, his fingers lingering just a second too long. “I’ll take it.”