Chapter 25
Asshat
Merry Christmas Eve.
Asshat
Dad’s spending today alone. Hope that’s easier for you to live with than making a phone call.
Dickwad
He won’t be around forever. Don’t come crying to us when it’s too late.
My thumb hovered over the Block Contact button.
One tap.
One stupid little tap, and I’d never have to read a message from them again.
I’d almost clicked it more times than I could count—birthdays, Thanksgiving, random Tuesdays when my brothers were short on cash or felt the need to tear someone else down. But every time, I chickened out.
They’d spent years convincing me I owed them for surviving my childhood. For putting food on the table while Dad was gone. For keeping the lights on. For raising me.
I was old enough now to understand that none of that was my responsibility. I knew it like I knew the sun would rise in the morning. But all it ever took was one stupid text message to make me feel like I was a kid again, desperate for my family to love me.
“Ready?” Mikko said when he climbed into the driver’s seat. He buckled his seat belt, then looked in the rearview mirror at Leena playing in her car seat.
“Mmhmm.”
Mikko pulled out of the parking garage and into traffic, headed toward the assisted living facility. “So, tell me about this Walt guy.”
I clicked off my phone, letting myself grin. “He’s such an asshole. You’ll love him.”
Mikko laughed, turning to look at me. The change in him the last few weeks was almost wild to see. Gone were the worried crinkles around his eyes, replaced by the stoic but kind hockey player I’d met almost a year ago.
“Am I an asshole too?”
I shrugged. “Only when it’s warranted.”
He nodded, content with that assessment. And it was true.
Despite his fierce reputation on the ice, I’d only seen Mikko lose his temper a handful of times, and all of them were reasonable—my father drunkenly harassing me and Richard overstepping in the media room at the top of the list.
“He’s a Yeti fan?”
“Yes.” I tipped my head back on the headrest, turning to look at him. “He’s a superfan. I’m very excited to see this.”
“Me or him?”
“Both, honestly. This is either about to be the most hilarious or cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I haven’t decided yet.”
“Dada!” Leena cried out from the backseat, reaching toward us. “Mo Dada!”
Mikko grabbed a few cheese snacks from the jar in the cupholder, then reached back and handed Leena a few more. “What do you say?”
She spat out a variety of sounds that vaguely resembled thank you, but she said it so often, we’d decided it was good enough.
Speech wasn’t always about pronunciation—encouraging opportunities to talk and giving her the chance to try it on her own had worked wonders with Leena in the three months we’d been together.
I smiled at Mikko, the hurt my family had caused me fading a little. “She’s doing so good.”
He put his arm on the center console, hand upturned. I put mine in his, lacing our fingers together. “A Christmas miracle.”
The assisted living facility had decorated for the holidays a few weeks ago, every corner filled with reminders that family was supposed to come together this time of year.
A Christmas tree sparkled beside the fireplace, a menorah sat on the credenza beneath framed photos from the resident's holiday party, and paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling, each one perfectly imperfect the way only handmade decorations were.
The lobby buzzed with visitors carrying gifts and food, grandchildren weaving between walkers while Christmas music drifted softly through the speakers overhead.
My brothers' messages crept back into the front of my mind—Dad's spending today alone.
Guilt had always been their favorite Christmas present.
I shoved my phone into my purse before I could make the mistake of reading the messages again.
"Ready?" I asked.
Mikko adjusted Leena higher on his hip. "Lead the way."
We made our way down the familiar hallway, residents calling out greetings as we passed. Walt's room sat at the end of the hall, his door cracked open enough for voices to spill into the corridor.
I slowed.
That was unusual.
I’d asked Walt what his holiday plans were at our last session, and he’d said he was spending Christmas Eve alone. That hadn’t sat right with me, which spoke volumes considering I knew my father was also alone and I was here instead.
I knocked lightly against the doorframe before peeking inside. "Merry Chri—"
The words died in my throat when I spotted two men inside with him. I instantly recognized them from their photos on the wall, both turning toward the doorway at the sound of my voice.
“Eh? Who’s there?” Walt said, far quieter than I liked to hear.
I looked at Mikko, feeling out of place, but he pushed the door open further until we were in view.
“Shannon?” Walt said, his hands shaking hard on top of the blanket over his lap. “What are you doing here?”
I held up a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies I’d baked this morning. “Came by to see my favorite Scrooge.”
Walt’s older son, Grant, laughed. “He makes a good Scrooge. Come on in.”
The moment Mikko entered the room behind me, I knew it. I didn’t have to turn around to see he’d followed me—Walt’s eyes went wide, then his sons’ next to them.
“You’re Mikko Laaksonen, right?” his younger son, Owen, said. “Dad, that’s Mikko Laaksonen.”
“I know who he is, dammit. I’m old, not blind.”
Mikko grinned, Leena hiding her face in his shoulder. “I had to meet the other man in my wife’s life, Walt.”
Walt’s chest puffed up at that, his shoulders rolled back. “She talks about me?”
“Every week.”
Mikko set Leena down on the floor, and she reached for my leg, hiding behind it. Without me asking him to, Mikko crossed the room and bent down to shake Walt’s hand.
His hands shook so bad today, I had to look away. Emotion clogged my throat, hating that I couldn’t make this better for him.
But the sight of him grinning up at Mikko, both of his hands wrapped around one of Mikko’s, was something I’d never forget.
“You’re in her chair, Owen.” Walt shooed his son, pointing over at the table until I crossed the room and took my usual spot.
The crossword sat on the table, same as always, but it wasn’t even today’s paper. This was the same one I’d left for him a week ago, the pencil still next to it.
It was the first time he’d never even tried on his own.
I tried not to think about how fast his disease was progressing lately but couldn’t seem to swallow down the fear raging inside me.
It wasn’t even so much the reminder of Lori’s inevitable demise anymore either.
Now, the thought of losing Walt hurt just as badly.
“And who’s this pretty girl?” Walt said when Leena climbed up into my lap.
I gave her a squeeze, needing the simple comfort as much as she did. “This is Leena. Leena, this is my friend Walt.”
Walt lifted his hand like he'd intended to wave but couldn't seem to get it to cooperate. He dropped it back down with a frustrated sigh and settled for a smile instead.
Or, at least, he tried.
The muscles in his face fought him every step of the way, but his eyes still warmed when they landed on Leena.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
Leena looked up at me, then back at Walt.
“She doesn’t talk much,” Mikko said.
“That’s okay. Thank you for coming to see me for Christmas. I like your mom a lot.”
I blinked away tears, having to look out the window to hide the emotions overtaking me.
Conversation turned to hockey, both of Walt’s sons informing Mikko that their beer league would never believe this turn of events. He chuckled when they told me to cover Leena’s ears, then announced their team name was the Zamboners.
“I need to talk the Mayhem into having a beer league,” Mikko said. “Think Tate will go for it? Get all the boys back on the ice together?”
I shrugged. “Probably. You can ask them tomorrow.”
Grant looked at me. “The Mayhem Hockey Club? You know the Mayhem?”
“I’m from Linwood, so yes, I know the Mayhem.”
Owen smacked his brother on the shoulder. “Isn’t that who you lost the state championship to in high school three years in a row?”
“Don’t remind me,” he grumbled. “The only thing that made it better was that several of their players went pro shortly after.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “Beckett and Mason Conway, and Ty Hudson.”
Grant’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, that’s right. You know them?”
“You could say that.”
Walt huffed. “Last time Shannon said that, she forgot to mention she wasn’t a Yeti fan—she was married to the best defenseman we’ve ever had on the roster. So, what? Are they your brothers or something?”
I grinned. “Or something.”
“Unbelievable.”
We all laughed, and Leena giggled with us, looking up at me for approval. I squeezed her closer, leaning down to plant a kiss on her head.
A nurse came in shortly after for Walt’s medications and to bring him lunch. Mikko and Leena followed Walt’s sons out the door, but I lingered for another moment.
“Merry Christmas, Walt.”
His gaze drifted toward the doorway where Mikko was crouched beside Leena, helping her zip her coat while she tried to help. Walt watched them for a long moment before looking back at me.
“You have a beautiful family, Shannon.” He gave my hand a squeeze, his own trembling beneath mine, then let go. “Hold on to them, kid. Time passes too fast.”
I smiled until the door clicked shut behind me. But the moment I followed Mikko and Leena down the hall toward the exit, it disappeared.
You have a beautiful family.
The words were like a blow, a reminder that my family looked nothing like this.
Mine was full of alcoholics and abusers, of slammed doors and broken promises, of learning far too young that loving someone didn't mean they loved you back.
The family Walt saw didn’t belong to me. Not really.