Chapter 31
Sawyer
‘May, that was damn right delicious,’ I announce as I throw my knife and fork onto my empty plate and lean back into my chair with a satisfied groan. That might have been the best Chicken Parm I’ve ever had. ‘I ain’t got a clue how you’re gonna beat that for Christmas tomorrow.’
The dining room is filled with a warm amber glow while the ranch outside the slightly fogged-up windows is covered in a thin blanket of white snow.
Snowflakes have been cascading down all day, much to Honey’s dismay as I had Noah outside too many times battling him to see who could catch the most on our tongues. Trixie won by a long shot.
May chuckles to herself at the other end of the table, a quirk of her lips following. ‘I’m just warming up, Sawyer.’
Noah finishes his last bite too and mimics my exact reactions, cutlery launched onto the plate and then he sinks into his chair, rubbing his stomach with an overly dramatic noise to signal his fullness.
Honey and I exchange a humoured look, eyes sparkling at my little shadow—it’s become a joke now, how much he likes to copy me. Just getting practice in for when he becomes a bull rider himself, I say. It’s because he admires me is what Honey thinks, though. Not sure I’m really worthy of that.
‘Grandma,’ Noah calls across the table. ‘Is it time yet?’
‘Time for what?’ I ask, my brow furrowing as the other three around the table all glance at each other, eyes lit up almost as bright as the twinkling lights circling the tree in the other room.
May nods and waves her hand towards the archway. ‘You know where they are, Noah. You can get down and grab them.’
Shaking with excitement, Noah leaps from his seat and rushes out the room, Trixie inevitably following, probably thinking she’s going to get a treat.
She sniffs at Noah when he wobbles his way back in, tongue caught between his teeth as he concentrates on not dropping the presents piled in his little arms.
Still confused as hell—and slightly concerned I was supposed to get everyone a present for tonight—I raise my brows at Honey, hoping for some elaboration.
She just bites down on her lip, trying to hold in a grin that has my heart racing.
There’s a glassiness to her eyes that is definitely a result of the brandy in the eggnog she’s had a few cups of already.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask, watching Noah offer his grandma, then mom a present, and make his way around the table to me.
Each present is wrapped the same, except mine has my name scrawled across it in black pen. Noah beams so brightly as he hands it over, and once it’s in my hands, he bounces back to his seat, his own present in his lap. The gift is soft through the paper, and I really have no idea what to expect.
‘Our family has a little tradition each Christmas Eve that we all get new pyjamas. It’s the one present we can open before Christmas day,’ Honey explains. Now her smile is gentle, almost wistful, but it has my heart beating even faster than her grin.
They … included me in their tradition.
Their family tradition.
I’ve never torn open a present faster. I throw the wrapping paper to the floor for Trixie, who gets straight to tearing it apart—better the paper than furniture.
My heart lurches into my throat when I’m left with a pair of long red pyjamas covered in little green Christmas trees and strings of multicoloured lights.
They’re gaudy and tacky and damn right awful—you’d usually never see me dead in them—but you bet your ass I’m going to wear the hell out of them now.
Slowly, I drag my eyes up to find everyone else holding a pair too, all with the same pattern. It’s the matching part that gets me. That makes me light-headed and needing to grab the table just to ground myself as something in my world starts to slot into place.
It’s a sense of belonging I’ve never felt before.
I can’t remember a time before Honey and Noah moved in that I ever sat at this table for dinner like a family.
Can’t remember a time I ever had someone like May cook me warm meals.
Can’t remember before them when I wanted to get involved in Christmas traditions and festivities given we never bothered when I was growing up.
My dad put more effort into making sure all his workers got gifts than he did with me.
And when the holidays usually encouraged drinking in just about everyone, having an abusive alcoholic for a father had me dreading the period.
Had me praying he’d drink enough to pass out before he could take his anger out on me.
But this time?
There’s no anger. Just love.
So much fucking love for this family filling my chest.
And it’s everything I didn’t realise I wanted. Needed.
I clutch the pyjamas tightly, too much emotion clogging my throat, clouding my eyes, even to be able to say thank you yet.
Oh, fuck, I think I’m going to cry.
I don’t think I’ve cried since I was a kid. Since I learnt crying wasn’t going to stop my dad from hurting me.
My gaze stays trained on the gift as I try to compose myself. I hear the legs of Noah’s chair scrape, the soft pad of his little feet across the wooden floor, and then his hand is on my arm.
‘It’s okay, Sawyer. Momma always says that cowboys cry too.’
I turn to him, and he blinks those big blue eyes at me. It hits me how strong this little boy is, how strong he makes me feel. How much I … how much I love him. And his mom.
Though, I’m not sure I ever stopped loving her in the first place. Not when it’s come back to me so quickly.
‘Thanks, buddy.’ I let out a breathy laugh, quickly wiping the back of my hand over my eyes to get rid of any tears. I give his hair a ruffle. My head tips up then, to take in the two amazing women also at the table. ‘All of you.’
Without thought, I reach my hand across the table and take Honey’s, squeezing it. The moment is quiet and tender as our eyes lock, as I try to convey how fucking grateful I am that she’s back in my life, but it’s not enough. I need to hug her, kiss her—
‘Let’s go put them on!’ Noah tugs at my arm, interrupting.
‘I’ll help you, Noah,’ May suggests, standing and giving me a knowing wink.
Both Honey and I stand too as May guides Noah out of the room and as they’re gone I march over to Honey and slide my arms around her waist, pulling her into me wilfully.
Having her sweet body pressed against my chest has every one of my muscles relaxing.
My heart calms, knowing it’s back where it belongs.
‘Thank you,’ I whisper against her parting, inhaling her warm, vanilla scent. I used to think she smelled of a perfect storybook home, and now I’m wondering if I wasn’t so wrong all along. ‘You don’t understand what this means to me.’
‘But I do,’ Honey responds, nuzzling her face into my chest further, while her fingers toy with the back of my hair softly, soothingly.
Because she understands me. She always has.
I’m so goddamn lucky the world threw her back in my path.
It makes me tighten my embrace around her, press as many kisses as I can against her hair before I hear the tumble of footsteps upstairs and we have to pull back, though I’m keeping her in my arms as long as I possibly can.
Silver lines her eyes when I finally look down at her, but it’s a beautiful sight really because it’s her overflowing happiness illuminating them. She sniffs and crinkles her nose. ‘You don’t think they’re too hideous?’
My laugh is loud and booming. ‘Oh no, they’re hideous. But it’s fine, I can pull off anything.’
‘You’re so cocky.’ She slaps at my chest then, levelling a rather unimpressed look at me.
Slowly, my hands slide down her back to her ass, giving it a light squeeze. ‘Come on—what have you seen me wear that I didn’t pull off?’
Her eyes roll and it’s the most delicious zing of satisfaction that runs through me. I love coaxing out her sassier reactions. Her hidden side that only I get to witness. Which I’m pretty certain the eggnog is emphasising tonight. ‘Shut up and go get changed. We’ve got Christmas movies to watch.’
We spend the rest of the evening on the couch, all wearing our tacky Christmas pyjamas, and watching Elf. The lights are off with nothing but the sparkling stars wrapped around the Christmas tree twinkling and the crackling flames of the fire spitting out a warm glow.
Thick blankets cover us, and Trixie settles by the fire.
May finds comfort in the solitary armchair, which I’m pretty sure she chooses just so she can get away with falling asleep partway through the film.
Noah, on the other hand, wedges himself between Honey and me, cuddling into her.
They’re the perfect pair—matching red pyjamas, baby blues sparkling with enthusiasm at the film, and the warmer tones of their blonde hair caught by the firelight.
I let my arm stretch out along the back of the couch so I can brush my fingers gently through Honey’s hair. Having to pretend nothing is going on is hard when all I want to do is touch her. When everything feels better when I’m connected to her.
I almost want to laugh when I take in the scene—I’m Sawyer Nash, the cowboy with no fear, Pbr World Champion, and I’m watching Christmas movies in the most hideous pyjamas, and I fucking love it.
It feels too good to be true, in a way. I can’t help but wonder what I’ve done to deserve this.
I’m so used to running from anything like this so it can’t run from me first. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a part of me that’s been readying to find Honey and Noah gone one day—the only woman I’ve ever loved remembering that my broken pieces were too jagged for the soft life she desires.
Too dangerous for her sweet son. But the universe really made sure I couldn’t run this time—literally and figuratively—by sending a bull’s hooves down on my leg. And I’m not so sure I mind.
Especially when Noah shuffles around on the couch and turns, snuggling himself into my side and letting his head rest against my chest. As if it’s the most normal thing ever. As if we’ve always done this.
At first, I don’t know what to do and my body goes rigid.
But when he shifts again, trying to get comfortable, my next move almost hits me like an instinct—I tuck him into me further and hold him there, giving him the stability he needs.
I’ll give him whatever he needs, really. He deserves the world and more.
And when his little fingers clutch at my pyjama shirt, and he lets out the most content sigh in response, I decide I’ve made the right decision.
I chance a glance at Honey, to see if she’s noticed, but her eyes are on the screen.
Even so, there’s an unmoving smile gracing her lips that says enough, even as she sips her drink.
It fills me with the warmest of pride and has me checking back down at Noah to make sure he’s happy.
His eyelids flutter, the cosiness and low light of the room likely lulling him toward sleep, even as he tries to fight it, and soon he’s snoring against my chest until the end of the movie.
I spend far too much of the movie watching him sleep peacefully against me, marvelling at how I’ve managed to be a sense of comfort for him. At the intense way I want this every night—our little family, maybe with a few more pattering feet one day.