Chapter 51
SOPHIE
The weeks after the rivalry game blurred together in a rhythm of practice, volunteering, playoff football, and holiday countdowns.
The team fought hard through the first rounds of the playoffs, but without Logan on the field, they fell just short of making it to the championship game.
No one said it out loud, but we all felt it—the hole where his presence should’ve been.
Even so, they went out swinging, and Beck walked off that field for the last time this season with his head held high.
He hasn’t slowed down, though. Pro Day is in the spring, and he’s been training like a man on a mission—mornings in the weight room, afternoons reviewing film, evenings running drills. But there’s a lightness to him now, like he’s not carrying everything alone anymore.
Somewhere between those long nights studying for finals, Christmas movie marathons in his room, and late-night drives to look at holiday lights, we fell into something that feels…real.
And now it’s Christmas Eve.
The air is sharp and cold as we climb out of his truck, our breath puffing in little clouds.
My hands are full—bags of wrapped gifts stacked carefully, all labeled for the kids at the foster center.
Beck reaches over without hesitation and takes half the load, slinging a few bags over his arm like they weigh nothing.
“You don’t have to come with me for this,” I tell him, though my heart warms at the sight of him carrying a giant sack of presents like Santa.
He gives me a look. “Soph. You know I want to.”
And he means it.
Inside, the center smells like gingerbread, and paper snowflakes cover the walls. Volunteers buzz around, hanging the last few decorations before tomorrow’s holiday lunch. The kids’ laughter echoes down the hall. It’s loud and imperfect and beautiful.
We drop the presents off in the main office, where one of the staff members thanks us with a warm smile. I’m about to head back toward the truck when I spot him.
Caleb.
He’s curled up on one of the worn couches near the lobby, knees pulled to his chest, staring at the twinkling lights on the tree. His usual spark is dim tonight, replaced by something small and sad that tugs at my chest.
“Hey, bud,” I say softly as I walk over. “You’re up late.”
He shrugs, not looking away from the lights. “Couldn’t sleep.”
I lower myself onto the couch beside him, careful to keep enough space so that he doesn’t feel crowded. “Tomorrow’s a big day.”
“Yeah.” His voice is flat. “Everyone else has somewhere to go. Like…families. Or foster homes. Or a grandma who makes cookies. I don’t.”
My heart twists. I want to tell him he’s wrong. I want to fix it. But I can’t lie to him.
“I know it’s hard,” I say gently. “But that doesn’t mean you’re forgotten. Or unloved.”
He gives a small, skeptical snort, and it just about breaks me.
I glance toward the doorway, where Beck is waiting patiently, watching us with that quiet expression that’s become second nature to him.
I look back at Caleb. “You matter, Caleb. You matter so much more than you think. And one day, you’re going to have a home that’s exactly where you belong.”
His lip wobbles just slightly. He doesn’t cry—he’s too proud for that—but he leans against my arm for just a second before pulling back. It’s small, but it’s everything.
I smile at him softly. “Merry Christmas, Caleb.”
“Merry Christmas,” he mumbles.
The living room is warm and softly lit, the tree twinkling in the corner while a few board games sit scattered on the coffee table. It’s just Mark, Caroline, Joey, Alyssa, Beck, and me tonight—quiet in that perfectly Christmas Eve way.
Mark leans back in his chair, hands resting over his stomach after too many cookies. “So, Sophie,” he says with a twinkle in his eye, “you ready for the big Harrison family Christmas tomorrow?”
I laugh nervously. “I think so. I’ve been warned there will be a lot of people.”
“‘A lot’ might be underselling it,” Beck mutters.
Caroline swats his arm lightly. “Oh, stop. It’s not that bad. Just…the cousins, your aunts and uncles, Nana and Pops—”
“And the dogs,” Joey pipes up helpfully, practically vibrating in his reindeer pajamas.
“And the dogs,” Caroline agrees with a fond smile.
After a few rounds of UNO and a very competitive game of charades—with Alyssa being the undisputed MVP—the younger two start yawning, their sugar highs finally fading.
Around eight-thirty, Caroline and Mark herd Joey and Alyssa upstairs to get them ready for bed, and when they come back down, Beck stretches and lets out a long yawn.
“I think we’re gonna head up too,” he says, standing and grabbing my hand to help me up from the couch.
Caroline raises a brow, her smile mischievous. “Both of you? Upstairs?”
I feel my cheeks warm immediately, but Beck just rolls his eyes. “Yes, Mom. We’re just sleeping.”
Caroline’s grin widens. “Mmhmm. I think I’ve said that before too.”
“Babe,” Mark says with a chuckle, shaking his head. “Don’t pester the poor kid too much.”
Caroline waves him off, laughing. “I’m just teasing. Goodnight, you two.”
“Night,” we echo, heading toward the stairs.
Once we’re upstairs and in the quiet of Beck’s room, I pause, tugging at the hem of my sweater. “Are you sure this is okay? Sleeping in the same room with your siblings down the hall?”
Beck gives me that easy smile of his. “I’m completely fine with it if you are.”
I arch a brow. “Are you sure?”
His grin turns playful. “As long as you can keep your clothes on, Prescott.”
I swat at his chest, laughing as he dodges. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m charming,” he corrects, already grabbing his pajama pants.
We both change into our comfiest clothes—me stealing one of his old T-shirts again—and crawl under the blankets. The house is quiet now, the kind of stillness that only happens on Christmas Eve.
I settle into his side, warm and content, as the faint sound of wind brushes against the window. For the first time, Christmas doesn’t feel cold or obligatory. It feels like belonging.
I wake to the sound of muffled giggles and stage whispers outside the bedroom door.
“Shhh!” a high-pitched voice hisses.
“You shhh!” comes the whispered reply, followed by another round of giggles.
I blink sleepily, warm under the blankets, and turn toward Beck just as he groans softly and drapes an arm over his face.
“They’re out there, aren’t they?” I whisper, smiling.
He mumbles against his pillow, voice low and raspy from sleep, “Gotta be. It’s probably right after five. I was really hoping this was the year they’d grow out of this, but I don’t think that’s the case.”
The whispers outside the door escalate into soft thumps and the sound of someone trying—and failing—to suppress a squeal.
Beck cracks one eye open and grins sleepily. “They’ll give it a few more minutes before they break in and drag us out of bed.”
I laugh quietly, burrowing closer against his side for just one more second of warmth. But then the door rattles, followed by a whispered, “Are they awake yet?”
We exchange a look. It’s over.
Beck throws back the covers dramatically, muttering something about “tiny sugar-fueled alarm clocks” as we get up. I tug on one of his sweatshirts and follow him to the door, where Joey and Alyssa are waiting—wide-eyed, bouncing, barely containing their excitement.
“It’s Christmas!” Alyssa whispers loudly.
“We know,” Beck says, ruffling Joey’s hair. “Let’s go before you wake the entire neighborhood.”
They bolt down the stairs like two little rockets, the sound of their feet echoing through the house. Beck and I follow, yawning and laughing, and when we reach the kitchen, Caroline hands us steaming mugs of coffee with a knowing smile.
“We tried to hold them back,” Mark says, running a hand through his hair. “Clearly, we failed.”
I smile into my cup. “Can’t blame them.”
The living room is glowing with the lights of the tree, the stockings slightly askew from the night before. The kids dive into their piles of gifts with squeals and wide eyes, paper flying everywhere. It’s pure, joyful chaos.
Beck and I settle onto the couch beside each other, legs touching, mugs warming our hands as we watch Joey and Alyssa unwrap their presents. It’s loud and messy and perfect.
Eventually, Caroline mentions that there are cinnamon rolls in the kitchen for breakfast, Alyssa and Joey running to the other room the second she says it, followed closely by Mark.
As Caroline walks by, she gives a not so subtle wink to Beck that has him rolling his eyes. He gets up and grabs a small box and envelope from under the tree before coming to sit back down and handing me the box. Beck looks at me, eyebrow raised. “Yours first,” I say.
He opens the envelope tucked inside, his brow furrowing as he reads. Then his face breaks into a grin—wide, boyish, completely unguarded.
“It’s…a gluten-free cooking class?”
I nod, smiling. “For both of us. I figured…you spend so much time making adjustments for what you can’t eat. Maybe we could have fun finding things you can. Together.”
His eyes soften in a way that makes my chest ache. “This is…perfect.”
He sets the envelope aside carefully, then hands me a small box. I peel away the wrapping before lifting the lid, finding a velvet box tucked inside. My heart skips as I look up at him.
“Open it,” he says, voice quieter now.
Inside is a delicate infinity necklace, silver and shining, with a small sapphire heart nestled where the infinity loops meet. It catches the morning light filtering in through the windows, sparkling softly.
My breath catches. “Beck…”
He reaches out, brushing his thumb over my wrist as he takes the necklace gently from the box. “You’re my always, Soph,” he says quietly. “I know life’s changing—football, Pro Day, everything—but through it all, I want you to know something.”
“I love you,” he says.
The words are steady, sure—like he’s known them for a while, just waiting for the right moment to let them out.
My eyes sting in the best way, my chest tight and full all at once. “I love you,” I whisper.
He clasps the necklace around my neck, his fingers brushing the back of my skin. When I turn to face him, he leans in and kisses me—soft and certain—while laughter swirls in from the kitchen.
Beck pulls back with a grin, forehead resting against mine.
And for once, it feels like we’re all exactly where we’re supposed to be.
The End