Nine
Theo
T he fire crackles in the pit, casting shadows on the snow-covered trees. I sit in an Adirondack chair, the smoky scent of burning wood filling my lungs, my siblings’ chatter ringing in my ears.
Near the shed, Felix and Rowan are locked in a ruthless game of horseshoes.
One of their phones streams the match to their best friend, Beckett, who is away on a ski vacation in the Alps.
Even from here, I catch the familiar cadence of his voice, narrating the showdown between my brothers. Unlike me, the guy hates missing out.
Mom and Graham have called it a night, retreating upstairs to check on Jovie, leaving Willow free to unwind after her busy evening at the hospital.
She’s soaking off her shift in the hot tub, ribbons of steam drifting around her face.
Isla lounges beside her, animated and glowing, as she brings our Christmas market adventure to life.
Amidst reenacting one of Jovie’s over-the-top picture poses, she lets out a sunny laugh, its brightness piercing straight through me.
That sound has always held the power to undo me, leaving me thirsting after it like a parched man.
And her smile— her fucking smile —is a beam of light straight to the darkest part of my soul.
Radiant enough to melt its way through my armor, it taunts me to reach out, pull her close, and drink in her warmth down to the last drop.
I force myself to tune her out and rip my gaze away, shifting my attention to the dancing flames instead. No matter how badly I want her—no matter how deep she’s carved her way into me—Isla will never be mine.
Especially not now that she’s dating my brother.
From the corner of my eye, I spot Asher stepping out of the house, hair tousled, an oversized mug in each hand. Twin wisps of steam follow behind him as he drags his boots through the snow toward the hot tub.
Isla’s smile blooms the moment she spots him. Jealousy lances through my chest, leaving a bitter burn in its wake.
“Hot cocoa for the hot tub queens,” he croons with a wide grin.
Willow reaches for her mug. “About time you made yourself useful.”
“ Ooh —extra marshmallows!” Isla cheers. “My hero!” She gazes up at him like he’s handing over the fucking moon instead of a few clumps of congealed gelatin.
It’s not like this banter is a new development—the two of them have always shared an easy, playful energy. But now, with their relationship redefined, each word and touch between them is a stab through my heart.
Asher leans over to whisper something in Isla’s ear, and her laugh slices cleanly through me. My jaw locks so tightly my molars throb. I curl my fingers around the armrests, focusing on the sensation of the cold wood biting into my palms.
Don’t look. Don’t listen.
“Quit sulking, bro,” Rowan calls out, his tone smug. “You’re more obvious than you think. Even Beckett can feel your foul mood from across the ocean and over the mountains.”
I level him with a glare strong enough to decimate.
Most people would take the hint. The little shit just grins wider.
Felix chuckles as he tosses another horseshoe, the metallic clang ringing out when it ricochets off the post. “Don’t hurt his feelings. You know Mom will kill us if he bolts early. She said we’re supposed to be grateful the King of Crotch Court is gracing us with his presence this year.”
Rowan snorts. “I think you mean Crochety Court.”
“He does look like a Prickly Prince,” Beckett chimes in. “A real Duke of Doom.”
I drag a hand down my face. “You three clowns done being dumbasses yet?”
“Not even close,” Felix lobs back, flipping me off.
Rowan smirks, lining up his next shot. “Stop grinching around, and we might cut you some slack.”
They’re not wrong. I’ve never been the poster child for family cheer. It doesn’t help that this month tends to drag the darkness out of me.
A familiar emptiness stirs in my chest, digging up grief I’ve spent years trying to bury. Bitter memories of my last Christmas in my old place always resurface this time of year .
I was seven, awake before sunrise, in similar company to many kids celebrating the holiday. But, contrary to other children, it wasn’t Santa I worried about.
My father hadn’t made it home yet. Every time he stayed out this late—or, rather, early —I dared to hope he wouldn’t come back.
At dawn, a slammed door shattered that dream while rattling our apartment walls. I can still hear my mom’s low, strained voice as she tried to soothe whatever triggered his latest fit of rage only to have violence and venom thunder back at her.
Instead of racing to the tree, I trembled beneath the covers, face buried into the mattress. Even with a pillow over my head and my hands clamped tightly to my ears, I couldn’t block out the sounds of shattered glass, his roars, nor her sobs.
So I squeezed my eyes and made another wish.
Take us away from him. Far, far away.
Later that morning, I was a decibel too loud for his hangover. It was the last time he ever laid a hand on me because my wish came true.
My mom didn’t even pack my things. She just shoved me on a bus to her parents’ place in Sugarpine Springs. A few weeks later, she joined me.
The best gift I got that year was that he didn’t come looking for us.
Even after twenty-seven years away from the bastard, and all the peace and stability Graham has brought into my life, the pain never dulls. It flares up every December like clockwork. If I had a choice, I’d fast-forward through the entire month without a second thought.
Initially, work provided the perfect excuse to keep to myself.
Starting a marketing firm with two ex-AdCraft colleagues only raised the stakes.
Ruthless clients and sleepless nights. Constant pressure to keep employees happy in an industry that eats people for sport.
We left a cesspool to build something better.
Which means bleeding for it. Every damn day.
There’s barely been room for anything—or anyone—else.
But the truth runs deeper than deals and deadlines.
My real reason for keeping my distance has always been Isla.
She loves my family. Making myself scarce so she could have a holiday that feels even a little like home wasn’t some noble sacrifice.
It was instinct. She deserves lights, laughter—all the fucking love in the world.
None of which are words she associates with me.
Therefore, I kept away for the sake of her peace.
So why risk fucking with the status quo this year?
Her absence in my life has turned terminal.
Not hearing about her dreams, not knowing if she’s happy—it became an illness that kept spreading.
Forcing details out of Asher during our weekly lunches stopped being enough months ago.
I couldn’t do it anymore. Refused to keep pretending I didn’t miss her like hell.
A fuckload of therapy—hours spent confronting my patterns, my fears, my need for control—convinced me I may finally be more whole than asshole . The plan was to lay it all out. Confess my feelings. Plead for a chance to prove the past wrong.
Selfish, I know.
That’s why the agony of watching her smile at someone else serves me right.
“You good?” Asher’s voice snaps me back into my body.
At some point over the last few minutes, he’s moved from the hot tub to the firepit.
“Fine.” My reply is too quick.
“You’re an even worse liar than Isla.” He jabs the flames with a stick, sending embers into the night sky. “How the hell have you made it so far in your career? Doesn’t the art of advertising thrive on deception?”
I ignore his taunt. “You stood Isla up at the fair.”
He nods. “I did.”
“That was a shitty move. You promised her a date.” As much as the words burn my tongue, he needs to hear them.
“Was she heartbroken?” he asks, arching a brow.
“She—” Isla was completely at ease walking hand-in-hand with my niece, riding the carousel on a loop until Jovie threatened to vomit, and buying some last-minute gifts for her friends.
No . She wasn’t hurt. In fact, she hadn’t seemed to miss her boyfriend at all.
“Admit it. You were happy to have her all to yourself.”
I open my mouth to speak, but there’s no point in lying to either of us.
Asher knows. He’s always known.
“The Johnsons’ shoot ran overtime, I assume? Your text was vague.”
“I…” All trace of mirth vanishes from his face as he exhales a deep, labored breath. “Sienna needed me.”
I lean forward in my chair, frowning in disbelief. “Repeat that? I must’ve misheard.”
“Look, I didn’t plan on going to her.” Asher takes his time meeting my gaze. His tender expression only serves to further piss me off. “But she needed me. My help , I mean.”
“What the fuck, Ash?” Without thinking, I spring to my feet and stalk over to him, fists clenching at my sides. “You left Isla for your ex?”
“Quit faking morals. You were happy I bailed. You didn’t want me there. Admit it. ”
I come to a stop right in front of him, so close we’re practically nose-to-forehead. “What I want has nothing to do with how you should treat your girlfriend!”
Asher looks up and chuckles. “Not even when you’re the one who dreams of doing the treating ?”
I lunge, gripping the front of his jacket with one hand. “Did you fuck around on her?”
“Oh, brother.” The prick laughs. “That’s a mighty big reaction.”
“Did. You. Cheat. On. Isla?” I growl the words.
“Are you going to punch me?” he asks, though there is no fear on his face. “You look like you’re going to punch me.”
My eyes sweep the yard—it’s a miracle no one has caught on to us yet. “Your ass is lucky I don’t hit family.” I push away from him.
Asher stays still, mouth pressed into a tight line, its edges ghosting a smirk.
The fire snaps, startling us both out of the staring match.
“You should tell her,” he finally says.
“No,” I spit out. “ You will tell her. Come clean about whatever this da—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. Tell Isla how you feel. I mean…” He gestures up and down my body. “You’re feral for her, for fuck’s sake.”
“I, unlike you, don’t touch what’s not mine. And I sure as hell wouldn’t be cheating on that woman if she were mine.”
“Neither would I.” Asher blows out a frustrated breath. “Listen, Sienna’s fiancé is up to some shady shit. She needed my help. I showed up. Nothing happened. But even if it had, it wouldn’t technically matter. Isla and I aren’t the real deal. She’s ju—”
“Not real?” I’m back in front of him, my self-control shot. Red-hot anger simmers beneath my skin, burning me from the inside out. It takes every ounce of resistance—and a reminder that I swore I’d never become my father—to stop myself from making contact with his face.
“Isla isn’t just some girlfriend! She’s your best friend! She deserves more than being used as a consolation prize to help heal your heartbreak. If you weren’t over Sienna, you should’ve nev—”
“You’ve got it all wrong.” He glances back at Isla—who remains absorbed in conversation with Willow—before meeting my eyes. “We’re not really dating. We’re faking it.”
“Faking it?” I stumble back, shaking my head in disbelief. “What? Why?”
Right . Sienna . It’s always about Sienna with Asher.
As if he can read my mind, he nods. “Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck.
“To be fair, this was supposed to be an easy stunt. I didn’t count on having you here to fuck with the charade.
Though, watching you squirm is a gift that keeps on giving.
” He grins haughtily. “Admit it, seeing me touch her, hug her, put my hands all over—” I shove him, and he stumbles back, smirking. “ Exactly .”
“You’re a dick,” I snap, my chest heaving.
“A dick who’s extending your dick an olive branch,” the asshole shoots back smugly. “Don’t waste your shot again.”
I spin away, mind racing, body wired with adrenaline. Rage, confusion, doubt—a slew of emotions spar for space inside me. Beneath the racket, something quieter stirs, too.
A stupid, stubborn thing.
Hope .
Maybe, just maybe, it’s not too late.
Either way, I’m done waiting.