Chapter 47 #2
Monty stands out of his crouch with the puck in his glove and looks at me for one full second across the crease.
He says, “Tough luck.”
I say, “I hate you.”
“You don’t.” He laughs, and the Orcas win one-nothing.
Vesper’s home is in Lake Oswego, tucked behind trees and a gate that looks more private than pretentious, though Callaway Winthrop money has never met a boundary it couldn't improve with glass, security cameras, and a view of the water. The house sits low and wide against the rain, all warm wood and tall windows, the lake beyond it dark enough to make the lights inside feel softer. It’s beautiful in the way homes become beautiful when people have already started surviving in them.
We head over right after the interviews so we can have dinner with the family.
I tell myself that, like it’s simple.
Interviews. Dinner. Family.
Normal words.
Except Halston has been quiet in the car, his hand resting over Liv’s on the seat between us, and Liv has been pretending not to watch every house we pass as if she’s building an emergency exit map in her head.
They’re both trying. I know they are. They said yes to this because I asked, because I told them my family isn’t like the Saint Claires.
Because I told them my father would love them.
Still, telling someone they’re safe is different from watching them decide whether to believe you.
Vesper opens the door before I ring the bell.
She has Vienna on her hip.
“My favorite person is here,” I say, taking Vienna from my sister’s arms.
Vienna comes willingly because she has excellent taste, one tiny hand grabbing my tie and the other patting my face like she’s checking inventory.
“Hello to you, too,” Vesper says, rolling her eyes. Then she glances behind me, and her face softens so quickly my ribs hurt with it. “Hi. You must be Livia and Halston.”
Liv lifts a hand. “Hi. Yes. Livia. I mean, you know that. You just said it. That was confirmation, not introduction. I’m tired. Please don’t judge me by my first thirty seconds.”
Vesper smiles like she has already decided she loves her. “Oh, you’re absolutely ours.”
Liv blinks.
Halston’s hand shifts at her back.
Vesper steps forward and hugs Liv before Liv has time to turn into a formal handshake person, which she does under stress. Liv goes stiff for half a second, then folds into it. Not fully. Not carelessly. Enough that I see her eyes close once over Vesper’s shoulder.
“Welcome to the family,” Vesper says into her ear. “You don’t have to pass a test. You’re already in.”
Liv makes a sound that might be a laugh if it hadn’t broken on the way out. “That’s an alarming amount of trust.”
“We’re Lafontaines,” Vesper says, pulling back. “We specialize in alarming amounts of love and very little chill.”
Then she turns to Halston.
For one second, I see him brace.
Not much. Most people wouldn’t notice. I do. Liv does too. His posture goes perfectly, his face polite, the Saint Claire armor sliding into place because family has never arrived for him without terms.
Vesper notices.
She doesn’t make it a thing. She only steps in, wraps her arms around him, and says, “You too, Halston. Welcome home.”
His face changes against her hair.
His hands hover for one beat before he lets them rest lightly on her shoulders.
“Thank you,” he says, and his voice is too controlled for the moment.
Vesper squeezes him once before letting go. “Dinner is loud. Dad will feed you. Luther will pretend he’s not emotional. Sable will judge everyone’s shoes. Monty and Cally are probably still arguing with microphones somewhere because winning one game apparently requires a postgame dissertation.”
Then she turns to me.
“Dad’s in the kitchen. Luther brought Sable. Cal and Monty should be here soon.” She shrugs. “You know, the winning team stays a little longer after the game.”
“That’s why they won, wasn’t it?” I glare at her. “So you could rub it in.”
She grins. “They’re very good husbands. Of course, they were going to win the game for me.”
“See how your mother treats me,” I complain to Vienna.
Vienna says, “Buh.”
I nod. “She agrees.”
“She’s a baby,” Vesper says.
“She has good instincts.”
“She tried to eat a coaster this morning.”
“Advanced instincts.”
Vienna grabs my mouth.
I kiss her palm, and she laughs so hard Liv presses one hand to her own stomach as the sound gets inside her before she could defend herself. Halston watches that too. Watches Liv watching my niece. Watches a baby’s laugh move through a room without asking permission.
Something in him loosens.
Thank fuck, and then, we step inside.
The house is already alive.
Shoes by the entry. A tiny pink jacket on a hook.
A stack of board books on a bench. Someone’s gym bag was abandoned near the stairs.
The lake is visible through the windows past the living room, dark beyond the glass, but the kitchen is lit and warm, full of voices and the smell of roasted chicken, garlic, butter, something sweet in the oven.
Liv stops for one second just past the entry.
I know why.
This house doesn’t look staged.
It looks used.
Loved.
Claimed.
There are toys under the console table. A blanket over the back of the couch. A framed ultrasound photo on a shelf beside a cracked hockey puck and a picture of Vesper between Monty and Callaway, all three of them laughing like they’ve survived something and decided to keep living anyway.
Halston sees it too.
I can feel him absorbing it.
A house with people in it.
A house where love didn’t have to disappear to stay safe.
Then my father appears in the kitchen next to the aisle.
Philippe Lafontaine’s hair is silver at the temples now, his shoulders still broad, his presence still taking up the room without apology. He has a towel over one shoulder and a spoon in his hand, which is Dad’s preferred emotional support weapon.
“There’s my boy,” he says.
“I’m thirty-six, Dad.”
“Almost thirty-seven,” he corrects me, stepping closer. “But you’ll always be my little boy.”
“Please don’t say that in front of my husband and wife.”
Dad’s eyes move to them.
He hands the spoon to Vesper without looking. Then he comes forward, puts one hand on the side of my neck, and kisses both my cheeks the way he has since I was old enough to hate it in public.
Then he turns to Liv.
“Livia,” he says, careful with her name like it matters. “I’m Philippe.”
“I know, nice to meet you,” she says, then immediately winces. “Not in a creepy way. Creed has talked about you a lot. A normal amount. Possibly more than a normal amount, but emotionally appropriate considering everything. Plus, I’ve searched your name on the internet a few times.”
Dad’s mouth curves.
He opens his arms. “Come here.”
Liv looks at me.
I nod once.
She steps into his hug.
Dad holds her the way Dad holds people when he has already decided they belong.
“Thank you for loving my son,” Dad says quietly.
Liv freezes.
Then her arms close around him.
“Oh,” she whispers.
When he lets her go, she wipes quickly under one eye and points at him. “I was not prepared for you to be effective.”
“My children underestimate me, too.”
“I don’t,” Vesper says from behind him.
Dad looks back. “You absolutely do.”
“Only when you deserve it.”
Dad grunts, then turns to Halston.
“Halston,” Dad says.
“Mr. Lafontaine.”
“Philippe,” Dad corrects. “Or Dad, if it ever feels right. No pressure. No timeline. Just don’t call me Mr. Lafontaine. Makes me think somebody died or I’m being sued.”
Halston’s mouth almost moves.
Almost a smile.
“Philippe,” he says.
Dad nods, then offers his hand.
Halston takes it.
Dad doesn’t let it be only a handshake. He uses it to pull Halston into a hug.
Halston goes still.
He doesn’t let go too soon. He doesn’t hold too long. He gives Halston one quiet, competent embrace and says, “You’re safe in my house.”
Halston closes his eyes.
Just once.
“Thank you,” he says.
Dad pulls back and grips Halston’s shoulder. “Creed tells me you’re a lawyer.”
“I was.”
“Still are,” Liv says immediately.
Halston looks at her.
She lifts her chin. “You passed the bar ten years ago, and you’re not surrendering your profession because your family weaponized paperwork. I have a whole argument prepared, with citations.”
Dad laughs. “They’ll fit in.”
“I told you,” I say.
“You told me many things. Most of them were emotional and poorly organized.” Dad says.
“That’s slander.”
“That’s parenting.”
Luther appears behind Dad with a beer in one hand and Sable pressed against his leg, her leash looped loose around his wrist like she’s the one allowing him to be there.
My brother is still built like the sport owed him money, dark hair, hard jaw, Lafontaine eyes that make people behave.
Sable is a Bernese Mountain Dog, all glossy black coat, rust-colored brows, and white chest, watching the room with the grave concern of someone who has never once approved of human decision-making.
“Creed,” Luther says, pulling me into a hug with one arm because Vienna is still on my hip.
Sable sniffs my shoe, then Liv’s, then Halston’s, and sits directly in front of Halston like she has selected him for inspection.
Halston looks down at her.
“She’s beautiful,” he says.
The corner of Luther’s mouth twitches. “Careful. She knows and then will try to get food from you.”
Sable places one paw on Halston’s shoe.
Liv presses her lips together, clearly trying not to smile. “I think you’ve been claimed.”
Halston’s face softens in that tiny, almost-private way that still knocks something loose in me. “Apparently.”
Luther reaches for Halston’s hand. “Welcome.”
Halston takes it, Sable still parked on his shoe like an oath with fur.
Luther studies him for a second.
Then he says, “Creed was happier after he found you two again.”
Halston’s throat moves once.
Liv glances at me like, “Is your entire family terrifyingly direct?”
I give her a look back. “Yes. And you married into it emotionally, so good luck.”
The front door opens again.
“We’re here,” Callaway calls, voice filling the house before the rest of him does. “The winners have arrived.”