Chapter 40
WREN
We’ve been in the house for exactly three seconds, and it’s already clear that Christmas is in its full, unhinged swing.
There’s a plastic toy kitchen set blocking the front hallway. Someone’s singing along to Mariah Carey from the dining room. The twins are loose. I repeat: the twins are loose!
Lainey comes tearing around the corner wearing sparkly reindeer antlers and no pants, shrieking with joy, a candy cane clenched in one sticky fist like a weapon.
Jack follows right behind her, his diaper sagging under his holiday onesie, holding an empty wrapping paper tube like he’s been drafted into some kind of toddler war.
Sawyer steps aside just in time to avoid a collision. “Uh. Wow. ”
I unclip Hank’s leash and shake snow from my jacket. “Welcome to Christmas with my family.”
The air smells like ham—sweet and peppery and probably brushed with some fancy glaze Mom swears is just “a little something she threw together.” The oven is on, the windows are fogged up, and the entire house is buzzing with conversations, clinking glasses, and the unmistakable sound of someone yelling for more paper towels.
I tug at the hem of my sweater—a truly hideous thing covered in tangled Christmas lights that actually light up if I flip the switch hidden in the sleeve.
There’s a giant stitched reindeer on the front with one eye slightly higher than the other and a pom-pom nose that keeps brushing against my chin when I sit down.
I kind of hate it. I also kind of love it.
Sawyer’s wearing one with three snowmen doing the macarena. It’s offensively bright and has tiny silver bells stitched into the hem so he jingles every time he moves. He didn’t even flinch when I handed it to him this morning. That’s how I know he loves me.
“Merry Christmas, you filthy animals!” Ridge calls, appearing from the kitchen wearing a sweater that reads: “SILENT NIGHT? NOT IF I’M DOING IT RIGHT” in sparkly red letters, complete with snowflakes and—regrettably—bedazzled nipples.
I blink, pointing at his sweater. “Ridge.”
“What?” He lifts a hand, unfazed. “It’s festive .”
“It’s disturbing. And inappropriate.”
“It’s honest,” he says with a wink, grinning. “And it’s machine washable.”
He pulls me into a hug that smells like expensive cologne and possibly rum. His cheeks are already pink from warmth or whiskey, or both.
“I hate you,” I mumble into his shoulder.
“No, you don’t.”
I pull back, smiling despite myself. “No. But I want to.”
Sawyer steps forward and shakes Ridge’s hand, and Ridge claps him on the back like they’ve known each other forever. “Glad you came, Doc. Hope you brought your appetite and your tolerance for my family.”
“I live with Wren now,” Sawyer says. “I’m in training.”
I elbow him, but he just smiles and I can feel myself softening all over again.
Mom appears in the doorway, holding a wooden spoon and wearing her apron that says Don’t Go Bacon My Heart. Her hair is up, a little flour on her cheek.
“Oh, good, you’re here! Take your boots off and come stir the gravy,” she says, already turning back to the kitchen.
“Merry Christmas to you too, Mom,” I call after her.
She turns quickly, blinking like she just realized who walked in. “Oh! Sorry, honey. Merry Christmas!” She bustles back toward me, her apron already smeared with something light brown and sticky. “I’ve been running around like a chicken with my head cut off all day.”
She wraps me in a big, cinnamon-scented hug, kisses my cheek, and does the same to Sawyer, who looks slightly startled but recovers quickly.
I gesture toward Ridge. “You’ve seen his sweater, right?”
Mom exhales. “Unfortunately.”
I try to stifle my laugh, but it escapes in a half-snort. “And?”
She gives me a look. “What am I supposed to do with him at this point? Lord knows I tried to raise him into a decent human being. He just—” She shrugs helplessly. “Pivoted.”
Across the room, Hank and Elvis are locked in a slow, suspicious sniffing ritual that looks like a cross between a showdown and a blind date. After a few tense minutes, Hank lets out a small huff, and Elvis sits.
“Merry Christmas, Wren!”
I turn just in time to catch Hudson barreling toward me, all limbs and excitement. He throws his arms around me in a hug that nearly knocks me off balance.
“Hey, kid,” I say, hugging him back. “You’re getting tall.”
When he grins, he flashes a mouth full of shiny blue braces.
I raise my eyebrows. “Those are new. I like them, that’s a cool color.”
He smirks. “Thanks. I hate them.”
Lark walks in behind him, one hand resting on the curve of her belly. “You’ll be grateful when your teeth don’t look like a picket fence, Hud.”
Hudson rolls his eyes.
She’s wearing a bright red sweater that says “Merry & Pregnant” across the front in sparkly green letters, with a cartoon elf mid-waddle and jingle bells stitched around the sleeves that chime. It’s loud and ridiculous and very Lark, and somehow she still manages to look effortlessly pretty in it.
“Merry Christmas,” Lark says, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “Merry Christmas, Sawyer.”
Sawyer nods and returns the greeting, just as Boone strolls in behind her, both twins tucked under his arms like he’s carrying sacks of potatoes. His sweater says “Sleigh All Day” in glittery block letters and features a buff, shirtless Santa flexing next to a barbell.
“Merry Christmas,” he says, slightly breathless. “I’d hug you, but—” he shrugs toward the toddlers.
I glance down at the wiggling twins and nod. “You’ve got your hands full.”
I turn back to Lark, eyes flicking to her bump. “Speaking of…do you know what you’re having yet?”
She grins and nods. “A girl.”
I let out a squeal and pull her into a gentle hug. “That’s amazing!”
“Congratulations,” Sawyer says beside me, warm and genuine.
“We’re excited,” she says. “Terrified. But excited.”
“Do you have a name picked out yet?”
She shakes her head. “It’s too hard without seeing her first. Nothing feels right yet.”
“I’m sure whatever you land on will be perfect.”
From the kitchen, Mom calls, “Wren, the gravy’s actually just about done. You two can go sit and relax if you want.”
“Where’s Loretta?” I ask.
“She’s visiting her daughters this year,” Mom says, already back to stirring something that smells like garlic. “She’ll be here for New Year’s.”
“Are you sure you don’t need help?”
She waves me off. “Go. Be festive. Let me have my kitchen while it’s still intact.”
Sawyer takes my hand and threads his fingers through mine, gently tugging me toward the living room. Hudson falls into step beside me, talking before we’ve even cleared the hallway.
“So I hit two triples this fall, and Coach said my swing’s getting stronger, but I still need to work on my follow-through. And have you seen Gunnar Henderson this year? He’s totally crushing it. Like, his OBP is insane. And Corbin Carroll’s already locked up Rookie of the Year, obviously—”
I nod, doing my best impression of someone who knows what an OBP is. “Totally. He’s…on fire.”
Sawyer glances over, amused. “I actually played baseball in middle and high school.”
Hudson and I both turn to him, stunned, as we simultaneously say, “You did?”
Sawyer laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I did. I wasn’t terrible either.”
“What position?” Hudson asks, clearly impressed as we settle onto the couch. Sawyer sits beside me, his arm casually draped around my shoulders.
“Center field,” Sawyer says. “And shortstop, sometimes.”
Hudson nods, eyes wide. “That’s actually really cool.”
They fall into an easy conversation—talking about players, stats, swings—and I find myself tuning them out just a little, my fingers playing with the ring on my left hand.
The diamond catches the light from the Christmas tree, scattering little reflections onto my jeans.
I twist it gently around my finger, like I still can’t believe it’s mine.
“Merry Christmas,” a familiar voice says beside me.
I look up just as Sage sinks into the seat beside me, pulling me into a warm hug.
She looks beautiful, of course. She always does.
She could be in a potato sack and still easily be the prettiest person in the room.
Her dark hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, her makeup done perfectly, little diamond studs twinkling in her ears.
And the worst part is, she doesn’t even try.
She’s pretty without realizing how pretty she actually is, which makes it somehow worse and more likable at the same time.
Her sweater is bright red with a giant, stuffed elf sewn across the front—full limbs, floppy hat, and disturbingly muscular abs stitched in gold thread.
His pants are pulled halfway down and above him it says “Stop Elfing Around” in all caps.
It’s truly horrific. The kind of sweater you have to commit to emotionally before putting it on.
And somehow, she still manages to look put-together in it.
I don’t know how she does it. I’ve stopped trying to understand.
I hug her back and she leans in to kiss my cheek. “Love you, sis.”
I recoil, scrunching my nose in disgust. “Ew! Why would you do that, you freak?”
Before I can escape further affection, Ridge materializes out of nowhere like a Christmas demon.
“Wait,” he says, pointing at himself. “I didn’t get my annual Christmas kiss in yet.”
I barely have time to move before his tongue is on the side of my face as he licks it.
“ Oh my god!” I squeal in utter horror, shoving him so hard he stumbles into the arm of the couch. “You are an actual psycho! Don’t ever do that again.”
He cackles as he falls back, totally unbothered, while Sage looks way too proud of herself. They glance at each other and fist bump like they’ve just pulled off a flawless tag-team takedown, two annoying younger siblings high on victory.
I wipe my cheek with my sleeve. “You’re both going to hell.”
“Worth it,” they say in unison.