Chapter 40 #2
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. Just a little. Sage and Ridge have been pulling stunts like that since we were kids—hiding my homework, taping a picture of Steve Irwin over my fourth-grade school photo. Always something dumb. Always something loving in its own backward way.
So I can’t be too mad. Just lightly traumatized.
Before I can say anything else, Lainey comes barreling out of the kitchen like a sugar-fueled elf on a mission. Her reindeer antlers are still on, though now they’re sideways, and she’s wearing mismatched socks.
“Wrenny!” she squeals, launching herself at my legs. “Up!”
I bend down and scoop her up, her arms winding tight around my neck. “Merry Christmas, Lainey Bug.”
She pulls back just enough to flash me a grin and shout, “Santa!”
I laugh. “Oh yeah? Were you naughty this year or nice?”
She stares me dead in the eye and lets out a tiny, maniacal laugh that tells me all I need to know.
Jack waddles in after her, slower and more focused, like he’s on a solo mission. Ridge scoops him up with one arm and flips him upside down, earning a loud giggle and an accidental kick to the shoulder.
Lainey wiggles out of my arms and climbs right into Sawyer’s lap like it’s her throne. He looks a little surprised, but then he settles, one arm gently steadying her.
“Well, hello there,” he says, his brows raised.
Lainey blinks at him, then waves. “Hi.”
“It’s Lainey, right?”
She nods solemnly, then turns and starts pointing across the room like a tiny tour guide. “Jack-Jack,” she says, pointing at her brother in Ridge’s arms. “Hudsy,” she adds, pointing to Hudson, who’s on the other side of Sawyer devouring a Christmas cookie.
Hudson leans in and tickles her side, making her squeal and collapse against Sawyer’s chest.
Sawyer chuckles, smoothing a hand down her back. “I think I’ve been adopted.”
“She doesn’t let just anyone into the inner circle,” I say, watching Lainey reach for the cookie in Hudson’s hand like it belongs to her now.
“Oh, I can tell,” Sawyer says with a chuckle. “She already runs this place.”
Lainey starts babbling—half words, half nonsense—something about “Santa” and “cookie” and “doggie,” her little hands waving as she talks. Sawyer nods along like he’s getting the full translation.
“Yeah,” he says seriously, “I totally feel the same way about cookies.”
She giggles and leans her head against his shoulder, totally content.
Suddenly, the front door opens and slams shut behind it.
“Ho ho ho, family!” a familiar voice calls out.
I don’t even have to turn my head. The click of her heels echoes through the hallway before Miller strides into the living room.
She’s in a fitted black turtleneck and a short red leather skirt, her heels tall and shiny enough to make me wince in empathy.
Her dark hair is cut in a sleek, blunt line at her collarbone, glossy enough to reflect the tree lights.
Her makeup is sharp, clean, and completely perfect—like she just stepped out of a holiday-themed Vogue spread and accidentally ended up in our living room instead.
Lainey squeals. “Millie!” She wiggles off Sawyer’s lap and makes a beeline straight for her.
Miller softens immediately, crouching just in time to catch Lainey in her arms and lift her up like she isn’t wearing six-inch heels.
But behind her—just a little behind her—a boy lingers. He looks about Hudson’s age, maybe a little older. Definitely quieter. His hair is dark like Miller’s, his eyes the same bright green, but he stays close to the doorway.
Lark looks up from the couch and freezes. “What the hell?! You were supposed to wear an ugly Christmas sweater, Miller.”
Miller scrunches her nose like Lark just suggested she wear Crocs. “Do I look like someone who owns anything that would be considered ugly ? ”
Lark beams past her and goes straight for the boy, wrapping him in a gentle hug. “Hi, Joey. Merry Christmas.”
He just nods in response. Barely.
Miller turns toward him with an exaggerated sigh. “Joey, pretend to have some decent manners so I look like a good sister.”
He smirks and says, “Merry Christmas, Lark.”
Ridge hops off the chair he’d been lounging in and lets out a low whistle, eyes sweeping Miller from head to heels. “Well, well. Christmas just got a little hotter this year.”
She rolls her eyes. “Boone, can you get your dog-of-a-brother neutered?”
Boone doesn’t even look up. “Nope.”
Ridge grins. “Woof woof.”
Joey snorts, and Miller immediately whips around and narrows her eyes at him. “Rule number one,” she says, pointing at Ridge, “don’t laugh at anything he says. Ever .”
Ridge slings an arm over Joey’s shoulders. He stiffens a little but doesn’t pull away. If anything, he looks up at Ridge like he’s already kind of intrigued by him. It’s the effect that Ridge has on everybody.
“I didn’t know Millie had a brother,” Ridge says. He sticks out a hand. “Ridge Wilding.”
Joey looks at the hand for a second, then shakes it. “Joey.”
“Joey,” Ridge repeats, nodding solemnly, then starts walking off with him like they’ve got decades of friendship to catch up on. “Solid name. Very trustworthy. Now level with me—what was it like growing up with a demon as a sister? You can tell me. I’m a safe space.”
Miller yanks Joey’s arm and tugs him back toward her possessively. “Oh no. He’s not getting corrupted on my watch.”
Joey grins, just a little. Not wide. But enough to tell me he’s already starting to somewhat like it here.
Ridge pouts dramatically. “What makes you think I’d corrupt him, Millie?”
Miller gives him a pointed once-over. “Let’s start with the sweater.”
Boone snorts. Joey actually laughs—quiet and quick, but real. Ridge looks down at the glittery red lettering across his chest and his bedazzled nipples, then up at all of us with a shrug. “Oh, you mean this old thing?”
Before anyone can say anything else, Mom walks in carrying a fresh tray of cookies. She doesn’t even pretend to aim for subtlety when she spots Joey.
“Well, who’s this handsome young man?” she asks with a grin, already walking toward him.
Joey straightens a little. “Joey Ashford. Um. Merry Christmas, I guess.”
“Please,” she says, pulling him into a hug before he can escape it, “you can call me Molly. And Merry Christmas to you, honey.”
He freezes for half a second, then kind of melts into it—stiffly, like he’s not used to being hugged.
“Have you met my grandson, Hudson, yet?” she asks when she pulls back.
Right on cue, Hudson wanders in from the kitchen, mid-cookie. He wipes his fingers on his jeans before sticking out his hand. “Hi. You like baseball?”
Joey nods, shaking his hand. “I like any sport, really.”
Hudson’s grin widens. “Cool. I’ve got a bunch of old baseball cards and some Sports Illustrated mags. You wanna see?”
Joey nods again, and Hudson’s already turning, waving for him to follow. “I’ll show you my Ken Griffey rookie. My dad says it’s worth a bunch, but I accidentally bent the corner last year so it probably lost some of the value.”
Joey hesitates for just a second before following. He glances once over his shoulder toward Miller, but she doesn’t say anything. Just gives him a small nod and watches them go upstairs, arms crossed over her chest, her eyes softening slightly.
Mom walks back over and pulls Miller into a hug. “Merry Christmas, Mills.”
Miller hugs her back, a little one-shouldered. “Thanks. You too, Molly.”
Mom steps back, brushing a crumb off Miller’s shoulder. “How’s Veronica doing?”
Miller snorts. “Oh, peachy. Gambling away what little money she has for drugs and discount wine. So, you know. Standard.”
Mom winces, her smile faltering. “I’m sorry.”
Miller shrugs, like it barely lands. “I’m used to it by now.”
Mom’s eyes shift toward where Joey disappeared. “And Joey…? How’s he doing?”
Miller’s quiet for a second. She glances in his direction. “He seems to be doing okay for now. Good grades. Plays sports. Has friends.” She shrugs again, but it’s gentler this time. “He’s…trying.”
Mom nods. “If he ever needs somewhere to stay…”
Lark pipes up from behind her. “He’s always welcome at my place, too. Hudson would love having another boy his age around.”
Miller gives her a quick hug and nods. “Thanks. He’d always come stay with me if it got too bad, but he’s really doing okay right now. I just…” She trails off, her sharp green eyes flicking toward the door again. “With Veronica, you never know. Everything’s fine until it isn’t.”
I vaguely remember Veronica being Miller’s mom—mentioned a few times in passing when we were teenagers, always in that way where you could tell not to ask. But beyond that, I didn’t know much. I didn’t even know Miller had a brother until today.
Ridge is still watching Miller, but quieter now.
Softer. None of his usual charm, no smirk, no exaggerated lean against the wall like he’s trying to make everyone in the room notice him.
Just a curiosity. The real kind. Like there’s something he wants to ask—about Veronica, about Joey—but he doesn’t. And Miller doesn’t look at him.
Instead, her gaze flicks to me. Then to Sawyer. Her brows draw together slightly as her eyes land on his arm, wrapped loosely around my shoulders, his thumb resting on the edge of my collarbone.
She blinks. “Wait.” She takes a step closer, narrow-eyed and suspicious. “I thought this was supposed to be fake? ”
Sawyer kind of chuckles, and I can already feel my cheeks warming.
I clear my throat. “About that…”
Miller taps her foot as she waits impatiently.
“It’s not really fake anymore,” I admit, glancing up at Sawyer, who’s already looking down at me. “Things…changed.”
Chaos erupts around us in hollers and cheers.
Lark lets out an actual squeal, high-pitched and immediate. “ Finally! ”