Page 37 of Wynter's Second Chance

Rory’s gaze flickered toward me, a cautious kind of hope in his expression. “Like what?”

“Anything that reminds us of him,” I suggested. “Or something new that he would have loved to see. Maybe a photo from one of your games, or an ornament you think he’d have liked.”

Rory looked at the corner, then at his dad. “Okay.”

Taran’s eyes fixed on the small collection of memories we’d gathered. The soft glow of the Christmas lights made his expression unreadable, but I didn’t need words to feel the weight of his emotions. The promise of more Christmases, more memories, hung in the air, as fragile and beautiful as the items in Royce’s memory corner.

“It’s not for only this Christmas,” Taran said, maybe more to himself than anyone else. “It’s for all of the Christmases to come.”

Rory reached out, touching the edge of the cap. “For Papa.”

“For Papa,” I echoed.

As the Christmas lights danced on the glitter of that ridiculous snowman, I thought of Royce. I wondered if he waswatching us, maybe even laughing, proud of the family he’d left behind—and the one we were trying to become.

CHAPTER 18

TARAN

The drive to Pinecrest was quiet, the kind of silence that let thoughts run wild. The road wound through the pines like a ribbon, sunlight filtering through the trees in soft, golden streaks. I couldn’t shake the image of Wynter and Rory the night before, arranging the memory corner. Such a brilliant idea. Wynter’s solid presence steadied Rory in a way that left no room for doubt that Royce would always have a place in our lives.

The memory lingered, filling my chest with something warm. It had been a long time since hope felt like this—tangible. But it wasn’t the only moment from last night playing on repeat in my mind.

After Wynter left, Rory went upstairs to bed and the house had grown quiet, but I’d had a feeling Rory wasn’t asleep. The way he’d bid Wynter goodnight felt like it carried weight, as though he had questions he wasn’t ready to ask. I gave him some time before I went to check on him.

He looked up at me when I pushed his door open, his gaze open and curious.

I perched on the edge of his bed. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Nah,” he shrugged. “Just… thinking.”

“About?”

“Wynter?”

He nodded slowly, his fingers fiddling with the edge of the blanket.

“What about him?”

“He’s… he’s a good guy, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, Rory. He really is.” I kept my tone light, careful.

He twisted the blanket tighter, his shoulders hunching just a little. “You and him… you like each other, right?”

The question hit like a punch to the chest, but I wasn’t about to lie to him. “Yeah. I like him a lot.”

Rory didn’t say anything right away, his fingers still tugging at the fabric. Finally, he glanced up at me.

“What do you think about Wynter spending Christmas day with us?” I asked. “He doesn’t really have anyone else to celebrate with since he came back.”

Rory’s face softened, the lines of worry smoothing just a little. “I think it’d be okay. Christmas is about family, right? And… maybe he needs one.”

“Maybe we all do,” I said, my voice quiet. “Thanks, kiddo.”

That memory settled over me now, filling the quiet of the drive with something brighter than the sunlight streaming through the pines. By the time I pulled into the lot at Pinecrest, the sun was well above the horizon, the air crisp and full of the clean scent of pine.

The cabin stood ahead, a picture of rustic charm, bathed in golden light. Birds cheeped and chirped in the trees, their song carried on the still morning air. My breath fogged as I stepped out of the vehicle and started toward the door, boots crunching softly against the frosted ground.

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