Page 43 of Wynter's Second Chance

Rory grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I don’t know, something cool. Like,‘Dear Journal, Rory is the best son ever, and his gaming skills are unmatched.’”

Taran laughed, the sound Christmas carols to my ears. “Well, I can’t argue with the first part.”

“And the second part?” Rory challenged, grinning wider.

“We’ll see about that after I kick your butt at Mario Kart,” Taran shot back, playfully jostling his son.

I sat back, watching them bicker and laugh, and for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like an outsider looking in.

Later, as we stepped into the yard for a snowball fight, my thoughts wandered.

Last night had been… something else. Being with Taran like that—making love to him—it had been so different, yet so natural, like a rhythm I already knew by heart. I’d never been with a man before, but it didn’t matter. With Taran, it wasn’t about mechanics or labels. It was about him—his body, his warmth, his trust.

And God, the way it felt, like my body was always meant to fit with his. Like everything I thought I knew about intimacy before had just been preparation for that moment.

In the army, I’d learned to adapt, to find my footing no matter where I landed. But this wasn’t adaptation. This was grounding, like I’d finally found the place I was meant to stand.

But as beautiful as that night was, it paled next to this—being invited to share Christmas with Taran and Rory. That had hit me in a different way, a way I couldn’t even articulate. Because sex is one thing, but this? This was belonging.

The warmth of that thought lingered as we stepped into the yard, boots crunching against the snow. Rory bounded ahead, already scooping up handfuls of the fresh powder. He paused, glancing back with a mischievous glint in his eye, daring me without words.

“I hope you’re ready!” he called out, his hands already busy packing a snowball.

I barely had time to brace myself before the first icy missile smacked into my chest, cold enough to make me suck in a breath but not enough to sting.

“You little—” Laughing, I bent down and scooped up a handful of snow, packing it quickly. My throw arced through the crisp morning air, missing on purpose. Mostly…

Rory stuck out his tongue and darted behind a snowbank. “Missed me!”

Beside me, Taran chuckled softly, the sound rolling through me like an ember catching flame. He nudged my arm, his grin easy and warm. “He thinks he’s invincible.”

My chest tightened, but not in a bad way. It was the way Taran’s voice dipped slightly, his smile lingering just long enough to feel like it was meant for me alone. “Oh, he’s going down,” I replied, voice low enough to match his.

“You’re in for it now, Rory. Wynter’s got good aim. Army-trained.”

Our eyes met for a brief second—no words, just a shared moment—and then the battle began.

“Hey!” Rory yelped as the first snowball hit his shoulder, then another caught him on the back. “Traitor!”

Taran and I worked together without needing to plan, our snowballs pelting Rory until he flailed dramatically, laughing so hard he stumbled into the snowbank.

“Okay, okay, truce!” Rory held up his hands, his grin wide enough to make me smile back.

We then gathered near the half-formed snowman Rory had started earlier. His hands worked the snow, reshaping it as he muttered about making it “perfect.”

Taran crouched beside him, steadying the wobbling middle ball with a gloved hand, and I felt that pull again. A simple, quiet moment, and yet it struck me harder than the snowball Rory had thrown.

“Hold on,” Taran said suddenly, brushing snow off his knees as he stood. “Can’t have a snowman without a nose. I’ll grab a carrot from the kitchen.” He shot me a quick grin before heading inside, leaving Rory and me to smooth the edges of the snowman’s middle section.

Rory looked up at me, his face thoughtful. “What else does a snowman need?”

“A smile, maybe a hat?” I suggested, brushing some snow off my gloves.

“Yeah, a big smile! But first, he needs his nose,” Rory declared firmly, packing more snow around the top ball to create a better face.

Taran returned a few minutes later, holding a carrot triumphantly in one hand and a scarf in the other. “Found this, too. Thought he could use a little flair.”

He crouched back down beside Rory, holding up the carrot. “You want to do the honors, Wynter?”

---