Page 48 of My Secret Santa Daddies

“Your eyes are closed.”

“I’m resting them.”

“Alright. Let’s go.” I scoop him into my arms, keeping him wrapped up as I carry him up the long staircase.

When it’s finally time to put him to bed, I tuck him in, pulling the blankets up to his chin. He yawns, his eyes already half-closed, but as I lean down to kiss his forehead, he looks up at me, his expression suddenly serious.

“Sierra?”

“Yeah, buddy?” I say, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

“I really want a mom for Christmas,” he whispers, his voice small, and fragile. “Do you think Santa can bring me one?”

I freeze, unsure of how to respond.

For a moment, all I can do is stare down at him as he looks up at me with eyes full of trust and expectation.

“Jack…” I begin, my voice faltering. “I?—”

He blinks up at me, his eyes wide and hopeful. “Santa can do anything, right?”

I force a smile, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Santa can do a lot of things,” I say softly, stroking his hair. “But sometimes... the things we want most take a little more time.”

“Okay. Maybe next year.”

“Maybe next year, buddy.”

I sit with him for a moment longer, watching him drift off to sleep, the rise and fall of his tiny chest feels so steady, sopeaceful. But inside, I feel anything but calm. His words linger in the air.

I want a mom for Christmas.

I stand and slip out of the room, quietly closing the door behind me.

The lodge feels too quiet now, too big, and the weight of the last few days—the storm, the kisses, Jack’s innocent wish—it all presses down on me, making it hard to breathe.

I lean against the wall, closing my eyes, and wonder how the hell I’m supposed to make any of this right.

I open my eyes, staring at the hallway stretching out before me, the flickering glow of the fireplace casting long shadows along the walls. The tension in my shoulders feels unbearable, like it’s coiled too tight to release. I need something,anything, to clear my head before I drown in all of this.

My eyes flick toward the back patio. The hot tub. Wyatt had mentioned it earlier.

The thought of sinking into warm water, letting it ease the ache in my body, sounds like the only thing that might help me breathe again.

Before I can overthink it, I head down toward it, grabbing a towel along the way. It’s only eight o’clock. The guys said it was going to take them a long while.

The cold air hits me like a slap when I open the back door. The snow is still falling steadily, and the wind whistles fiercely through the trees, but the thought of the hot water soothes me enough to push forward.

I step outside, the cold biting at my skin as I make my way across the deck to the hot tub. Wyatt really did clear it off—the cover has been pushed back, and steam is rising into the air, beckoning me closer. I peel off each layer of clothing quickly.

I drop my towel and slip into the water, the heat instantly wraps around me, chasing away the cold. I lean back, sinkinglower until the water covers my shoulders, and let out a long, slow breath as the tension begins to melt away.

For a moment, I just sit there, listening to the distant hum of the wind howling through the trees.

The heated water is like a luxurious blanket, washing over my skin. I sink even lower, letting the top of the water crawl up my neck, and a long sigh escapes my throat.

The warmth seeps into my muscles, relaxing the knots I didn’t realize I’d been holding onto and my mind begins to drift.

“Oh, Sierra,” I whisper to myself. What’s going on?

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