Page 95 of Cowboy SEAL Christmas

So, maybe… God, could he really trust the sprouts not to die? He turned back to face Alex. Jack. His brothers. His family.

“You’re turning us into Oprah, so you’re going to need to believe us and go make up with the woman, so we can stop,” Jack offered dryly.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Gabe said weakly.

“I have it on great authority they’re going to be here tomorrow for Christmas dinner. I’d suggest fixing things before my wife gets even a whiff of discord. It would be really unmanning to have her swoop in and fix it for you.”

“She would, too,” Gabe muttered. Becca would swoop in and somehow, with her goat-rooster magic, sew everything back together. But that wouldn’t be right. He was done making his choices for other people and, more, letting other people make his choices for him.

He was a lot of things, and probably not good enough for half the things he wanted, but he wasn’t a coward.

Maybe his mother had simply made a choice, the wrong one. And maybe he could make the right one.

“Do either of you know where I can get a puppy?”

* * *

Monica hefted Colin’s bag, now made twice as heavy by the presents bestowed upon him, into the back of Dad’s car. Colin and Mom were still inside, deciding on what airplane snacks to pack for Colin, but Dad had helped Monica pack up the car.

She had figured she’d be excited to go back. Excited to have Colin to herself again, to have their little Christmas traditions just him and her.

Gabe had ruined that.

She hefted out a heavy sigh that puffed wisps of air into the cold afternoon.

“You don’t seem that excited to go back. You could stay. I’d pay for the ticket change.”

She smiled. Her father’s frugality made that offer extra special. “I want Colin to spend Christmas at home. And as much as there’s some unpleasantness to face, I learned from my parents it’s best not to put it off.”

“Want me to off him?”

Monica laughed, but it caused a little stab of pain. “You made that offer a lot when I was with Dex.”

“He made you cry a lot.”

“I was a teenager.”

Dad shrugged. “Doesn’t matter much when you’re the one watching your daughter cry.”

She, of course, hadn’t been able to understand that back then. She hadn’t been able to separate normal parent overprotectiveness from his PTSD episodes. She hadn’t been able to accept he might have just been worried about her.

Then she’d become a parent, and a lot of it had made sense in retrospect. Still, she’d never talked about this with her father. Maybe it would be good to. “Did you still hate Dex at the end?”

“I never hated Dex.”

“You were downright mean to him.”

Dad grunted, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against his car. He squinted across the street. “Yes, but I didn’t hate him. I hated the idea of him. Some little punk air force brat touching my beautiful daughter. I didn’t want you to get married so young, get tied to someone so young when you had so much life left to live.” Dad moved restlessly, which wasn’t like him at all. “Doesn’t help any, but I regretted it after.”

“He thought it was funny. Way funnier than I thought it was.”

“Sorry,” Dad mumbled. But he eyed her. “So, now I got to deal with some smart-ass SEAL touching my beautiful daughter?”

Monica heaved out a sigh, mirroring her father’s pose. “What made you finally get help?”

“Don’t tell me the shit has PTSD.”

“No. Not that it would change things, but no. He had a rough childhood though. He doesn’t trust love.”

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