Page 40 of War

If he had an extra room, wouldn’t he have offered it to me last night? It’s not like he wanted me to sleep in his bed.

Or did he?

God, I could go round and round in my head all day if I’m not careful. Overthinking and overanalyzing every interaction we’ve had over the last twenty-four hours won’t do me any good. So I head to the bathroom and slip on the far too large sweats he pulled out for me last night. I have to roll them four times to keep them from slipping down my hips. Then I squeeze a small glob of toothpaste onto my finger andrun it over my teeth and give my hair a quick finger combing, working to make the mess look a little tamer. When I’m finished, I look a little less like Anna fromFrozenwhen she wakes up and more like myself—albeit a happier version. Because even though I don’t have my own clothes or a toothbrush, I woke up to three smiling kids, and honestly, I can’t think of anything better.

FIFTEEN

TYLER

“Grab the berries, mon chou.”I open the oven a crack and peek in. Every Christmas morning, my mom would make the same French toast casserole, and when it came out of the oven, she’d set the oversized baking dish on the table between us and hand me a fork. The two of us would sit like that and eat straight from the dish. Mom saved all year for gifts, but I couldn’t list more than a handful I received in the twelve years we had together. But this casserole? I remember the way each one tasted, the things we talked about, the laughs we shared. My mother made everything magical, and Christmas morning was no exception.

There were only two of us then. This morning, with five of us here, we can’t exactly eat out of the pan, so I pull a stack of plates from the cabinet.

If my mother were here, she would have figured it out, and the tradition would have continued. Then again, if my mother were here, so many things would probably be different. Me, for one.

“Bacon should be ready,” Bray calls from the living room. He’s got Scarlett on his hip, keeping her away from the Christmas tree and all the presents I stashed under it last night. The two of them are wearing matching pajamas. Josie and me too. The kid rolled his eyes when I gave them their early Christmas presentbefore my family showed up last night, but he donned them without complaint, and if I had to guess by the way he keeps smiling at the girls, he doesn’t mind matching too much.

I open the door of the second oven, and sure enough, the bacon is crispy perfection. “Can you put Scar in her highchair and set the table?”

“I’ll get Scarlett’s milk,” Josie offers as she drops the container of berries onto the counter.

Meals are always a little chaotic, but the kids love helping out, and I want to encourage that, even if it means cleaning up extra messes. Usually Maria is here with us too. She’ll pour the milk into the sippy cup, then Josie will carry it to her sister and act like she did all the work.

Worried I’ll have a big mess on my hands if I let her pour herself, I pull the bacon out quickly and set it on the stovetop, then hustle to where she’s already holding the milk carton, her little arms straining. I get to her just as one hand slips and gently take it. “I’ve got it. Can you go entertain Scar before she starts throwing things?”

With an exaggerated nod, she wiggles her butt and makes a beeline for Scarlett.

“Alexa, play Bing Crosby Christmas tunes,” I say, recreating another one of my mother’s Christmas traditions.

When “Mele Kalikimaka” plays loudly through the speaker, Brayden eyes me from where he’s setting the table. I wink at him, and in response, he lowers his head and gives it a shake, his typical smirk the only indication that he’s enjoying himself.

“Hey, Bray,” I motion toward the kitchen, calling him closer. Before we sit down, I need to check in with him about what he saw this morning—a woman in my bed.

Brayden leans against the counter, staring at me. “What’s up?”

“About this morning.” I grip the back of my neck, trying to figure out what to say.

He shakes his shaggy hair. “It’s no big deal. You can do what you want. It’s your house.”

I glare at him. As much as I lament telling him the truth, I’m not sure how much I should share. But letting him believe it was a casualfuck isn’t going to fly either. I’ve never brought a woman around him. It’s been a long time since I’ve even considered spending the night with someone. I don’t like how he thinks that I’d do that so casually. But he’s too old to not question what Ava and I are doing when she arrived here last night with Xander. So I decide to give him a shortened and diluted version of the truth. “She needed a place to stay. You know that.”

He scrutinizes me, eyes narrowing, as if he’s thinking about the perfectly good pull-out couch in my office as well as the super comfortable one in the living room.

With a deep breath in, I give him more truths than I intended. “I’ve always liked Ava. I’d like it if you’d give her a chance. If she’s willing, she may become a more permanent fixture in this house.”

He lifts one shoulder and eyes me through his shaggy hair. “That will make Josie happy.”

I take a step closer and place a hand on his shoulder, squeezing. “I think she could make us all pretty happy if we’re open to it. I’m trying here, Bray. Really trying to give us a family.”

Brayden seems to relax beneath my grip. “You’re doing a good job.” He nods over to the table where the girls are giggling as Scarlett whips strawberries at Josie, who’s pretending to catch them in her mouth but missing every single one. That’s going to be fun to clean up. “They’re laughing. And honestly,” he shrugs again, “this is the nicest Christmas I’ve had since my dad died. So, if I haven’t said it lately, thanks.”

I pull Brayden against my chest and hug him. We don’t do this enough—clearly—because for a second, he freezes, but when I squeeze him tighter, he relaxes and hugs me back. Then he pulls away. “Okay, don’t get all emo on me.”

Laughing, I throw him a bone and act like the cocky hockey player he’s used to, pointing toward the scene before us. “I did good, didn’t I?”

The first thing I did when I came downstairs was plug the tree lights in and start a fire. It’s now crackling and keeping the oversized room warm while big white flakes flutter from the sky on the other side of the floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s one of my favorite thingsabout this house—the view of the backyard filled with oversized trees and the lake. Reminds me of Canada.

The scene only gets better when the woman dressed in my long-sleeve Bolts shirt and sweats enters the room. The clothes hang from her tiny frame, and her wavy red hair falls loosely past her shoulders. Her cheeks are rosy and her eyes are bright as her mouth drops open.

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