Page 32 of Roaring Fork Rockstar

“Merry Christmas, Dad,” I replied, smiling at his exuberance. “How’s New Mexico?”

“Sunny and beautiful, as always. How’s my Luna?”

“She’s great—having the time of her life, actually. We’re spending Christmas at a ranch outside town.”

“A ranch?” His interest piqued. “Whose?”

“The Wheaton family. Remember I told you about meeting someone who knew Aunt Ursula at the bar? Well, turns out we have other connections.”

There was a noticeable pause. “What kind of connections?”

“Sam Marquez is here—Aunt Pilar’s granddaughter. And the photo of you and Ursula at the original Goat caused quite a stir when they saw it.”

His voice turned careful. “Is that so?”

“Dad, is there something wrong?”

“Not at all. I just miss you and my granddaughter.”

“We miss you too, Dad.”

“So, tell me, are you enjoying yourselves?”

I sighed and smiled. “Yes, we are. It’s a wonderful place. Luna’s playing with the other children, and everyone’s been incredibly kind.”

“I’m glad,” he said, genuine warmth in his voice. “I wish I could be there with you both.”

“I thought you might drive up,” I admitted. “You said you were considering it.”

“I’m at my annual Christmas gathering with the poker buddies,” he explained. “You know we’ve done this for decades. But I’ll come visit soon, I promise. Once things slow down.”

We said our goodbyes after a few more minutes, neither of us mentioning Luna’s hospital visit. That conversation could wait for another day—today was for celebration, not worry.

10

HOLT

The winter air bit at my cheeks as I approached the house, my boots crunching softly on the frost-covered path. The scent of pine from the surrounding woods mingled with the woodsmoke curling from the chimney. The home I grew up in stood warm and inviting against the crisp December sky.

The path I took after Buck and I finished making sure the sled run was ready to go was obscured from where Keltie stood on the screened-in porch, her slender figure silhouetted against the warm glow spilling from the windows behind her. She was talking on her phone, her free hand tucked into the pocket of her coat. I knew I shouldn’t eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help myself. Something about the way she held herself—slightly hunched, as if bearing an invisible weight—made me hesitate.

“Dad, is there something wrong?” I heard her say. There was a pause as she listened, and I watched her pace a small circle on the wooden planks of the porch. “We miss you too, Dad.” There was another delay, then she added. “It’s a wonderful place. Luna’s playing with the other children, and everyone’s been incredibly kind.”

The conversation wound down, and I wondered if she’d already told him about Luna’s hospital visit. I was about to step forward and reveal myself, already composing a casual greeting to mask my intrusion, when the front door opened with a familiar squeak and Flynn came out onto the porch. The sudden appearance of my sister froze me in place, and I remained hidden, watching as she approached Keltie, two steaming mugs in her hands. She offered one to Keltie, who accepted it with a grateful smile.

“Everything okay?” The concern in my sister’s tone was unmistakable, and I felt a surge of gratitude for her natural empathy.

I inched forward and saw Keltie nod, then tuck her phone into her pocket. “Just wishing my dad a Merry Christmas. He’s spending it in New Mexico with his poker buddies.”

“I’m glad you and Luna could join us instead,” Flynn said, resting against one of the outdoor chairs.

Keltie smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “We should probably think about leaving soon. We’ve imposed enough, and I feel bad about taking Holt away from his family on Christmas.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Flynn said, her voice taking on that firm tone she used when she wouldn’t hear of an argument. The same one I’d heard on the rare occasions when she stood up to our father. “I know I’m probably oversharing, but to be honest with you, life was hard for all of us after our mom died. I was too young to even know her. Anyway, our father was a meansonuvabitch. Abusive, really. Every memory I have of Christmas is depressing. I don’t remember many gifts, and there was even less laughter.”

I held my breath, surprised by Flynn’s candor. My sister rarely spoke of our past so openly, especially to someone she didn’t know well. The memories Flynn’s words conjured sent a chill through me that had nothing to do with the December air—the sound of breaking glass, the shouting that shook the walls, and huddling with Flynn in one of our rooms, trying to block out the noise.

“Remember what I said last night? This Christmas is exactly how I once dreamed they’d be,” Flynn continued, her voice softening to a near-whisper that I had to strain to hear. The emotion in her words made my throat tighten. “And you being here with Luna? It’s added more to our holiday celebration than you realize.”

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