Page 107 of The Crush of Christmas Past
When I return, Theo is propped against the headboard, heated gaze locked on the front of my shirt. The letters of his name burn against my chest, branding his claim into my heart.
Just for tonight, I remind myself.
“I fucking love that on you,” he murmurs, folding me into him.
His tattoo flashes in front of my face, reminding me we have unfinished business.
“I never noticed this before.” My fingers trail over the underside of his bicep, tracing the dark ink that clings to taut skin andfirm muscle.
“You’ve always been a tactile art enthusiast, huh?” His eyes glint knowingly as he watches me explore.
“It’s beautiful.” The tree feels alive beneath my touch, its branches twisting and stretching as if breathing with him.
“My take on a family tree.”
Seven initials are entwined through the leaves—one for each member of his family: Evangeline, Graham, his siblings, and Jovie.
My chest squeezes. The tattoo feels like a perfect reflection of his love. Subdued, but steady. Powerful and permanent. A glimpse of the once-vulnerable boy who grew into a fierce, capable man.
Every line is unmistakablyhim. Clean, sharp, and purposeful, with strong emotion pulsing beneath the surface. I recognize Theo’s style on instinct. After all, I’ve been carrying his art inside me for years.
But one element doesn’t belong to his hand.
“The sun?”
He nods. “Is yours.”
It was the first thing I sketched after clawing my way out of that year-and-a-half mourning fog:Sunrise Over the Springs.And now, it’s etched into Theo’s skin. Forever.
I let my touch linger. “When did you get this done?”
“The tree? At twenty-three. When I finally felt like I’d earned the right to be a Thorne. Late to the party, as usual.” He huffs out a self-deprecating laugh. “And the sun…” He pauses, gaze latching on to mine. “I added that piece after I quit AdCraft.” His voice drops. “I didn’t want to leave you behind, but I didn’t know how to take you with me. So…”
“You kept my drawing from all those years ago?”
“I stole your entire sketchbook,” he says, never breaking eye contact. “More than one, actually.”
“Why?” I’m not even sure what I’m asking.
“You’re a part of our family, Isla. You’ve always been ours. You’ll forever have a place with us.” There’s no trace of possessiveness in his tone.
This isn’t about sex, ownership, or even romance.
It’s an invitation tobelong.
My heart constricts. Eighteen-year-old orphans don’t get adopted. But the desperate longing for family? That never fades.
The weight of his words settles in my chest. Like a puzzle piece slightly askew, it doesn’t slot in without resistance. Jagged edges. Imperfect corners. And still—somehow—it fits.
“Why haven’t you attended the past five Christmas gatherings?”
He knew what happened six years ago shattered me. Had he really stayed away, year after year, just so I’d feel safe enough to show up?
My eyes widen as the realization hits.
He simply shrugs one shoulder.
“Theo…”
