Page 13 of Four Stepbrothers for Christmas

Her smile deepened, and she nodded as if acknowledging a point well made.

"Thank you, Archer," she smiled, taking the glass from my hand. Our fingers brushed for a second, but in that second, a current passed, a tension that felt like the drawing of a bowstring.

I nodded, careful to keep my expression unreadable. I liked to think of myself as a man in control, but there were things even I didn't have control over, things I couldn't push away, no matter how hard I tried. And damn it, she was rapidly becoming one of those things.

As I took my seat, I looked around at my brothers and Isaac, then at Becca. She was different, a welcome contrast to the power dynamics and boardroom tension that filled our days. She had a knack for cutting through the noise, for making things simple when they were anything but.

But the more I watched her — the way she laughed with Vinnie, the way she listened to Luke, and the way she teased Isaac — the more I realized things were about to get very complicated. And for the first time in a long while, I wondered if complicated could actually be a good thing.

Dinner unfolded like a scene out of a movie—a rarity for men like us who usually dined in silence or over the clatter of keyboards. The laughter flowed more freely than I'd heard in a long time. It was as if Becca had some kind of magical effect on us, even on Isaac, who usually kept his cards close to his chest.

When the topic turned to childhood stories, each of us chipped in. Vinnie recounted tales of misadventures with firecrackers, and Luke talked about the summer he tried to build a treehouse and ended up breaking his arm. Isaac surprised us all by reminiscing about family vacations by the lake, his face softening into a rare smile as he spoke. His parents had passed away, but it was clear the memories he'd formed with them were happy ones—pure, untarnished by time.

Becca put down her fork and looked around the table as if gauging how much to share before she spoke. "Okay, well, I guess it's my turn. My story takes place one Christmas when I was about ten. My brother, Mikey, was seven. My dad had passed away a few years prior, so it was just me, my mom, and Mikey."

She paused for a moment, her eyes glossing over as if she were seeing the scene replay in her mind. "Money was always tight, you know? My mom worked two jobs just to keep the lights on and food on the table. So, when Christmas rolled around, we knew better than to expect much."

Her eyes twinkled as she got to the heart of the story. "That year, Mom sat us down and told us we were only getting one gift for the family. Mikey and I didn't mind; we were just excited for Christmas. A few days later, Mom comes home with this furball of energy—a black lab puppy, tail wagging so fast it could probably power a small generator."

The group chuckled, and Becca's face broke into a wide smile. "We named her Sadie, and let me tell you, she was the queen of the house from that day on. Mom spent whatever she could spare on Sadie—food, toys, you name it. That Christmas, we didn't have any gifts under the tree other than Sadie, but we didn't care. That dog was spoiled rotten and we adored her."

She finished her story, her eyes meeting each of ours as if challenging us to judge her humble past. "That year taught me that sometimes the best gifts aren't the ones you unwrap. They're the ones that come bounding into your life, knocking over the Christmas tree and scattering ornaments everywhere, but filling your home with so much love you can't imagine life without them."

For a moment, the table was quiet. Then Isaac raised his glass. "To the best gifts," he said.

The glasses clinked, sealing a moment of shared understanding and deepened connection among us. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was part of something that extended beyond boardrooms and bottom lines. I looked at Becca, our eyes meeting for a brief second, and realized she was the best kind of chaos, the kind you didn't know you needed until it was right there, staring you in the face.

"So Becca, you must be a dog person then, huh?" Vinnie inquired, steering the conversation in a way only he could.

Becca grinned, "Oh absolutely. Cats are fine, but there's something about a dog's loyalty and goofiness that always wins me over."

Vinnie nodded and fired off another question, something about what she liked to do in her free time. She was into hiking, loved photography, and was a sucker for old movies. I found myself taking mental notes, storing away each detail like a treasure.

She fit into our group in a way no one had before. Yet, she was not just one of the guys—she was different, she was...more.

Dinner ended, the air still tinged with the honesty and laughter that filled the conversation. I could tell we all felt a connection to Becca—each of us having lost a parent in some way or another. There was something in the way she looked away when we toasted, something hidden behind those clear eyes.

I wished Vinnie would launch one of his humorous rants or Luke would go into his empathic investigator mode. But they didn’t, and I sure as hell was not the one to dig. I'd always believed in letting people keep their secrets until they're ready to share.

When it was time to clean up, we all stood, nearly in unison, offering to help. She waved us off, her eyes flashing a determined look that said she was in her element.

" Let me do my job. The kitchen is my domain."

We all took our seats again, but I caught Isaac, Luke, and Vinnie sneaking glances at her as she moved gracefully around the dining room. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't doing the same. She owned the space, commanded it like a general leading troops into battle.

We freshened up our drinks and headed into the living room, the fire crackling as we sipped and thought. Conversation was light – no doubt we all had the same thing on our minds that we were trying to puzzle out.

"Alright, gents," she called out after what seemed like an eternity but was actually only about half an hour. "I'm going to shower and hit the sack. Early day tomorrow."

We all rose and said our good nights, each word heavy with something none of us voiced but we all felt—a unique blend of respect, intrigue, and something else I couldn’t quite place. It was damn unnerving.

My footsteps were heavy as I walked down the hallway toward my bedroom, but my mind was even heavier. It was filled with thoughts of contracts, security details, and now, inexplicably, Becca. As I passed by her bedroom door, a soft sound caught my ear. A moan. Instinctively, I halted, every protective fiber in me going taut.

Was she sick? Hurt?

Then I heard her murmuring, soft and indecipherable at first, but gradually becoming clearer. She was saying our names—Isaac, Luke, Vinnie, and even mine. My brows furrowed, and then it hit me like a goddamn freight train what was actually happening behind the door.

Fuck.

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