Page 125 of The Devil's Saint

“He took a bullet for me. It was the least we could do.”

Saint kisses the back of my head, then stands back to admire our tree.

“Ready for the star?”

“Um-hum. Where is Cole anyway?”

“He’s fine. He’s with Mrs. Watson, playing in the tree house.”

“In that weather without a hat and scarf on?” I squawk. “Oh no. Get him in here right now before he catches a cold.”

“That’s not how you catch a cold, Angel.”

“Saint!”

“Okay, okay.” Saint relents, knowing better than to argue with me when it comes to our four-year-old son. Saint complains that I smother Cole too much when really it’s him that’s the total pushover.

When he found out about me losing our first baby, he was riddled with guilt, and let’s just say he’s made up for it ever since. He dotes on our son and would give him the world if Cole asked for it. His aunt Jordin and uncles are just as bad. Don’t even get me started on my mom. I bet every seat in her car is filled with Christmas gifts for him alone.

Saint rolls his eyes and reaches into his pocket to pull out a walkie-talkie.

“CJ. C’mon in buddy. Mom said it’s time for the star.”

We gave our son a nickname so people wouldn’t get confused with his uncle Colton, who made me promise to name my first child after him. Saint wanted to name him after both of his brothers, so he either gets CJ for Cole-Jackson or Cole, as I like to call him.

Static comes from the walkie-talkie before Cole’s little voice comes over the frequency.

“Dad!” Cole whines, scolding his father. “You’re supposed to say it properly like we talked about.”

Saint’s brows hike, and he blows an exacerbated breath before speaking into the receiver again. “Come in, CJ. It’s dad. Can you read me? Over.”

“Rodger that dad. I can hear you. Over.”

“Your mother said it’s time to come in and put the star on the tree. Over.”

“Rodger that. I’m on my way. Over.”

Saint fires me a smug look. “Your little prince is on his way.”

A few minutes later, Cole bursts through the door with Mrs. Watson in hot pursuit as I hang the last box of ornaments on the tree.

“Mommy.” Cole runs into my arms; his little ears and nose are red from the cold snow.

I snuggle into him, warming him up. “Baby, you’re so cold.”

“It was such good fun,” he says as I blow hot air on his cold fingers. He turns to face Colton. “Uncle Colton, do you wanna build a snowman with me?”

“Absolutely, buddy. We just need to wait until there’s enough snow.”

Saint peers out the window. “Won’t take long by the looks of it.”

“You don’t think it’s thick enough to close the roads, do you?”

Saint comes over to lift his son on his shoulders, making him giggle. He loves it when his dad turns him into a helicopter, spinning him around until he’s dizzy.

“Don’t be worrying, Angel. I’m sure everyone’s on their way and will be here soon.”

Cole bounces on Saint’s shoulder impatiently as I lift the star carefully from the box, passing it to him.

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