Page 112 of The Evening Wolves

“Takeout on Christmas?” Auggie said in a disapproving voice.

“We were tired,” John-Henry said with a laugh.

Theo kissed the side of Auggie’s head. “Let’s get these in the oven.”

“Thanks, Mel,” John-Henry said as the girl waded through the snow, laden down with bags of takeout. Melanie Wong had delivered their food more times than he could count, and her younger sister was in Colt’s grade at school.

She flashed him a grin, and the crystal on her tooth sparkled in the porch light. “Full house, Chief Somerset. You sure this is going to be enough?”

“It’s more of potluck, it turns out.” He dug cash out of his wallet and handed it over. “Thanks again, happy holidays.”

“Merry Christmas, Chief.”

“It’s not chief, Mel.”

The crystal sparkled again as snow crunched under her steps. “Sure, it is.”

John-Henry carried the food inside, but he’d barely made it to the kitchen before the front door opened again. Familiar footsteps sprinted down the hall, and Evie appeared in the living room, cheeks red from the cold.

“Hi, baby,” John-Henry said as he handed the bags to Emery, who was organizing the expanding spread on the counter, while North, at the same time, tried to tell him where to put everything. “Merry—”

“Where’s Lana?” And then Evie turned and raced for the stairs. “Lana!”

“—Christmas, baby.”

“A little help?” Cora called from the front of the house.

“Colt, do you—”

“I’ll help!” Colt said, shooting a quick look at North before hurrying toward the front of the house.

A huge smile slanted across Auggie’s face. Jem’s eyes were bright. Shaw made a soft, cooing noise.

“One of you motherfuckers say something.” North’s face was red as he opened one of the takeout containers he and Shaw had brought, revealing a mound of nachos. “Go right ahead.”

John-Henry was trying not to laugh as he went back to give Cora a hand.

But apparently, his help wasn’t needed, because Colt was carrying two insulated bags and talking a mile a minute to Nico, who was holding a brown paper bag in his arms, his face politely interested as Colt began a rundown of “the dopest shit ever,” which apparently referred to the last couple of days.

“Language,” John-Henry said.

“Merry Christmas,” Nico said as he passed him. “And happy birthday. Hope you’re ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“And then Pops broke his neck with his bare hands,” Colt said.

“No,” Emery called from the kitchen, “I didn’t.”

John-Henry leaned out the storm door and saw Cora still at her car, passing more bags to, of all people, Noah and Rebeca. Their oldest daughter, Raquel, was toting another insulated cooler toward the house, while Robbie, the next oldest, screamed orders at Ricky and Roman, who were chasing each other through the snow. Rafe was helping Rocio up the steps, and Rocio, who was Evie’s age, was carrying a wrapped present.

“It’s for Evie,” Rafe said, reaching to take the present from Rocio.

Rocio screeched, “I’m carrying it!”

So, John-Henry opened the door and got out of the way.

By that point, Cora, Noah, and Rebeca were working their way toward the house. Noah barked a command, and the rest of the kids zipped inside.

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