How many bitches had I fucked just wishing they were her?
How much goddamn time had I wasted when I should have said, ‘fuck it,’ and claimed her regardless?
This was what happened when you tried to pretend you were a knight in shining armor when you were really the villain of the tale.
I pressed my lips to the crown of her head, grateful for the gift that was her on Christmas morning, before I rumbled, "Little one, time to wake up." I stroked a hand over her hair, gently slipping my fingers along her scalp, scraping there, knowing the sensation would make her shiver.
She pressed her face into my throat, muttering, "Go to sleep."
I grinned up at the ceiling. "It’s Christmas."
"Sleep."
"Christmas."
"Sleeeep." She pushed deeper into me, so that her breath brushed my skin with every exhale. "Too early. We didn’t fall asleep until late."
That was very, very true.
Not even my dick twitched with morning wood. She’d drained my balls twice in less than an hour. I hadn’t done that in years, probably because the Oxy had been more exciting than any of the women I’d fucked since I’d met her.
"I have a gift downstairs for you."
"Thank you," she said sleepily.
I laughed. "Don’t you want to open it?"
"No."
Snorting, I murmured, "I can give it to one of the others."
She pshawed. "They know not to take another woman’s gift." Her hand came up and flopped against my belly as she patted me. "Nice try. Sleep is better."
"We wake up, open our gifts, have pancakes—" At least, we usually did. "—then we go back to bed."
That had her growing still. "You lying to me about the sleep part?"
"Nope." I chuckled. Trust her to think that was the part I was lying about.
She grunted, then pretty much flung herself off the bed, grousing, "Okay, hurry up. I stopped waking up at this time of the night when I left TVGM."
Though I was just as tired, I got up, and grabbed my bathrobe from the back of the bathroom door and pulled on some boxer briefs. She dragged on some sweats and a sloppy tee, did this thing with her hair that was like a knot that pulled it out of her face, then held out her arms when I offered her the robe she’d brought with her.
Once covered, she yawned, then trudged out of the room, then braked to a sudden halt. Her eyes were wide as she made a move to turn back to my side, and we walked, slowly, to the stairs.
I hated that she saw my pain.
I fucking loathed it.
Even as I appreciated her sticking by my side.
Even as I loved her for not thinking I was weak.
"Aidan?"
"Yes, little one."
"Next year, my Christmas gift can be us going to the doctor’s and sorting out your knee."
I grimaced.
She scowled.
I grunted.
She sniffed.
"You going to wag your finger at me?"
"Maybe. Will it work?"
"Depends where you wag it."
Her cheeks burned up at that. "Shut up."
I grinned. "Make me."
She harrumphed, then tightened her fingers around my hand as we moved sedately into the family room, neither of us mentioning my knee even though I was pretty sure we both knew I’d do as she asked.
I was facing all kinds of shit this week. Memories, the past, lies and hard truths. Why not my irrational fear of hospitals too? Why not the fact that I struggled to read so when they plunked ten tons of shit in front of me, crap that I needed to understand, my brain—though it needed to focus—just wouldn’t process it.
I had Savannah now, though, didn’t I?
She’d help. If I admitted the truth to her.
"About time," Conor called out as we entered the living room where the large eight-foot-tall tree stood proud beside the TV and where he, as self-appointed gift adjudicator, was also standing, ready to hand out gifts.
The tree was decked with hundreds of ornaments, some new, a lot old and ones I remembered from childhood, and was a mishmash of colors. There was no theme, none other than ‘O’Donnelly.’ The string lights were on, and they were the only source of illumination in here apart from a few candles that made the place smell of mulled wine.
On the sofa, all around, there was my family. My brothers and new sisters, their kids, a sister-in-law, a family friend, even my folks who were looking worse for wear. We were exhausted, with only Conor not yawning and, for once, not looking strung out.
When I took a seat that was meant for me, I tugged Savannah onto my lap, loving that she was careful with my leg, and loving, even more, that she snuggled sleepily into me.
Conor passed out gifts, handing them out according to the tags. Most of us only had one apiece, whereas the kids had several. Shay and Victoria in particular had a few larger boxes which they opened, snuggled up together, as they conferred over their gifts, while Jake had lots of little ones I knew would be toys, but he was fast asleep on Aoife’s chest, his mouth still curled around her breast from feeding, and even Conor had the wherewithal not to wake him up again.
When Finn opened his box, he frowned. "You gave me the wrong box, Kid. This is Jake’s.”
"I did not," Conor retorted, his tone insulted. "Look at the tag."
Finn squinted. "Don’t know how you can see anything. Can’t we turn on a fucking light?"
"Not my fault you need glasses," Conor sniped.
Aoife laughed. "Stop arguing you two." To Finn, she murmured, "It’s for you."
I watched Finn frown, then his eyes widened as they looked at one another. Neither speaking. Neither saying a word while somehow communicating a whole lot.
"Would someone explain what’s going on?" Inessa grumbled. "We’re not all mind readers. Did Finn get Jake’s gift or not?"
"Not," Conor inserted, his tone confident.
"Really, baby?" Finn breathed, and if I wasn’t mistaken, he sounded pretty choked up which had me frowning at him too.
Aoife smiled, and nodded.
"Congratulations," Savannah murmured drowsily.
"Congratulations?" I asked.
She yawned. "She’s obviously pregnant."
As the family bombarded Finn and Aoife with questions, which Aoife laughed at and smiled through and Finn, looking at her like she’d just conquered the moon, held her as close to him as possible, it settled something inside me to know how happy she made him. To see, with my own eyes, how right they were for one another.
"Mind reader," I whispered in Savannah’s ear.
She hummed. "I’ll take that title. But she’s drinking nothing but peppermint or ginger tea." She made a gagging noise. "Plus, last night, I heard her puking in the safe room."
"Observation is everything," I intoned with a smile. "Open your gift."
Amid the cacophony of the family celebrating, something I was glad for because Ma and Da looked a little less like walking skeletons, even if Da’s head was bruised and bandaged in patches, she tugged on the wrapping paper, revealing a jewelry box that was flat and square in shape.
She arched a brow at the sight of the Harry Winston logo, then popped it open. Inside, there was a bracelet with a single charm on it. Her smile peeped up at me.