“Harbor House?” he asks as we leave.
“Yeah.” I have yet to ask him why he lied, why he didn’t tell me the truth about Mom being homeless. But then again, why does it matter now?
At Harbor House, the staff tries not to fuss when one of the wealthiest men in a city full of them steps in, even when it isn’t the norm. Christmas lights are already up, twinkling just enough to make the place feel hopeful. Dad kneels to hand a stuffed bear to a little boy in a puffy coat who stares at him like this might be magic.
“For you,” Dad says gently.
The boy takes it quickly, like it might vanish.
I stand there, watching my father exist without being needed, without being asked to decide anything, without anyone taking anything from him. Just giving what his heart tells him to and being present.
James waits by the door, respectful. Matteo stands beside me, solid and quiet.
“This was a good idea,” Matteo says softly.
I nod. “The best one.”
When we leave, Dad takes my hand. His grip is warm, steady. Like he always did.
James opens the car door, already ready to get us home.
As we pull back onto the street, Christmas lights start to glow against the dark, and something settles inside of me.
They all know now. Two years of looking over my shoulder is over. We can just be, like we are right now.
And in December, of all months, that feels like a gift.
Chapter 22
Central Park West
Sofie
I arrive late.
James drops me at the curb. Inside, the space opens up immediately. Wide halls. Tall ceilings. Sound softened by rugs thick enough to lose shoes in.
The media room is tucked deep inside, insulated from the rest of the house like a bunker built for comfort. That’s where they are, all four of them.
The game lights the room in blue and white, and the sound is just loud enough to feel like the rink without overwhelming conversation. A sectional big enough to qualify as furniture infrastructure curves around the screen.
Noelle is curled into one corner, knees tucked up, wrapped in a sweater that definitely belongs to Dash and will pretend it’s about warmth, but I know better. She misses him, even if it’s been less than twenty-four hours. I know this because I miss Aleks too.
Nalani is cross-legged on the floor, back against the couch, hand on a bump that she thinks is obvious, and we let her believe we see it too, because she’s so excited to be carrying the love of her life’s child.
Claudia sits nearby, relaxed in a way that always looks effortless. Savannah is sprawled across her lap like she owns the place, one socked foot dangling. The ultimate weighted blanket and a tether to the reality that nothing, absolutely nothing, is more important than love.
Paul is perched in a recliner next to them, and God, how I love that grumpy old asshole.
They all look up when I step in.
“You made it,” Noelle says softly, already shifting to make space.
“I did, and before puck drop,” I smile as I walk over and sit between Noelle and Claudia on the couch, knees brushing Nalani’s shoulder. She leans into it without thinking. I look at Claudia, “Paul should tell them the story, I love his stories.”
“Story time,” Noelle claps.
Nalani looks up at me, cringing, “You gave him details about you and Aleks before —”
