It was a shit trade, but I’d take it again.They still sleep at night.Smile without flinching.That’s worth every scar I carry.
My photographic memory is the only thing that seems to prove I’m actually related to my genius brothers.I put the phone to sleep and slip it into my pocket without deleting the message.Caleb gives me a look that says he clearly doesn’t like that move, but I just shrug.Adrian is the brains of this operation, and I’d never outright defy him if I thought it would hurt us, but a wrong number text won’t be the thing that destroys our empire.
“Good plan,” Adrian says, business snapping back into place.“We have the Statton contract to wrap up, and Cassius you have that Michael loose end to contend with, but aside from that it should be a quiet Christmas.”
“Fuck,” Caleb mutters.“I forgot that Christmas is less than a month away.”
“Easy thing to do when we haven’t celebrated, ever, that I remember,” Atlas says.
“Eh, you got three good ones,” I tell him.Atlas always complains about his lack of good memories, especially ones that involve our mother, but I say he’s the luckiest of us all.Three when Mom died and only five when I slit Alaister’s throat.All he knows is his older brothers and Uncle Leven.
“I said that Iremember.I don’t remember shit about Christmas one, two, and three,” Atlas says, his boots scuffing across the warehouse floor as he follows behind us, hands jammed in his coat pockets.
“Would you like to celebrate?”Adrian asks, turning toward the baby brother he can’t see.
“Did we stop after Mom or after Dad?”Caleb says before Atlas has a chance to answer.
“After Mom or I would’ve had five Christmases, dumbass,” Atlas fires back, rolling his eyes as he kicks a loose bolt across the concrete.
“If either of you think Dad would’ve given us Christmas on his own, you are both dumbasses,” Adrian answers.
“Back to the task at hand, would you like to celebrate this year?”Caleb asks.
“Wouldn’t that be weird after twenty years of acting like it’s just another day?”I ask.I know that in some ways Atlas is right in thinking he got the shit end of the stick.I do remember Mom, and holidays, and all the light she brought to our house, to our father.
“Fuck it,” Atlas says.“I want to celebrate.Maybe it will help us all be a little less…”
“Grumpy?”Adrian finishes for him.
“I was probably going to go withintense,” Atlas mutters, but his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile.
“How would we even go about having Christmas?”Caleb asks.
“Let’s sit back down if we’re going to plan out a whole-ass holiday,” I say and move back toward the now empty poker table.The chairs are neatly tucked in, for Adrian’s benefit, and I drag one out with my foot and drop into it with a low grunt.
We have all gotten in the habit of standing mostly still while talking because it makes Adrian more comfortable.My brothers follow me, and in true Ashenheart fashion, Caleb pulls out his laptop from its bag and creates a new Excel spreadsheet.I could give a shit about computers, but you won’t ever catch Adrian or Caleb without one.
We spend the next forty-five minutes planning a Christmas party.
What starts as a quiet brothers-onlydinner evolves fast.Caleb’s fault, mostly.By the time we’re done, it’s a full-blown company-wide event with catering, custom invitations, and a twelve-foot tree no one’s figured out how to get through the damn doors yet.
Caleb designs invitations with Ashenheart wax seals like we’re hosting royalty.Adrian’s on the phone with three different restaurants at once, barking about dietary restrictions and liquor licenses.Atlas hijacks Caleb’s laptop and starts cold-calling every rental place in Vegas for lights, trees, and whatever else screams Christmas cheer.
I stay where I am, arms crossed, back pushing into the chair enough to tip up the front legs.No one gives me a job, but I don’t take it personally.Seeing as there’s no one to filet, that isn’t surprising.
Still, after a few minutes, I pull out my phone anyway.
Uncle Leven answers on the second ring.“Cass.”
“We’re doing Christmas this year,” I say.“Figured you should be there.”
A pause.“Since when do you give a shit about holidays?”
“I don’t,” I say.“But Atlas wants it.Caleb and Adrian too.”
Another beat of silence.Then, softer, “It’s been twenty years.”
Neither of us says her name.We don’t have to.Uncle Leven says he’ll be there and hangs up without a goodbye.I wouldn’t call us close in the sense that we talk a lot or spend quality time together.But I love my uncle.My brothers, Uncle Leven, and his children are my family, and I’d do anything for them.
