I have three.
The last one got stuffed in an envelope and sent to hell, but that’s a story for another day.
“Sorry.”
I spin around.
Tam’s there with a plate of ham and cheese stuffed croissants, lightly warmed the way we like them. A peace offering for a row that’s a breath of wind to the fights we’ve survived.
“Don’t be sorry. I know I’m being fucking weird at the moment.”
“What can I do to help you?”
“Nothing.”
“Why? What’s so bad that you can’t tell me about it?”
“It’s not bad—” Fuck, with Galen’s touch branded on my dick, how can anything be fucking bad? “—It’s just complicated, because I’ve made a mess of it. I’ll figure it out, I swear.”
“You can talk to Bhodi if you can’t talk to me. He loves you.”
“I know. I did talk to him.”
Tam’s brows raise, surprise colouring his features. “Well, you can definitely trust him then. He hasn’t said a fucking word.”
“Because heloves me.” I swipe a croissant from the plate and stuff half of it in my mouth. “That’s why his Christmas present is better than yours.”
“As if you’ve bought presents already. It’s not Christmas Eve yet.”
“Shh.”
I wave Tam off. He’s not in the business of letting me, but footsteps on the stairs derail him. The love of his life and the love of mine appear a few seconds later and everything falls right in our world.
Bhodi brings Esme to me and places her in my arms.
“Papa!”
“Mon petit trésor.” I kiss her head. “Did you have fun with your uncles?”
“Oui, papa. Where’s Galen?”
Merde.
Somehow I’ve forgotten she’s asked me that every ten minutes since he left our house on Friday.
I thrust my croissant at her, thankful I’ve raised her to eat like a tiny horse. “Breakfast time.”
She digs in, covering me in flaky crumbs. Tam’s frown is biblical, but Bhodi has my back, leaving me to turn away from their glorious affection to be at one with the Christmas tree again.
Even with Esme’s monstrous decorations, it really is beautiful. Puts the puny one in my house to shame, and I ponder if the reason Tam’s place gets brighter and warmer every year is because it never felt like home until Bhodi lived here too.
I’ve sunk another three croissants before I figure I’m not built for the answer I find to that question. Then I take Esme home, and we spend our Sunday watching Disney films while Ifluctuate between staring at the house through the gap in the trees and fighting to stay awake.
It’s evening when I allow myself to pick up my phone and open FlingIt. Esme’s in bed and I’ve spent an hour proving Tam wrong through buying terrible Christmas presents off the internet and ordering a giant capon that won’t fit in his oven.
I don’t listen to the radio in the house. I have one because whoever lived here before left it behind. But as I settle in my bed with my phone, I find myself turning it on and tuning it to the same station Galen had playing last night.
Fuck, was it only last night?
