I’m genuinely baffled how Charlotte ever got a moment to herself before coming to stay with us. Perhaps she didn’t, unless he was asleep. That’s a sobering thought, and it makes it easier to understand why she’s struggling.
Malachy’s claiming bite on her neck taunts me with the distance between us. Although, it also signals to my instincts that she’s ours. And Jesus fuck, do I ever want to make her mine.
Even watching her smile at her kid as she lifts him out of his high chair thingy makes my chest feel some type of way.Something is seriously fucked in my head because my brain chooses this exact moment to conjure images of her big and round and pregnant with baby number two.
“We’ve got to wash your hands, do bath and bedtime, and get you to sleep before Santa makes his rounds. If you’re awake, he won’t stop,” Charlotte says, lying her ass off.
“I don’t mind,” Lucky says with more enthusiasm than I’ve felt about anything in years. “I can shut my eyes. He won’t know.”
I chuckle.
I had no idea children could string so many sentences together at such a young age. His pronunciations occasionally make me stop and think because I’m not sure what he means, but we’re successfully able to communicate around ninety percent of the time.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but we have a tradition in this house.” Cormac shoves himself out of his chair, making his way into the kitchen. “I’m going to get you a washcloth for your hands. Then I have one gift for each of us.”
My head tilts.
What traditions do we have?
It’s been so long since we’ve done more than give Miriam gifts that I spend the entire time he’s wetting the rag thinking about what he could mean.
I snort as it dawns on me. “You didn’t.”
Cormac chuckles as he makes his way back to the table. “I did, but don’t ruin the surprise.”
We spread out around the living room, and I fight an unreasonable amount of jealousy when Malachy pulls Charlotte to sit in his lap in one of the club chairs.
To a certain extent, I get it. I’d be selfish with her if I could, and I understand that they’re just settling into their bond. That doesn’t make me want to stab Malachy any less.
Cormac hands out the packages, but rather than opening mine, I pull my phone from my pocket to snap pictures of Lucky as he tears into his box.
Though I might currently be battling a ridiculous level of animosity toward my oldest brother, I still take pictures of him and Charlotte. We’ll want to remember our first Christmas as a pack.
Lucky squeals, then frowns. “It’s clothes.”
Cormac laughs. “It’s matching pajamas for the five of us. They’ve already been washed. We’ll wear them to bed tonight and we’ll all match in our pictures tomorrow.”
“Oh,” Lucky says, pulling the long sleeve pajama top from the box. “It’s fine, I guess.”
Charlotte frowns, leaning forward to point at her son. “What do you say when someone gives you a gift?”
“Thanks, Cormac,” he says.
“I forgot that your mom used to do this every Christmas,” Malachy says.
“Me too,” I agree, lost to the onslaught of memories. She was very different before her addiction took hold. It’s always difficult not to blame my fathers, but I know the blame lies equally on her. She knew they’d already lost one wife to suicide due to their philandering ways. She just believed she could change them. In reality, no one could becausetheyhad no desire to.
Charlotte raises a hand, crooking a finger at Cormac. He hops off the couch, making his way over to the chair she and Mal are in.
“He’s a tough crowd, but I absolutelylovethis gift. I hope we can continue this every year.” She grabs him by the front of his T-shirt, pulling him down for a quick kiss.
“Eww, Mommy, don’t do that.” Lucky tosses his box aside and runs across the room, shoving Cormac out of the way as my brother pulls back from their kiss. “Pick me up,” he says, trying to hoist himself into her lap. “Why you kissed him?”
Malachy stretches an arm down, helping the boy up.
“I kissed him because I like him,” Charlotte says, hugging her son.
“I like him too, but no more kisses,” Lucky says, pouting.
