I’m vaguely aware of Lincoln lifting me and carrying me to his shower. When he sets me on the tiled bench and washes me carefully, scrubbing every inch of my body and washing and conditioning my hair with precision.
I’m vaguely aware of Beau setting me on the bathroom counter. Of him brushing my hair, then my teeth, before slipping one of their shirts over my head, all while the other three moveabout the bedroom and bathroom, showering and changing the bedding.
I’m vaguely aware of Lawson carrying me to bed, tucking me in beneath the covers, whispering in my ear how good I did and how proud he was of me, before the four of them congregated in the bathroom to brush their teeth with smiles on their faces.
And I’m vaguely aware of Jasper crawling in beside me, pulling me close, threading his hand through my hair, and pressing a soft kiss to the crown of my head. My face finds the steady rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat a rhythm that lulls me toward sleep. I feel Lincoln climb in behind me, followed by Beau next to him murmuring something about not making him the little spoon, and Lawson stretching long at the foot of the bed, his hand grazing up and down my leg with a possessive gentleness that makes my chest ache.
But two things I’m profoundly aware of is how I’m nothing like the woman I was when I got here and how deeply and irrevocably gone I am for every single one of them.
Chapter fifty
Lincoln
Thehouseisstillwhen I wake up, and morning light filters through the windows, catching on the edges of the ornaments as they hang from the tree. There’s something peaceful about the way the sun rises on Christmas morning. Like the world is as ready for happiness and joy as you are.
I pad down the rest of the stairs barefoot, the wood cool beneath my feet, and for a moment, I let myself linger at the bottom step. The fire is already going, the lights on the tree are on, and the blankets and pillows from last night are still strewn about the living room, untouched by Beau and his need to keep everything tidy.
It looks lived-in.
Warm.
Lawson’s already in the kitchen, which explains the tree and the fire. He’s leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee, likely topped with Irish cream—as is tradition. Next to him is a pan of cinnamon rolls, ready to be put in the oven. His sleeves are pushed up, and his hair is still damp from the shower it looks like he took this morning. The smell of sugar, butter,and caffeine hits me, and it pulls a memory loose—Christmas morning when we were kids, our mom humming as she cooked, while Dad hovered as close to her as possible.
Lawson spots me and slides a full mug across the counter. “You sleep?” he asks.
“Like a log,” I respond, taking a deep sip. “You?”
Yep. Plenty of Irish cream.
He snorts softly. “Same.”
I watch my brother for a second. There’s a steadiness to Lawson in the mornings. He uses this time before the rest of the world wakes up to ground himself. To make more sense of it before it starts demanding things from him. It’s when he’s most like my brother instead of my business partner.
I’ve been getting more of my brother back lately, I’ve noticed.
“They still out?” he asks.
“Yeah. We’re gonna need some bigger beds, though.”
He hums in agreement before taking another sip, eyeing me over the rim of his mug. His mouth tips into a small smile before asking, “You okay?”
The image of the three of them still asleep in my room—Abigail asleep in my bed, her hair spread across my pillow, Beau’s arm loose around her waist, Jasper’s knee pressed warm against her calf—tugs at something deep in my chest. Something I wasn’t sure I’d ever get back.
I’m more than okay.
“I am,” I say honestly.
Lawson nods once in agreement before his phone rings from its spot on the counter.
Setting down his coffee, he checks the screen. “It’s Mom.” He immediately answers, putting it on speakerphone and setting it between us. “Merry Christmas, Mama.”
“Lawson,” Mom’s voice comes through bright and warm. “Merry Christmas. Is your brother up?”
I smile even though she can’t see me. “I’m here. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you, too, Sweetheart.
“You guys are up awful early,” Lawson says.
