Page 126 of Meant for Mayhem

“Me or him?”

“Both, honestly. This is either about to be the most hilarious or cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I haven’t decided yet.”

“Dada!” Leena cried out from the backseat, reaching toward us. “Mo Dada!”

Mikko grabbed a few cheese snacks from the jar in the cupholder, then reached back and handed Leena a few more. “What do you say?”

She spat out a variety of sounds that vaguely resembled thank you, but she said it so often, we’d decided it was good enough. Speech wasn’t always about pronunciation—encouraging opportunities to talk and giving her the chance to try it on her own had worked wonders with Leena in the three months we’d been together.

I smiled at Mikko, the hurt my family had caused me fading a little. “She’s doing so good.”

He put his arm on the center console, hand upturned. I put mine in his, lacing our fingers together. “A Christmas miracle.”

The assisted living facility had decorated for the holidays a few weeks ago, every corner filled with reminders that family was supposed to come together this time of year. A Christmas tree sparkled beside the fireplace, a menorah sat on the credenza beneath framed photos from the resident's holiday party, and paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling, each one perfectly imperfect the way only handmade decorations were. The lobby buzzed with visitors carrying gifts and food, grandchildren weaving between walkers while Christmas music drifted softly through the speakers overhead.

My brothers' messages crept back into the front of my mind—Dad's spending today alone.

Guilt had always been their favorite Christmas present.

I shoved my phone into my purse before I could make the mistake of reading the messages again.

"Ready?" I asked.

Mikko adjusted Leena higher on his hip. "Lead the way."

We made our way down the familiar hallway, residents calling out greetings as we passed. Walt's room sat at the end of the hall, his door cracked open enough for voices to spill into the corridor.

I slowed.

That was unusual.

I’d asked Walt what his holiday plans were at our last session, and he’d said he was spending Christmas Eve alone. That hadn’t sat right with me, which spoke volumes considering I knew my father was also alone and I was here instead.

I knocked lightly against the doorframe before peeking inside. "Merry Chri⁠—"

The words died in my throat when I spotted two men inside with him. I instantly recognized them from their photos on the wall, both turning toward the doorway at the sound of my voice.

“Eh? Who’s there?” Walt said, far quieter than I liked to hear.

I looked at Mikko, feeling out of place, but he pushed the door open further until we were in view.

“Shannon?” Walt said, his hands shaking hard on top of the blanket over his lap. “What are you doing here?”

I held up a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies I’d baked this morning. “Came by to see my favorite Scrooge.”

Walt’s older son, Grant, laughed. “He makes a good Scrooge. Come on in.”

The moment Mikko entered the room behind me, I knew it. I didn’t have to turn around to see he’d followed me—Walt’s eyes went wide, then his sons’ next to them.

“You’re Mikko Laaksonen, right?” his younger son, Owen, said. “Dad, that’s Mikko Laaksonen.”

“I know who he is, dammit. I’m old, not blind.”

Mikko grinned, Leena hiding her face in his shoulder. “I had to meet the other man in my wife’s life, Walt.”

Walt’s chest puffed up at that, his shoulders rolled back. “She talks about me?”

“Every week.”