I kissed him, a soft brush of lips, mindful that I had drunk enough vodka to compromise my restraint. “I have always wanted to stay, if that helps.”
Cam hummed against my mouth. “Everything about you helps. I wouldn’t be here without you.”
Now that, I had no trouble believing, but I did not want to think about all the ways he could’ve died in the last decade. My Christmas spirit had never been born, but it was not the day for maudlin thoughts. “Who did you draw in the secret Santa?”
“Ranger.”
“What did you get him?”
“You’ll have to wait and see.”
Or not, as it turned out. Rubi gave Nash a set of neon-pink underpants with #daddykinkemblazoned on the back. With children in the room, the joke was short-lived, and I reached into my pocket for the small velvet box I’d carried all day.
Ivy rushed to snatch it from me and deliver it to our matriarch.
Orla grinned, opening the box. “Brother, you are too kind.”
I was not. In truth, this ritual bemused me, and the rules, a price-limited gift or a heartfelt gesture—which explained Saint’s fabled purchase of a one-way plane ticket for Cracker Delaney—had proved inconvenient when I’d drawn Orla’s name. I did not care for rules. And I would only ever serve one queen. So I bought Orla diamonds and ignored Rubi’s huffing and almost missed the handwritten note Cam passed to Ranger.
Ranger read the scrawled words. Then he folded the note and stuffed it in his pocket. “Ta very much.”
That was it, and the nomad was unmoved by the silence that followed, leaving me to study Cam’s wry grin and wonder what my kind-hearted biker boy had done.
Liliana nudged her step-father with her sharp elbow. “Dad, give River his.”
Embry obliged. An iron forged coin with the number of days River had abstained from his ketamine habit carved into it.
“Look at that.” Rubi drew River to his side and kissed him. “Fucking best days of my life.”
Mine too, or maybe it was the vodka. Either way, I was relieved that it was time to turn the lights down, put a ridiculous film on, and be quiet.
I gave up my seat on the couch to Rubi.
Viktor moved for Cam and went outside. Ranger followed. I looked for Saint and found him in an armchair, Ivy dozing against him while Liliana had curled up with Mateo.
Hope was the only child awake, playing with a bowl of pink sand under Nash’s care while Orla and Locke slept on the other couch.
I expected Cam and Rubi to nap too—they had barely sat down all day. But they bickered about the stupid film instead, reciting a script I recognised from Rubi’s vernacular.
Good journey.
But was it over?
It did not feel so.
The hour grew late. More food came out. More singing, and the unsurprising discovery that Folk Whitlock was a card shark to rival the nomad’s precious babushka.
Ranger gave Rubi his present as consolation for his loss.
Another scrawled note.
Rubi read it and hooted with laughter. “I’ll fucking hold you to that. And bring Vicky.”
I glanced at Viktor.
He shrugged. “An IOU. For Asher to attend Rubi’s yoga classes?—”
“Oneclass.” Ranger folded his long body back to the spot on the carpet he’d occupied most of the day. “And you’re definitely fucking coming.”