I let my arm stretch out along the back of the couch so Ican brush my fingers gently through Honey’s hair. Having to pretend nothing is going on is hard when all I want to do is touch her. When everything feels better when I’m connected to her.
I almost want to laugh when I take in the scene—I’m Sawyer Nash, the cowboy with no fear, PBR World Champion, and I’m watching Christmas movies in the most hideous pyjamas, and I fucking love it.
It feels too good to be true, in a way. I can’t help but wonder what I’ve done to deserve this. I’m so used to running from anything like this so it can’t run from me first. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a part of me that’s been readying to find Honey and Noah gone one day—the only woman I’ve ever loved remembering that my broken pieces were too jagged for the soft life she desires. Too dangerous for her sweet son. But the universe really made sure I couldn’t run this time—literally and figuratively—by sending a bull’s hooves down on my leg. And I’m not so sure I mind.
Especially when Noah shuffles around on the couch and turns, snuggling himself into my side and letting his head rest against my chest. As if it’s the most normal thing ever. As if we’ve always done this.
At first, I don’t know what to do and my body goes rigid. But when he shifts again, trying to get comfortable, my next move almost hits me like an instinct—I tuck him into me further and hold him there, giving him the stability he needs. I’ll give him whatever he needs, really. He deserves the world and more.
And when his little fingers clutch at my pyjama shirt, and he lets out the most content sigh in response, I decide I’ve made the right decision.
I chance a glance at Honey, to see if she’s noticed, but her eyes are on the screen. Even so, there’s an unmoving smile gracing her lips that says enough, even as she sips her drink. It fills me with the warmest of pride and has me checking back down at Noah to make sure he’s happy. His eyelids flutter, the cosiness and low light of the room likely lulling him toward sleep, even as he tries to fight it, and soon he’s snoring against my chest until the end of the movie.
I spend far too much of the movie watching him sleep peacefully against me, marvelling at how I’ve managed to be a sense of comfort for him. At the intense way I want this every night—our little family, maybe with a few more pattering feet one day.
32
Honey
My mom and Sawyer clean up everything from dinner while I put Noah to bed, grateful the movie had him falling asleep so he wasn’t up too late, all excited for Christmas. Once I came back downstairs, my mom announced she was heading up to bed as well, sleeping in one of the guest rooms. Though, I doubt she’s that tired given she slept through most of the movie. She’s always been terrible at staying awake while watching movies—must be where Noah gets it from.
I finish tidying up the couch, folding up the blankets and making sure the cushions all look neat. Lightness breezes through my mind, likely from the brandy in the eggnog I probably had a few too many cups of. All that’s left now is to put out the fire, get the place looking like Santa has visited, stuff Noah’s stocking with presents, and finally head to bed. I need all the sleep I can get if Noah’s going to be up early tomorrow. Plus, I’ll need to make sure everything’s ready for Gray staying.
Sawyer hovers in the kitchen, moving things around onthe counters as if he’s searching for something to do, even though everything has been cleared up. He’s hardly said a word since I came back down, somewhat withdrawn and not seeking me out like I expected. He’s probably tired—it’s been a long day full of a lot of festive activities he usually wouldn’t do, I suppose. Still, it was impossible not to notice the joy blazing from him through the film when Noah was snuggled up to him.
‘Did you want to help make snow footprints to the tree?’ I suggest, trying to grab his attention.
‘Sure.’ He shrugs and trudges around the kitchen island. I block his path to the door though, leaning against the counter, and his jaw tightens as he takes me in.
‘Hey, what’s up?’ I ask, placing a hand against his chest. He’s hot to touch, heartrate fast under my hand.
‘Nothing.’ He looks anywhere but me.
My hand climbs to his face, cupping his cheek and pulling his gaze back to me. This time, I catch the hardness of his eyes, the anguish there. ‘Sawyer, you can tell me.’
His voice is clipped. ‘It’s stupid. It doesn’t matter.’
Maybe I misread his reaction earlier and Noah snuggling up to him was a little too far out of his comfort zone.
‘I’m sorry if tonight was a bit much,’ I say, hoping I can pull him back since I know all these family traditions, cosy nights in with a kid, it’s not very Sawyer. It never has been. It’s been so good these last six weeks though, I don’t want to ruin it now.
‘Yeah, it was a lot,’ he admits, my stomach dropping. Sawyer exhales sharply. ‘The pyjamas, snuggling on the couch together, just doing all this family stuff—fuck, it means so much to me.’ He runs his fingers through his hair,pulling at the strands. ‘I’ve never … felt like I was part of something, a family, until you guys came along.’
Oh. My heart aches for him and I wrap my arms around his neck. ‘But that’s good, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah but it also makes me angry because …’ He sighs, shoulders dropping with defeat. ‘Because it’s not true. I’m not your family—I’m not Noah’s dad. I’m not good enough for that. For either of you.’
My heart cracks. ‘Sawyer, of course you are.’
‘You know how badly I wish that was true? To hear him call me dad or daddy? To hear you say it?’
Okay, there was definitely more brandy in that eggnog than I realised because instead of focusing on his sweet sentiments, I find myself too humoured by his last comment and suddenly emboldened enough to tease, ‘You want me to call youDaddy?’
Sawyer’s jaw tenses, a muscle feathering as his eyes darken, all that agony from seconds ago wiped away. The flickering fire is the only light in the house, and its glow catches all his hard edges, emphasising how rigid he’s gone. The strong grasp he has against the edge of the island suddenly.
Does he … like it? That’s a thing for some guys, isn’t it?
My giggle bubbles out of me. ‘Oh my God. You like it when I call you that?Daddy?’