Page 51 of One Night with Number Nineteen

So, instead of fighting it, I’ve given in.

“Mom, it’s Santa!” Ollie cries, jerking at my hand. “Can I go see him?”

I nod and trail him over to the gaggle of kids surrounding Saint Nick, once again, marveling at how much my little guy has blossomed in just the last few months. Before Ben died, and in the months after, I truly worried if I’d ever hear him speak more than a few words in public at a time again.

With all the doctors’ visits and the stress of taking care of him, I watched him draw into himself, fade into the background, and I didn’t do a good enough job at making him feel seen.

Logically, I know I was just barely surviving myself, but I hate that any of our family’s struggle touched him.

In moments like this—as I watch him run toward something fun and loud and potentially overwhelming—the guilt quiets a little.

He’s been through too much, lost too much.

But he’s here and he’s thriving and he’s resilient.

That’s enough for right now.

I exhale, mentally nod, and then reach him just in time to give the approval for the face paint he wants.

By the time he’s transformed into a grizzly bear, puck drop is approaching so we head for the box and our friends inside.

“Alex!” Ollie says, rushing forward with a growl. “I’m a bear!”

Alex smiles good-naturedly. “I see that.” He has his father’s—Axel Finnegan, who plays for the Gold—trademark grin.

“Do you want to get your face painted too?”

“Uh, no, bud,” he says gently. “I’m going to my dad’s late tonight so probably won’t have time to shower before bed.”

We’ll likely be up late tonight too.

RIP Ollie’s pillowcase and sheets.

Or maybe RIP the additional laundry I’ll be doing on Christmas Day.

Now, it’s a mental shrug I give myself.

Holidays are gonna holiday.

“Is your dad playing tonight?” I ask.

He nods. “Mom’s gonna drop me off at the Gold Mine”—the fans’ nickname for their arena—“after this game is done.”

“A full day of hockey.” I smile at him because the kid is completely sports crazy. “That sounds fun.”

He smiles back. “It is.”

“Alex?” Veronica calls.

“If I don’t see you later,” I say when he hesitates. “Have fun at your dad’s game tonight.”

“Thanks!” He walks over to his mom and I watch as she introduces him to a boy around his age.

“That’s Nate,” Luna says quietly, bouncing Reese on her shoulder. She nods at a petite, curvy redhead standing just a few feet away. “Josie—Vi’s assistant at Blue Line Matchmaking—just adopted him.” She leans closer, voice dropping further. “He lost his dad too.”

I suck in a breath, heart hurting for the kiddo whose expression is carefully blank, but whose eyes positively radiate hurt. “Damn.”

“I know,” she says. “But Bri and Alex have him.”