Santa's Last Gift

by Sandine Tomas

  “I know you do,” Stephanie said, voice soft and high. “But remember I told you how Daddy and I worked out having time with you both when we got divorced. How much we both love you and how we wanted it to be as fair as possible.”

  “But it’s not fair,” Chance complained and Matt’s heart broke.

  “Hey….” He came close and placed a hand on Steph’s shoulder. “I know it seems that way.” His valiant best friend was trembling but not allowing herself to break. “The thing is, you are such special kids that everybody wants to be with you. This time, it’s your daddy’s turn.”

  Chance swallowed and gripped the edge of the sofa cushion. “Brittany was nice to us over the summer. She bought us cotton candy at the fair.”

  “I know you’ll have a good time with your dad and Brittany. You can tell us about all the ornaments on his tree, and what the decorations look like in his town….”

  Matt couldn’t have been prouder of Steph for trying to turn it positive for the girls even as it was killing her.

  Chance’s eyes widened and Matt could see a problem coming. “What about Santa? He won’t know where we are!”

  The tremble in her voice was duplicated by Rowen’s cry of “Santa!” and Matt quickly knelt down in front of them.

  “Have you forgotten?” He smiled as genuinely as he could. “How Santa knows what all the girls and boys want for Christmas? And how he’s got all his clever elves helping him keep track of all the children? Why I bet the Elf on the Shelf is already planning to send a note tonight telling Santa you’ll be at your daddy’s house and to bring your presents there.”

  “You think so, Unc Matt?” Two sets of eyes were putting all their faith in his words.

  “I’m positive.”

  Stephanie enveloped them in a hug, and Matt swallowed convulsively.

  “Okay.” Steph stood. “Grandma’s going to stay with you today. You have a playdate with Darren and Ava later and tonight—”

  “Caroling!” Rowen said.

  Matt ruffled her dark curls. “Yep. And it’s hot apple cider night. Who’s gonna have one?”

  “Me,” Rowen replied with her usual earnestness.

  “When will Ava and Darren come?”

  Cheryl glanced at her watch. “In about forty minutes.”

  Grabbing Rowen’s hand, Chance said, “Let’s go set up a tea party.”

  With the girls upstairs, the adults collapsed on the sofa. It wouldn’t be Christmas without them—he’d gotten so used to sharing the holidays with them all that he didn’t know how he’d get through this. Steph reached sideways and squeezed his hand. “It’ll be okay,” she told him, and he felt bad that he’d made her comfort him when it was she who wouldn’t be spending the holiday with her children.

  “That went as well as we could hope.”

  “They are maturing fast,” Cheryl agreed.

  Steph looked at him. “That was a good save on Santa. I better make sure Ryan has an Elf on the Shelf at his place.”

  “I can send mine,” Matt offered with a twinge. He felt compelled to add, “You didn’t tell them he’s coming Sunday.”

  Steph laughed without humor. “That’s because I’m in denial.” She wrung her hands together. “I’ll tell them later.”

  “It’ll be fine. They do miss him.” Cheryl took each of their hands as she sat between them.

  After a moment Stephanie rose. “I have to get back. I left Seb alone and while he’s a quick study….”

  “Yes. Go.” Cheryl waved at her daughter. “With the twins visiting later, the girls will be fine.”

  Matt knew he should get back to the workshop, work on the auction art. But his heart was like an exposed nerve. “I… I’ll go with you.”

  “Tell Seb to take some time for himself. Steph can cover the rest of the day. It’ll help keep her mind off this,” Cheryl said, her eyes studying Matt as if she also knew how much Matt needed Baz’s company.

  THE relief on Baz’s face as he spotted his sister was comical. He directed his attention to the customer in front of him. “Ah, my sister is back. She can answer your questions about the artist.” They were in the back of the shop where bins held some lithographs and smaller paintings that they sold directly. Most of the artists were art school alum or, in some cases, promising students. He knew that Jackson had sold a number of drawings here.

  Stephanie approached the older woman with a practiced smile. “How can I help you?”

  Baz noticed Matt and raised one brow at whatever he must have seen in Matt’s expression. “Not here. Come out with me?” Matt said quietly.

  Stephanie nodded, so Baz grabbed his jacket from the back and walked out with Matt to the side alley where he’d parked. Matt fell back against the brick wall and thudded his head. Frustration rose like bile. “We told the girls.”

  Brows furrowing, Baz asked, “How’d it go?”

  “Okay, I guess. I mean, Row barely understands and Chance has grown up enough to know that sometimes things change.” That realization saddened Matt down to the marrow.

  “Hey….” Baz drew him closer, starting with a half hug but as Matt melted into him, he held on tight, breathing a warm puff of air near Matt’s ear as Matt struggled with what to say.

  “Fuck,” Matt uttered as his throat closed and his eyes welled. “I can’t even imagine Christmas without the babies.”

  “You haven’t missed many,” Baz whispered.

  “Nope. Ryan and Stephanie were still married for Chance’s second Christmas, but I knew from Steph that it was rough between them. I told her I didn’t want to intrude, that I always spent the holidays by myself anyway. Your mother insisted that we all gather at her house. Wouldn’t hear of my not joining. I think Ryan maybe resented it. I dunno. He wasn’t jealous in the obvious way… but he knew I was on Steph’s side. Always will be.”

  “I remember when she told me she was pregnant with Row.”

  Matt nodded but kept quiet. It had been a difficult time. The pregnancy had been an accident, and it was blindingly clear that a last forced attempt at reconciliation between her and Ryan wasn’t going to work.

  Baz kept speaking in a soft tone. “She said there was no chance for her and Ryan, and I’d asked her how she was going to manage alone. And she said she wasn’t alone. I thought she meant Mom. But now I see it wasn’t only Mom she’d meant.”

  “I love those kids,” Matt rasped, voice hoarse as if passing through glass shards.

  “I know.”

  “I’m supposed to work on the auction art but I just….” He met Baz’s eyes. “Come back to my place?”

  “Sure.”

  Sebastian

  PROBLEM-SOLVING was something that Sebastian considered his strongest skill. Yet the best he could do now was offer comfort or distraction. He planted Matty on the leather sofa and volunteered to pour them both a drink. It was unusual for him to drink anything harder than a beer before evening, but today was an exception.

  A wood cabinet tucked in the corner of Matty’s living room held a well-stocked bar with an open shelf. Seb saw Nolet’s Silver gin, Skyy vodka, Patron tequila. His eyes bugged when he spotted a bottle of Glenmorangie Pride 1981 single malt Scotch. He couldn’t help but whistle.

  Matty heard him. “That back row is Father’s.”

  “Some of these cost thousands.”

  “Yeah. Let’s not open one of those.” Seb laughed. “If you want Scotch,” Matty suggested, “pour us the Glenfiddich.”

  Seb did, admiring the prism tumblers that reflected the sparkles of the tree lights. As he poured, the Scotch glistened like liquid amber.

  Sitting next to Matty, he placed each glass on cork coasters on the oversized coffee table. His hand skimmed the distressed oak.

  He sat back on the cool leather with a soft groan and took a small sip. Fuck, I needed that. His sister’s frustrated, lost face crept behind his eyes whenever he blinked. But worse was Matty’s broken gaze, staring at the glass in his hands, Scotch tilting as he ex
amined it.

  “Matty….”

  Setting the glass down, Matty looked toward him, lips quirking as if seeing Seb here caught him by surprise. “It started in bed, you know.”

  “What did?”

  “You first calling me that.”

  Cheeks flushing, Seb looked down and rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought you were making fun of me when you started calling me Baz. Nobody else did.”

  “I was,” Matty admitted. “A little. Sebastian is so formal.”

  Seb smiled. Matty had never called him anything else after that.

  “Anybody else use my shortened name for you?”

  There had been some others over the years. Seb had always corrected them. Instead of answering, he lifted one shoulder, knowing it was vague but not comfortable explaining himself.

  “Chance always complains that there’s no good way to shorten her name like there is with Rowen.” And just like that the light went out again behind Matty’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” Matty said, “I just can’t imagine….”

  “Don’t be. The situation stinks. I’ll miss them too.”

  That earned him an inscrutable stare. He wondered if Matty was thinking about all the holidays he’d missed before. But that wasn’t fair. Being there for his mom and Steph required excelling at his job. In his field that had meant working around the holidays. The disturbing thought that while Seb had stepped up, Matty had stepped in, must have done something to his face because Matty frowned and he took another slow sip. “I should be working on the piece for the auction.”

  Palming his thighs, Seb asked, “Do you want me to go?”

  “God, no.” Seb warmed at the adamant reply.

  Going on instinct Seb pressed his back to the sofa’s arm and opened his legs in a wide V. “C’mere.”

  Matty shuffled until he was settled between Seb’s legs, back against his chest. Seb rested his hand on Matty’s belly, fingertips scratching the well-worn fabric of his hoodie. After a moment, Matty wriggled. Shifting forward, he pulled the hoodie off, leaving him in a thin black T-shirt. “Too many layers,” he offered as explanation.

  As the Scotch settled low in his belly, Seb shrugged off his own top shirt. Matty’s riot of deep brown waves tickled his chin. He smelled of apples and cucumber, which should have clashed but didn’t. Matt’s hand clasped his forearm, fingers sifting through the soft hairs. “This is nice,” he said. “I never—” A soft snort escaped. “Being still isn’t easy for me.”

  “I know.”

  He squeezed Matty a little tighter because there wasn’t a truer statement between them. Holding on to Matty had been this impossible dream ten years ago, like attempting to keep a snowman from melting or dandelion down from scattering. He’d been seventeen years old that Christmas, and he wanted to ask Santa for one last gift.

  Loosening his grip, he leaned sideways to pick up the tumbler and take a slow swallow. He’d learned fast that wishes didn’t always come true; after Christmas break, Matthew Starr had been laughing with another boy in the school hallway, waving his arms and tripping over himself as if the space was too small to contain him.

  “Chance and Rowen changed me,” Matty said, breaking Seb out of his negative spiral. “They need the kind of undivided attention I didn’t know I could give to anything that wasn’t clay. My ADHD’s always made it hard to focus. I have to say, my mother did handle that well. She pressed until I had a formal diagnosis instead of ending up labeled as a problem student.”

  He shifted as if talking about the ADHD was making him restless. Matty’s wriggle pressed against Seb’s groin and warmth flared.

  “Hello!” Matty chirped, twisting his neck to look at Seb and raising one eyebrow.

  “Shut up.” Seb ducked his head and Matty’s hair tickled his nose. It felt like falling into an apple orchard, sweet and tart and springy. Leaning forward, he kissed him. It was awkward at this angle and he was afraid that Matty would get the worst neck crick if he remained that way, but then Matty’s mouth opened and his tongue tickled Seb’s and he stopped caring.

  With a ninja move, Matty spun and straddled him on the sofa, trapping Seb between his thighs and wrapping his arms around Seb’s neck, drawing them together with a long sigh. They made out slowly and languorously, ebbing back and forth with aching explorations. God, it was so good, the feel of Matty against his chest, the tender, unhurried slide of lips and tongue, saliva and breath mingling with gentle swipes and baby thrusts. That first heat of blood between his legs didn’t get past the tingling stage. He could do this all night and it would be enough. Would mean so much more because he wanted this closeness, the shared air and synchronous heartbeats.

  Matty was on top, sitting on Seb’s lap, but the rocking stayed so gentle, as if Matty thought Seb was fragile… more than that… special, sacred, revered, because he didn’t think Matty was holding back. He thought Matty wanted this tenderness. Seb’s lips traced the hollows of Matty’s cheekbones, trailing the curves of his ears, and rasping afternoon scruff against his temples. Drawing Matty even closer, he ran his fingers through the soft waves of his hair.

  Shadows filled the room with slanted gold outlines. The white holiday lights reflected the glass baubles hanging on the tree. Matty and the girls must have decorated it last night. It combined an eclectic mix of elegant gold and silver balls that clearly belonged to Matty’s mother with a mismatched array of homemade paper and pom-pom and pipe cleaner decorations. He spotted Rowen and Chance’s baby faces in popsicle-stick frames painted with ragged red stripes.

  He couldn’t help but think of the tree in his mother’s house, sporting similar decorations and sharing the same heart. His own was beating wildly now as Matty’s steady rocking rhythm drew pleasure that burrowed deep in his veins.

  Sucking air back into his lungs, Matty nibbled Seb’s earlobe, causing him to shiver. “I’m so glad you’re here. I think I hadn’t realized that I’d missed you.” The words were a whisper, but they pressed into his heart as if Matty had carved his thoughts directly into Seb’s body.

  “I’m glad too.” He pressed his lips to Matty’s.

  Neither said it but both knew Sunday would be torture. “Tonight’s the caroling. So I thought I’d make us spaghetti and meatballs again for dinner tomorrow night. You’ll be there, right?”

  “Where else would I be? It’s home.”

  Seb hung on tight after those two last words. Home. He hadn’t felt like he had one of those in years. His Manhattan apartment was where he slept between events. Shaking himself, he breathed into Matty’s shoulder, nuzzling the soft skin of his neck. Now that the London business was settled, he’d started thinking about that four-hour drive separating him from Fir Falls and everyone he loved.

  He forced himself to focus. One problem at a time. He wasn’t yet resigned to surrendering the girls to Ryan. It hurt too much to think of the pain in his family’s eyes.

  Matty pulled back then, and his eyes were red although Seb didn’t think he’d cried. “I’m a mess,” he said, swiping at the hair that Seb had been combing through. He widened his eyes, passing over Seb’s face. “And you’re perfect.”

  “My hair’s shorter.” Matty laughed and Seb blinked at him.

  “We need to go listen to some Christmas carols. The Santa Clara choir is making a special appearance tonight.”

  “Really?”

  “Mm-hm.” Matty kneed himself backward till he could stand, groaning a little as the blood circulated through his legs.

  “I booked them for an event once. They are amazing. Like singing angels.” Considering they’d pierced his automatic disdain for Christmas music, Seb looked forward to sharing the experience with his family. Nothing would make what was going to happen on Sunday better, but maybe they could be carried by the music for a little while tonight.

  Affection skated over Matty’s face before he looked away as if he hadn’t wanted Seb to notice. He’s adorable, Seb thought before the Stephanie voice in his head chuckled and helpfully
reminded him what adore meant.

  Chapter Eleven

  SEB stood side-by-side with Matty, his mother, and Stephanie as they listened to the crystal clear voices of the Santa Clara singers. Their songs were a diverse mix of Christmas carols from all over the world performed with ethereal harmonies.

  Before each one, they explained its origins. The sang “The Wexford Carol,” one of the oldest known carols from Ireland, Johan Sebastian Bach’s “Magnificat” and “Gloria Patri” and the Spanish carol “Campana sobre Campana.” Rowen was a warm weight on his shoulders, her pointy chin resting atop his head. As the evening progressed, he switched with Matty and now Chance was piggyback with her mittened hands clasping his cheeks. Chance was more fidgety than her sister, and Seb had to keep shifting her around on his back to keep her weight evenly distributed as he held on to her thin thighs.

  Not appreciating the less familiar tunes the same way he did, after a few songs they clamored for apple cider. He, Matty, and the girls made their way to the refreshment stand together and got everyone a cup with a cinnamon stick to swirl around.

  Accepting the proffered cup, his mother used her free hand to wave at the choir, her blue eyes beaming at him. “They are amazing.”

  Seb nodded his agreement.

  After taking a sip and smacking her lips with delight, Steph said, “The girls like our local group better, mostly because then they can sing along.” Her face saddened. “They’ll miss the official singalong next Friday. I won’t have the heart to come without them.”

  It was said low so Chance and Rowen couldn’t hear, but Seb still squeezed Chance’s hand to the point that she looked up at him quizzically.

  Matty met his eyes before asking Row if she wanted to hop back on his shoulders. The little girl indicated she had to finish her apple cider first. With everyone distracted Seb leaned into Matty. “Hey. You okay?”

  Matty observed the scene, eyes landing on the choir, Steph and Cheryl, and finally down at the girls still sipping from their paper cups, noses nudging the cinnamon sticks, before meeting Seb’s gaze.