Knight was totally f**king full of shit.
Not about the part where he didn’t give a shit about holidays. He probably didn’t.
He gave a shit about his girls and he’d do anything that would make them happy. Even eat red, white and blue M&Ms and take them to see fireworks.
“Kara!” he called. “You wanna give your Dad a hand?”
“Be right there, Dad!” she called back.
Translation: She’d get off the phone when the turkey was on the table.
He turned his head and pinned his eyes on Sylvie.
“Baby? Preparations are coming to a head. You gonna help out?”
She had her hand on her enormous, again pregnant belly and her eyes on him.
When he stopped speaking, her mouth moved to say, “Who did you marry?”
No help there.
“I’ll help, Tucker,” Anya offered.
“Me too,” Charlene pushed up from the couch.
Creed looked back at Sylvie and lifted his brows.
She grinned and leaned down to snatch Kasha up in her arms and give her a snuggle.
Right.
Again.
No help there.
Knight moved out of the room and as he did, he tagged Rayleigh, swung her up in the air and made her laugh.
No help there either.
A miracle occurred when, fifteen minutes before the food would be set on the table, Kara got off the phone and joined them in the kitchen.
Seventeen minutes after that, the table was covered in food and surrounded by people, some of the kids were sitting on stools at the bar, others were in highchairs.
It was not surprising when Brand piped up and asked for a chance to run his mouth.
“Dad, can I say the blessing?”
Creed jerked up his chin. “Have at it, son.”
Brand, Anya and Charlene all looked to their laps.
Sylvie’s eyes went to Creed.
“Dear God,” Brand started. “Thanks for health and food and family and friends. Oh, and love, I guess. Amen.”
Creed’s firstborn son lifted his head and reached immediately for the potatoes.
Creed watched Sylvie’s shoulders start shaking.