The Sweetest Gift - Scarlett Cole Page 0,26

he already knew he’d received the greatest gift of all.

7

Nik slipped his arm from beneath Jenny and moved to the edge of the bed to sit up. He rubbed a hand over his face then through his hair. His phone told him it was a little after seven in the morning.

Christmas morning.

He had mixed feelings over the day. He and the baby Jesus didn’t speak… heck, he didn’t even believe in God, choosing to focus on the idea that there had to be something bigger than he was, something deeply spiritual that had created the earth and everything on it.

And the great creator was probably a woman.

The day also brought back memories of envy. Envy of knowing his school friends would wake on Christmas morning to find a motherload of gifts waiting for them beneath a lush green tree that smelled of pine in a warm, secure home. Or worse, returning to school in the new year to see everyone comparing gifts.

During his years in foster care, there had been years without gifts, years without heat, and years without even the slightest hint of love or affection.

So, yeah, Christmas really wasn’t a big deal.

The previous year, Jenny had even worked at the group home she ran. She’d gone so far as to suggest he was a grinch in the run-up to the big day as she’d decorated their home and he’d grumbled his way through hanging a million feet of garland and lights.

This year, though, felt different. There was no way in hell he’d ever let Jefferson, Henry, and Charlie face the same Christmas morning agony he’d felt.

He’d started by taking them to Home Depot to pick out the most outrageous decorations for the outside of the house. Jefferson had picked a giant inflatable snow globe with Santa inside it that he took great joy in putting on every evening when he got home from school. Nik had read that kids started to lose their belief in the Santa myth somewhere around eleven, but Jefferson was a hard-core believer.

Seven-year-old Charlie had picked out a projector that projected falling snowflakes onto the outside of the house. The kid would watch with wonder, his brown eyes wide, for hours. He’d make a snow angel and then just lie there looking up at the house, watching the lights, even if real snow was falling around him.

But Henry had been a hard sell. He’d been painfully indifferent. Nik had shown him lights, and reindeers made out of wood, and candy canes to light up the path to the front door, but he’d been resolutely against the idea. No matter how hard Nik had tried, and fuck knew he’d tried every trick in the book to persuade him, he’d refused to pick anything. In the end, Charlie had needed the bathroom, so Nik had picked the candy cane lights for him and rushed them all home because Charlie had refused to use the store bathroom.

In the car on the way home, his heart had broken for them all when Henry had whispered to Jefferson, “You know they aren’t going to let you take the snow globe with you when we leave.”

It was almost eight months to the day since they’d fostered them, but Henry still kept some of his belongings in a backpack by his bedroom door, ready for when he would be moved again.

But he knew Henry wanted to believe in Christmas, to believe in Nik and Jenny. Nik had seen it in the way Henry lovingly ran his hand over the top of every candy cane when he came home from school. And Jenny had caught him sitting by the Christmas tree in the family room with a soft smile on his face as he watched the lights change color. And as they’d driven away in the limo the previous day, he’d watched Henry press his fingers to the window in the direction of the projected snowflakes, only to gruffly look away once he realized he’d been spotted.

The hurt ran deep. Just like it had with him and his brothers. Just like it still did. The occurrences were less as they’d healed themselves and found joy in their lives. But the pain from back then still had the power to slice through them when it raised its ugly head.

Nik pulled on a pair of ridiculous Christmas pajamas that Jenny had insisted they all wear. When they’d gotten home from the rehearsal dinner the previous evening, they’d put them on to write thank-you letters