47. Patrick

Mom's cheese casserole turned out to be more of a quiche. Made with two or three different cheeses—one in a tiny bottle I'd never seen before—bacon, eggs, white bread, and a few ingredients I missed because I was getting coffee, that dish might've been the best thing I'd ever put in my mouth.

Okay, it was the best thing I'd put in my mouth since two a.m.

"God, this is so good," I moaned.

"I seem to recall hearing something of the sort last night across the field." Grady batted his lashes and steepled his fingertips.

I sat frozen, a forkful of cheesy goodness halfway to my mouth. Dane tensed beside me. Mom's brows rose.

Robert, in classic Robert fashion, blundered into the brick wall. "You have sex in the barn or something?"

My fork dropped. Mom blinked. Grady giggled with glee.

And Dane …

Dane put his arm around my shoulder and said, "Yeah, we did. Got a problem with it?"

I knew he hadn't meant it as a threat or anything harsh. He was just making a point. But the way Grady's face fell and his fingers stilled was worth all the corn in Kansas. Mom and I burst out laughing, while Robert and Grady blanched. Dane smiled the smuggest smile ever.

After breakfast, the pack moved back into the den where the rest of the presents waited under the tree. Santa had indeed been busy overnight. The milk left for him on the end table was gone, and a giant bite had been taken out of his cookie. Yet another Walker tradition that lived on—and might've been the cutest one yet.

Clothes, books, and random goodies were unwrapped, and each recipient displayed the appropriate amount of feigned surprise and delight.

When two unopened gifts remained, Dane turned to me. "You want to go first?" he asked.

I nodded.

All eyes watched as I leaned down, retrieved a gift, then turned and handed it to Mom.

Her eyes flew wide. "Oh, Patrick, you shouldn't have gotten me anything!"

It was the first genuine surprise of the morning. I beamed.

"Of course I should. If you call me one of your boys, that makes you one of my moms, which means you get presents."

Grady poked Dane's arm with a finger and whispered, again too loud, "I like this one. You better not fuck this up."

Dane smiled at his brother and said, "You're right. I better not."

I thought my heart might burst.

Mom carefully unwrapped her box, claiming she'd save the paper for future holidays, despite CVS selling rolls of the stuff for pennies on the dollar the day after Christmas. When she opened the small box and saw what lay inside, her hand flew to her mouth and began to tremble.

"I hope this isn't too personal. Dane told me—"Mom set the box down and fell into my arms so fast I barely had time to think, much less catch her. Tears moistened my shoulder as she sobbed. "Patrick, thank you. Oh, thank you.""What the hell did he give her?" Robert asked.

Grady shrugged and squinted to see.

Mom finally released me and held the box out for all to see.

Inside, cradled in silk, was an open locket. On one side was a picture of her—Ana—when she was eighteen. On the other side was Isaiah, smiling shyly and wearing overalls. He looked a year or two older.

"Where did you find these?" she asked, lifting the locket with the reverence of a religious relic.

"Dane helped. I just … wanted to do something special … you know, for our first Christmas."

Mom blinked tears away and smiled. "This is so beautiful. Thank you, Patrick. I love it."

A moment of peace—a very brief moment—was shattered by Grady. "Way to blow the curve, dude."

We were still laughing and chatting when Dane tapped me on the arm. "There's one more," he said, holding a box no bigger than Mom's toward me. His hand shook beneath the wrapping.

I looked from the box to Dane, and he struggled to maintain eye contact.

Mom sucked in a sharp breath and the room froze—the whole world froze.

Dane looked up and, with a tiny smile, said, "Go on. Open it."

Now my hand shook as I fumbled with the paper, trying to do the same "perfect removal so I can reuse it" routine Mom had just pulled. Halfway through, I gave up and ripped the paper off, revealing a beautiful sky-blue box.

I looked up at Dane, then back at the box.

Slowly, I pried the lid open.

Sudden movement drew my gaze. Dane was kneeling before me.

I looked back at the box. Pillowed in silky blue, two rings of perfect gold shone in the Christmas lights of the tree.

My breath caught. I looked back at Dane.

"Patrick, I'm fucking scared to death—like, running into a fire would scare me less. I lost you once, and why doesn't matter anymore. If I've learned anything over this past year, it's that I can't lose you again. Not ever. Not for a single day. I love you so much it hurts. I love you so much I want to be your everything. You're already mine. Marry me, please." He paused a moment, and something passed in his eyes. Then he added, "Sir."

An ugly cry mixed with hysterical laughter as I threw my arms around him. "Yes! God, yes! A thousand times yes."

Mom's hands found my back, then I felt her body press against me. Then the weight of Robert joined hers, then Grady.

When the moment eased and the brothers rose, Mom refused to let go. She squeezed Dane and me, then kissed my cheek and I caught her whisper, "My Walker boys."

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