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20. Markus

CHAPTER 20

Markus

My office was silent except for the hum of the heater. I pulled my phone from my pocket, thumb hovering over the screen before pressing Leah’s name. With the speakerphone on, I placed the phone on my desk and leaned back in my chair.

She picked up on the first ring.

“Markus! What’s this? A call from my elusive big brother?” Her teasing tone carried that signature sarcasm.

“Spare me the guilt trip,” I shot back, a smile tugging at my lips. “I’m on my lunch break.”

“Ah, that explains it. You’re bored and lonely.”

The corner of my mouth twitched. “How’s San Francisco?”

“Expensive. Crowded. Beautiful. You know the drill.”

Before I could reply, Mom’s voice cut in, loud and dramatic as ever. “Is that Markus? Leah, let me talk to my son!”

There was a shuffle, then her voice came through louder. “Markus! You better not be skipping meals again. I’ve told you before, doctors are the worst patients. You looked thin in that last picture you sent.”

“I’m eating, Mom,” I said, eyeing my half-eaten sandwich on the desk. “A very nutritious sandwich.”

“Nutritious?” she shot back. “What’s in it?”

I sighed, leaning closer as if she could somehow sense the sandwich through sheer maternal intuition. “Turkey.”

“And?”

“Mayo. Cheese.”

She sighed like I’d confessed to a crime. “No vegetables? Markus, you can’t live on bread and cold cuts. What kind of doctor are you?”

Leah’s laugh crackled through the speaker. “He’s a single one, Mom. That’s why his diet’s so tragic.”

I rolled my eyes, glancing at the sandwich like it had personally betrayed me. “Glad to see you two have teamed up against me,” I muttered, though my lips twitched in a reluctant smile.

“How’s it at Juniper Haven?”

“Juniper Hollow,” I corrected.

“Hollow? Even the name sounds lonely. You need someone to fill that place up, Markus. I’m telling you.”

Leah snorted in the background. “Don’t worry, Mom. He can’t wait for you to visit. Right, Markus?”

I choked on my laughter. “I can’t wait,” I deadpanned.

“Oh, I’d love to visit! Maybe for Easter. Yes, that sounds perfect. Leah, make a note. Easter in Juniper Hollow. Now, let me tell you both what I found at the thrift store today?—”

“Mom, the kids are too quiet,” Leah interrupted, a trace of mischief in her tone. “I think they’re destroying your Christmas village.”

“Those little monsters!” The sound of her hurried footsteps followed. “Chris!” she called, referring to my brother-in-law, Leah’s husband. “Keep an eye on them! They’re tearing apart Bethlehem!”

“Thank God.” The sound of Leah’s voice shifted—closer, clearer, evidence that she’d switched off the speakerphone. “Mom will be busy now for at least ten minutes. You’re welcome.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “You’re evil.”

“Efficient,” she corrected. She paused. “So, seriously, have you met anyone?”

I tensed, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms. “Define ‘met.’”

“Markus!”

“There’s… someone,” I admitted, my throat tight.

Her voice softened. “Tell me about him.”

“Nicholas. He’s nothing like Josh.”

“Hallelujah! Is he cute?”

“He’s more than that,” I muttered, rubbing my jaw. “He’s… incredible. Strong, selfless, stubborn as hell. He’s been through so much, but he doesn’t let it show. He takes care of everyone but won’t let anyone take care of him. And he’s smart, too.”

Her silence was loaded, giving me the space to continue.

“I want to be there for him. Give him what he’s probably never had. Security. Affection. A place to feel safe.” I hesitated, my chest tightening. “But he’s scared of what I want. He thinks it’s too much, or maybe I’m too much.”

“What is it that you want?” Her question came softly, without judgment.

I stared at the window, the snow outside blanketing the world in white. “To be his Daddy.”

The words hung heavy in the air, my heart thundering as I waited for her response.

“That’s not weird, you know, in case you’re wondering if that’s on my mind,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact.

I blinked. “It’s not?”

“No. It’s… sweet, actually. You want to take care of someone in a way that’s meaningful to both of you. That’s not weird, Markus. That’s love.”

“It’s more complicated than that.” My throat felt dry. “He’s not ready. And I don’t know if he ever will be.”

“Do you love him?”

The question hit me like a freight train. I exhaled shakily. “I… don’t know. Maybe.”

She let out a soft laugh. “Markus Webber, unsure of something. That’s a first.”

“Leah!”

“All I’m saying is don’t give up on him just because he’s scared. If he’s as incredible as you say, if he’s worth the effort, go after him.”

I glanced at my watch, my stomach knotting. “I’ve got to go. The Christmas party’s about to start.”

“All right, big bro; we’ll talk.”

Her words stayed with me long after I ended the call.

String lights draped across the rec room, their golden hues reflecting off vintage glass ornaments. A towering pine tree stood at the center, its branches heavy with wooden toy soldiers, faded angels, and decades-old keepsakes. "Some of these ornaments have been around longer than me," Terri had said earlier with a grin. At the very top, a wobbly tinsel star clung to its perch, defying gravity and adding to the charm. Around me, laughter blended with the soft hum of carols, the room alive with the comfortable buzz of holiday cheer.

I adjusted my tie in the reflection of a nearby window, catching a glimpse of Nicholas across the room. He was hunched over a table, his focus on Beverly as she tried to tie a bow around a gift box with trembling hands. He leaned closer, murmuring something I couldn’t hear, and she swatted him with mock indignation. That soft, crooked smile of his—God, it was like a punch to the gut.

“Markus, grab those cookies!” Terri’s voice jolted me back into the moment. She pointed toward a tray perched precariously close to the edge of the table. “Unless you want Mr. Gaines to roll over them in his wheelchair.”

The older man waved from across the room, his booming laugh confirming he’d overheard. “Don’t mind her. I’ve got good brakes!”

I chuckled, sliding the tray safely toward the center of the table. “No casualties tonight, Mr. Gaines. We’re aiming for a Christmas miracle.”

The seniors had started gathering in a circle, guided by Terri’s patient shepherding. Beverly’s laughter floated above the rest, soft but unmistakable. She was wearing a sweater dotted with reindeer, her gray curls tucked under a Santa hat that kept slipping sideways. Nicholas escorted her to a seat, his hand hovering near her elbow in case she needed help.

Terri clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, folks! Time to share your favorite Christmas memories. Let’s hear what made your holidays magical back in the day.”

Mrs. Thompson spoke first. She told a story about baking cookies in a blizzard, the power out but the warmth of her family filling their tiny home. Her words painted vivid pictures: snow drifting past frosted windows, the scent of nutmeg and cloves, the sound of her father’s off-key carols. The room hummed with her joy.

Beverly’s turn came next. She cleared her throat, her fingers curling around the edge of her chair. “I remember one Christmas when my Charlie—my husband, bless his soul—surprised me with a record player. It was secondhand, probably older than I was, but it worked like a charm. We danced right there in the living room, the kids watching and laughing. I don’t think I’ve danced like that since.” Her gaze turned distant, her voice softening. “I wish I could feel that young again.”

Nicholas leaned forward, his expression tender as he whispered something. Beverly patted his hand, her voice louder now. “Don’t waste time, Nicky. Life’s too short not to dance when you’ve got the chance.”

A ripple of agreement moved through the room, but her words dug deeper into me than they should have. I busied myself rearranging the cookie trays, stealing glances at Nicholas. He caught me once, his eyes holding mine for a beat longer than necessary. My stomach twisted.

Terri nudged me. “You should say something, Doc. These folks love hearing your stories.”

I shook my head, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Maybe later. This is their moment.”

The carols started up again, this time with staff joining in. Nicholas grabbed a songbook and perched on the piano bench beside Carl, who began playing with surprising skill. The room filled with voices, off-key and joyous, blending together in a way that felt like home.

Beverly’s laugh rang out as Nicholas sang in an exaggerated falsetto, earning groans and cheers from the group. He glanced my way, and for a fleeting moment, the walls I’d built felt dangerously thin.

“Dr. Webber,” Carl hollered. “You’re next for a solo!”

I raised my hands in mock defense. “Not happening.”

“Coward!” Nicholas grinned, his tone teasing, but there was something else in his eyes. Something I couldn’t name but felt down to my bones.

The night wore on, the room buzzing with stories, songs, and the warm glow of holiday cheer. Mr. Gaines looked happier than I’d seen him in weeks, his cheeks flushed as his laughter rang out. Across the room, Mrs. Thompson was clearly in her element, her knitting needles clicking steadily as she worked on what looked like a festive red, green, and white sweater.

By the time we began wrapping things up, the warmth of the evening settled around us, soft and unspoken. Beverly pulled Nicholas into a hug, whispering something that made his brow furrow slightly and his gaze drop, as though he were turning her words over in his mind. I stayed back, watching, my heart both heavy and full.

The residents began filing out, some accompanied by staff or volunteers, guiding wheelchairs or steadying walkers. Others, still robust and independent, moved at their own pace as they headed to their rooms.

Nicholas was already clearing the table, his movements efficient, as if keeping his hands busy could keep his thoughts at bay. I stood for a moment, watching him. The urge to cross the room, to draw him into my arms and tell him that we could figure this out—whatever this was—hit me like a wave. I wanted to feel him relax against me, to see that flicker of trust in his eyes again.

But doubt crept in, whispering that maybe now wasn’t the right time. Maybe he needed space more than my presence. My own walls weren’t exactly intact tonight, either, and the thought of going home to an empty house made my chest ache.

I glanced at the doorway leading to my office. There was a stack of paperwork waiting for me there—mindless, monotonous, exactly what I needed to keep from spiraling into thoughts of what I should have done or said.

With a heavy sigh, I made my decision. Turning toward my office, I shot one last look at Nicholas, his shoulders tense as he reached for another plate. “Get home safely,” I said.

He didn’t look up, but he nodded. “You too.”

As I walked away, the quiet footsteps of my retreat felt heavier than they should.

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