19. Wynter

CHAPTER 19

WYNTER

The wrapping paper crinkled and tore as Rory attacked his first gift, practically vibrating with excitement. Taran sat cross-legged on the floor beside him, wearing an amused grin and a threadbare hoodie. I perched on the arm of the couch, a mug of coffee warming my hands, content just to watch.

“Slow down, kiddo,” Taran teased, reaching to catch a rogue scrap of paper that Rory flung over his shoulder. “You’re making it look like a bomb went off under the tree.”

Rory didn’t even look up, too busy revealing the box beneath. The squeal he let out could have powered the Christmas lights for a week.

“A gaming system? Dad!” He launched himself at Taran, who barely managed to catch him before they both tumbled backward.

“Careful, careful,” Taran laughed, patting Rory’s back. “It’s not indestructible, you know.”

Watching them, my chest felt tight and light all at once. The scene was so normal—so damn wholesome—I almost didn’t know what to do with it.

Rory eventually settled back on the floor to admire his new treasure, but not before handing me a small, carefully wrapped package.

“This one’s for you,” he said, looking uncharacteristically shy as he pushed it toward me.

I glanced at Taran, who gave me an encouraging nod. “Go on. Open it.”

The paper peeled away to reveal a framed sketch. It was simple but beautiful: a snowy cabin surrounded by pines, smoke curling from the chimney.

“I drew it,” Rory said, fidgeting with the cuff of his pajama sleeve. “I didn’t know what to get you, so I… I figured you might like it.”

My throat tightened. “Rory, this is…” I paused, trying to find the right words. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Taran passed me a second gift, his own smile turning softer. “Now it’s my turn.”

I opened the small box, the faint scent of leather wafting up as I pulled out a bracelet. It was simple but beautifully made—a dark leather strap with a single silver charm shaped like a pine tree, its delicate etching capturing every branch.

“I thought maybe you could use a piece of Pinecrest wherever you go,” Taran said. “It’s been your little haven since you returned.” He paused, meeting my eyes. “And I’d like to be part of that. Wherever you are, I want you to feel like you’re home.”

I slid the bracelet onto my wrist, the leather snug but comfortable, the charm catching the light. “It’s perfect. Thank you, Taran.”

Rory handed his dad a thin envelope, his grin stretching so wide it seemed like his face could barely contain it.

“You too, Dad,” Rory said, bouncing on his knees.

Taran opened it and pulled out a folded piece of paper. As he read, his expression softened, then crumbled into something vulnerable. He cleared his throat.

“What is it?” I asked, leaning closer.

“It’s a promise,” Taran said, holding up the paper. “Rory’s promised to do all the dishes for a month without complaining.”

Rory burst out laughing. “You’ve got to admit, it’s the best gift I could’ve given you.”

“You’re not wrong,” Taran admitted, pulling him into a one-armed hug.

I reached under the tree for a gift I’d prepared. “Rory,” I said, holding it out to him. “This one’s from me.”

His eyes lit up as he took the package, and I caught Taran’s curious glance. Rory ripped the paper open to reveal a hardcover sketchbook, the cover embossed with his name. Alongside it was a set of artist-grade pencils and markers.

“For me?” Rory asked, his voice rising with surprise.

I nodded, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically shy. “I figured since you’re already a pretty great artist, you might want some tools to take it further. And, uh…” I hesitated, then added, “I wrote something inside.”

He flipped open the sketchbook, finding the note I’d scribbled on the first page: Rory, your creativity inspires me. Keep making the world more beautiful. – Wynter

For a second, Rory just stared. Then he flung himself at me, his arms tight around my neck. “Thanks, Wynter. This is awesome!”

Taran chuckled softly, watching us. “Looks like you hit the jackpot with that one.”

Rory pulled back, beaming.

I reached under the tree again for my gift to Taran, the weight of it heavier in my chest than in my hands. “Taran,” I said softly, holding it out. “This one’s for you.”

His brows lifted as he took the package, his curiosity unmistakable. He carefully peeled back the paper, revealing the hand-bound journal. Its deep green leather cover was embossed with a simple but elegant tree, its branches reaching skyward in quiet strength.

“I remembered,” I said, my voice quieter now, “in high school, you used to journal. I thought maybe…” I trailed off, unsure of how to finish.

Taran’s fingers traced the embossed tree, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. “I did. I journaled for years, but I haven’t… not since…”

He didn’t have to say it. We both knew what he meant.

He looked up, his eyes softer than I’d ever seen them. “But I’m in a much better place now. And that’s mostly thanks to you. So, it’s fitting that you’re the one giving me this.”

I felt the words settle between us, warm and steady, as he opened the journal to the first page. There, in my handwriting, were the words, Taran, may this hold all the memories you want to keep, the dreams you’re ready to chase, and everything in between. – Wynter

He read it aloud, his voice thick. “Wynter…”

Before the moment could grow too heavy, Rory piped up. “You should write something in it right now!”

Taran blinked at him, his smile returning. “Like what?”

Rory grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I don’t know, something cool. Like, ‘Dear Journal, Rory is the best son ever, and his gaming skills are unmatched.’ ”

Taran laughed, the sound Christmas carols to my ears. “Well, I can’t argue with the first part.”

“And the second part?” Rory challenged, grinning wider.

“We’ll see about that after I kick your butt at Mario Kart,” Taran shot back, playfully jostling his son.

I sat back, watching them bicker and laugh, and for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like an outsider looking in.

Later, as we stepped into the yard for a snowball fight, my thoughts wandered.

Last night had been… something else. Being with Taran like that—making love to him—it had been so different, yet so natural, like a rhythm I already knew by heart. I’d never been with a man before, but it didn’t matter. With Taran, it wasn’t about mechanics or labels. It was about him—his body, his warmth, his trust.

And God, the way it felt, like my body was always meant to fit with his. Like everything I thought I knew about intimacy before had just been preparation for that moment.

In the army, I’d learned to adapt, to find my footing no matter where I landed. But this wasn’t adaptation. This was grounding, like I’d finally found the place I was meant to stand.

But as beautiful as that night was, it paled next to this—being invited to share Christmas with Taran and Rory. That had hit me in a different way, a way I couldn’t even articulate. Because sex is one thing, but this? This was belonging.

The warmth of that thought lingered as we stepped into the yard, boots crunching against the snow. Rory bounded ahead, already scooping up handfuls of the fresh powder. He paused, glancing back with a mischievous glint in his eye, daring me without words.

“I hope you’re ready!” he called out, his hands already busy packing a snowball.

I barely had time to brace myself before the first icy missile smacked into my chest, cold enough to make me suck in a breath but not enough to sting.

“You little—” Laughing, I bent down and scooped up a handful of snow, packing it quickly. My throw arced through the crisp morning air, missing on purpose. Mostly…

Rory stuck out his tongue and darted behind a snowbank. “Missed me!”

Beside me, Taran chuckled softly, the sound rolling through me like an ember catching flame. He nudged my arm, his grin easy and warm. “He thinks he’s invincible.”

My chest tightened, but not in a bad way. It was the way Taran’s voice dipped slightly, his smile lingering just long enough to feel like it was meant for me alone. “Oh, he’s going down,” I replied, voice low enough to match his.

“You’re in for it now, Rory. Wynter’s got good aim. Army-trained.”

Our eyes met for a brief second—no words, just a shared moment—and then the battle began.

“Hey!” Rory yelped as the first snowball hit his shoulder, then another caught him on the back. “Traitor!”

Taran and I worked together without needing to plan, our snowballs pelting Rory until he flailed dramatically, laughing so hard he stumbled into the snowbank.

“Okay, okay, truce!” Rory held up his hands, his grin wide enough to make me smile back.

We then gathered near the half-formed snowman Rory had started earlier. His hands worked the snow, reshaping it as he muttered about making it “perfect.”

Taran crouched beside him, steadying the wobbling middle ball with a gloved hand, and I felt that pull again. A simple, quiet moment, and yet it struck me harder than the snowball Rory had thrown.

“Hold on,” Taran said suddenly, brushing snow off his knees as he stood. “Can’t have a snowman without a nose. I’ll grab a carrot from the kitchen.” He shot me a quick grin before heading inside, leaving Rory and me to smooth the edges of the snowman’s middle section.

Rory looked up at me, his face thoughtful. “What else does a snowman need?”

“A smile, maybe a hat?” I suggested, brushing some snow off my gloves.

“Yeah, a big smile! But first, he needs his nose,” Rory declared firmly, packing more snow around the top ball to create a better face.

Taran returned a few minutes later, holding a carrot triumphantly in one hand and a scarf in the other. “Found this, too. Thought he could use a little flair.”

He crouched back down beside Rory, holding up the carrot. “You want to do the honors, Wynter?”

I stepped closer, taking the carrot from his outstretched hand. His fingers brushed mine—just for a second, quick enough to pass as nothing but long enough to leave a spark in its wake.

Clearing my throat, I focused on positioning the carrot just right. “There. Our snowman officially has a nose.”

“Good work, team,” Taran said, stepping back with a grin.

Rory tilted his head, inspecting the snowman’s face like a sculptor appraising his work. “He’s missing something. We still need a smile.”

“Pebbles?” I suggested.

“I’ll get them!” Rory dashed off toward the edge of the yard, his boots kicking up sprays of snow as he went.

I watched Rory go, then Taran caught my eye. His smile softened, small and private, and it hit me square in the chest with the force of something much bigger.

This. This was what I’d been missing without even knowing it—a family, laughter, something to hold onto. And Taran? He was at the heart of it, grounding me in ways I never thought possible.

Rory came trotting back, holding a handful of small stones he’d plucked from beneath the trees. “Got them!”

He crouched by the snowman’s face, carefully pressing the pebbles into the snow to form a crooked grin. When he stepped back, brushing his gloves together, his whole face lit up. “There! Now he’s perfect.”

I couldn’t help but grin at the pride in his voice, the way his smile stretched wider than the snowman’s.

Taran smiled too, easy and fond. “Nice work, kiddo. Team effort.”

Rory beamed, his gaze shifting between the snowman and us. “Yeah. We make a good team, don’t we?”

Taran and I exchanged a glance over Rory’s head. There was something unspoken in that moment, something warm and certain. For just a heartbeat, it felt like we were already a team. Not just in the snow fight. In everything.

Without a shadow of doubt, if love was the mission, then Taran and Rory were my home base. I loved them both.