Jack Christmas の小説・ストーリー

Dad and Roger – when he comes back with a fresh and clean Seraphina – settle on the couch, glasses of whiskey already in their hands, shouting greetings to grandpa Henry when he rolls in and settles close to his boys, a blanket spread warm and cozy over his knees. I stay by Jacks, the only place I really want to be, curled up in our blankets by the fire. Jackson wraps an arm around me and sits quietly, observing it all with fascination as the holiday gets started in full swing. Everyone eats – toast and jam, pastries, donuts, coffee – while mom starts to pass out gifts, setting a slow, leisurely place.

I ask, referring to the unfamiliar round bottom bottle with no label he is holding. Jaxon smirk. “Boọze bro.” He uses his funny accent, drawling the ‘booze’. “No label. Whisky? Wine or what…could be poison…” “Don't worry you won't die. At least not yet. Not until you watch me kick your brother's arse in the elections.” Jaxon must have not realized when he said it because he looks up instantly, startled. “Election?” I ask. “Uh–forget I said that. Let's drink. Cheers!”

"Well, I suppose it's time to get ready. Edward brought us some clothes. Said for us to look our best." Jack pulled his worn t-shirt over his head and tossed it onto the chair. Jill looked at him. His brown hair a mess, the stubble on his chin, the definition in his chest and abs. She'd always found Jack handsome. But they were best friends. As much as she'd love for it to be more than that, there is no way she could let Jack know her true feelings for him. What if he didn't feel the same way she did? Wouldn't that ruin the friendship they've been over all these years?

Jack finally growled. Sunday? Hmm. Not this week. "No, actually. It's Thanksgiving and my mother would shave me bald if I missed the family supper. You got any plans?" "No." With his terse reply uttered, Jack spun on his heel and stalked off. Only then did Chris grin. Married or not, either Jill just gave him the opening he needed, or she truly wanted that gym. According to his ego, and his wolf, it was the former. Freakn' awesome.

Nicholas “Merry Christmas!” shouted a smiling street performer, handing out small candy canes. “No, thank you,” Nicholas Kerstman said, shaking his head as he walked past. “But it's Christmas time! Take one,” the performer urged. “Embrace the season.” Nicholas sighed. Why did Christmas have to come every year? “Sure. Why not?” Nicholas said with a shrug as he took the candy cane into his hand. When he thought the street performer couldn't see him, he threw the candy cane into the nearest trashcan.

Mariah POV The music was soft, the kind that was supposed to lift spirits but only made the air heavier. The packhouse smelled like food and faint cologne, and laughter drifted from the main room, but I could feel the hollowness under it all. This wasn’t really a party. It was a performance. A celebration “for Nick and Josh” — to cheer them up after my supposed death. Wolves raised glasses and gave sympathetic smiles, clapping the future Alpha and Beta on the back like they hadn’t just buried a piece of themselves.

I turned away before I could wonder what. While he unpacked, I noticed a worn hockey stick leaning carefully against one box. It did not match the rest of his things. Everything else about Jaxon was polished, controlled, expensive. But the stick was old, the tape frayed, the wood scratched with use. There was a faded signature along the blade: To Jax. Keep your head up. — Dad. I looked at it too long. “That is not for public viewing,” Jaxon said to me. His voice had gone cold as he spoke.

I’m about to pour a glass of wine when I feel Harrison’s hand at the small of my back. “You look like you’re already thinking about what’s going to happen next,” he says, voice pitched low, amused. “I’ve been thinking about it since this morning,” I murmur. That was when Jack changed a diaper one-handed while shirtless and sipping coffee, muttering about how he deserved a medal. The man has three Celtic tattoos, two of them vaguely threatening, and somehow still managed to look like a dad pinup from a calendar no one’s brave enough to print. And he wasn’t even trying.

he asked. Startled, I turned around and took his phone. There was a message from HR on his screen. Louis had been appointed the vice president of a new company. As for the location of said company, it was in Coralsville—the coastal city I'd always dreamed of living in. "You didn't just find out about this now, did you?" Louis tilted his head and gave me an innocent puppy-eyed look. "But you've never mentioned it before!" "You just don't pay enough attention to me." Louis pouted while he handed me a business license. "And, this is my belated Christmas gift to you."

he began, his voice dropping an octave. I immediately became suspicious, narrowing my eyes at him through the wind-blown strands of my hair. "So?" "You coming to the Winter Lights festival this year?" he asked, tapping his gloved fingers against the timber rail. "The whole pack shows up. Food, bonfires, traditional drinks. It's the one time of year Takoda here is forced to wear something other than flannel." Takoda let out a heavy sigh; a long-suffering, deep sigh that suggested this exact conversation had happened before, probably every December since they were teenagers. "Leave her alone, Jace. She doesn't need to be dragged into town events."