Jack Christmas Novels & Stories

"I've met your parents at a couple games, but that's it." "That's because I only get two comp tickets per game," I said with a smile. "Those cheap bastards, also known as my siblings, won't shell out the money to come to a game. They have way too many kids to pay for them all to come. And inevitably someone's feelings would get hurt if they didn't get tickets for everybody, and someone would end up throwing down at Thanksgiving next year." Christian throws back his head and laughs. "It's true, Coach. His family is full of crazy Mexicans. God, I love them."

I swallow, waving at him from the door where I seem frozen now. Uncle Jax takes off his leather jacket, and now I know it’s truly him. He must have ridden his motorcycle here because he only wears that jacket when he rides. “Hello Heaven,” he greets, his voice laced with honey. Way too much honey, I’ve never met a man with the kind of voice that he has. Every time I hear him speak, I get the tingles in a very funny place. “That was fast.”

Vexana Jones made sure everyone noticed the luxury watch on her wrist. Cassandra Carter talked about her wealthy husband, who doted on her. Rebecca Jenkins sat there in black-rimmed glasses with the bookish air of a math teacher. They weren't just showing off. They also kept finding ways to get my number. After all, no one expected that the girl who used to be nothing, the girl with that blunt bob haircut back then, would show up driving a Rolls-Royce.

“This is ridiculous!” Mayor Jenkins said from his seat in the middle of the panel, three council members on either side of him. “It’s too late in the season for us to begin to plan new Christmas activities for this year. If we want to look at doing something next year, that’s different. But there’s simply no way we can get everything you’re proposing done at this late date!”

She brought it to him all folded up, and she was stroking it like it was some kitten she'd just rescued. "Thank you, Mrs Brocklebank. It's freezing out there today." He said, unfolding the scarf and draping it around his neck. "It'll be nice to wear my scarf for a change," he grinned as he winked at her. Margaret blushed and chuckled as he tucked the scarf into his jacket. "Merry Christmas, Mrs Brocklebank." Jasper held her shoulders and pecked her on the cheek. "Oh," she gasped, "Merry Christmas, your grace, Merry Christmas."

—Ricardo was startled by his father's statement and must have understood that I had premeditated that night. ― I had said that I regretted dying without having the joy of seeing a grandchild born and Manuela revealed that she dreamed of having a child with Ricardo. That's why we made our requests to the Universe and it sent us more than two miracles, but three. My health and my two grandchildren. And now I want to make a toast to my Christmas miracles. Everyone raised their glasses. Alice and I had the fruit juice, but it had the same meaning as the champagne they all drank. Later, after the distribution of gifts, I asked Ric if he was disappointed in me and he replied:

He was practically vibrating with the intoxicating, absolute joy of the Pink High. "It's loud," Marcus rumbled, his deep voice carrying its usual, protective warmth, completely betraying the agonizing tightness in his chest. Jack laughed—a bright, breathless sound that scattered a fresh flurry of pink petals across the white glass floor. "It's a Coronation, Marcus! It's supposed to be loud," Jack teased, spinning around so the floral mantle flared out beautifully. He stopped, his blue eyes softening as he looked at the massive, immovable boxer standing by the window.

I stand alone on the icy field, turning back every few minutes to look at the road behind me. When my hands grow numb from the cold, I scroll my social media feed and see a recent post from my younger sister, Giada Soave. Holding gifts in her arms, she sits beneath a luxurious crystal Christmas tree with my parents embracing her from both sides. Ivano stands behind her with his hand resting lightly at her waist and his eyes full of tenderness. The caption reads, "Merry Christmas, I'm grateful to spend the holiday with those who love me most!" The comments section buzzes with blessings, praise, and envious messages.

It’s the only thing that keeps the place alive. "Food?" she grunts. We both shake our heads. "Just coffee," Jackson says. Doris disappears as silently as a woman carrying three pounds of glass coffee pot can disappear. I wrap my cold hands around the mug. The coffee is scorched, bitter, and perfect. I drink it black and let it punish me a little. Jackson dumps three sugars in his and stirs with the enthusiasm of someone trying to dissolve a brick. The spoon clinks like a tiny warning bell. He looks up. Blue eyes catch the weak winter light. "Christmas. Scale of one to ten. Go."

*“It’s a Christmas bonus, Ari! Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, darling.” ‎ ‎“It’s incredible, Cami. Too incredible,” I said, setting my suitcase down. The simple worn leather of my bag looked out of place against the polished marble floor. ‎ ‎Cami waved a dismissive hand, already digging into the mini-fridge. “Nonsense. Dad’s hospital gets these flats for VIPs and visiting specialists. You’re a VIP. And you’re visiting. So drink some cava and unpack your depressing sensible cardigans.” ‎