Chapter 30 Lottie
The next few days drift by in a slow, hazy blur — hours slipping through my fingers while my mind loops endlessly back to Professor Hale.
I try to convince myself I don’t miss him as much as I do. That the strange ache in my chest is just leftover adrenaline. Residual tension. Not longing.
But every quiet moment betrays me.
Every pause in conversation. Every stretch of silence before bed. Every second, I’m alone in my old bedroom with nothing but the hum of the heater and the faint rattle of winter wind against the windows.
That’s when his voice echoes. That’s when the spark between us replays — sharp and bright and impossible to ignore — like a glitch in code I can’t debug no matter how many times I run through it.
Christmas morning is the first real reprieve I get.
We all wake up too early — the kind of early that only happens when excitement overrides common sense. The house feels alive, humming with warmth and anticipation. The air smells faintly of cinnamon and pine, and the Christmas tree lights cast a soft golden glow over everything.
We shuffle into the living room in pajamas, hair messy, eyes still heavy with sleep.
Mom smiles at every gift he unwraps like he loves them all equally. Dad grunts at his in approval, nodding like he’s evaluating a project proposal. Lilliana tries very hard to appear unimpressed, but the way she smooths her hands over her presents gives her away. Luca squeals at a pitch that could shatter glass, bouncing in place as if he might combust from excitement. Charlie is somehow worse than Luca — rocking back and forth on his heels, eyes bright, grinning like he’s a kid again.
I smile at what I unwrap. A soft cashmere scarf from Mom, pale cream and impossibly warm. A new wallet from Dad — sleek, simple, practical. A purse from Lilliana that she clearly spent weeks picking out. Leather gloves from Luca, who proudly announces he “picked them himself,” even though I’m sure Mom helped.
And then.
From Charlie...A Fleshlight.
I stare at the box for a full second, processing.
What the actual fuck. Did he forget this was a family Christmas?
Heat floods my face. I shove the box under a pile of wrapping paper before anyone else gets a clear view. Charlie collapses onto the floor, wheezing with laughter, tears streaming down his face like he’s just performed the comedy special of the year.
I want to kick him.
Mom, who has an idea of what he bought me, smacks him upside the head. I smirk as he rubs the back of his skull with an exaggerated pout. Lilliana and Luca stare between us, confused and mildly alarmed.
“Why are you hitting him?” Luca asks.
“No reason,” Mom says sweetly. “He deserved it.”
We clean up the wrapping paper, stack boxes, and carry gifts upstairs. The house shifts from gift chaos to holiday hosting mode in record time.
Mom thrives in the kitchen. He’s been up since before dawn — maybe all night — and the counters are already covered in dishes at various stages of completion. While I help where I can — stirring, chopping, fetching ingredients — he moves through the space like it’s an extension of his body. Effortless. Always with precision and in control.
It’s mesmerizing.
I shower mid-morning and change into something soft but presentable. Just as I finish brushing my hair, the doorbell rings.
I head downstairs as Dad opens the door.
I squeal — actually squeal — when I see who’s standing there.
“Uncle Tim!”
I fly down the last few steps and crash into him, wrapping my arms around his neck. He laughs and lifts me slightly off the ground, squeezing tight. We haven’t seen each other in a couple of years — he’s been jet-setting around the world with Auntie Lily and their kids.
When Uncle Tim and Aunt Lily — one of Mom’s closest friends — showed up years ago to confess they’d been together all along, and that Jace and Kelly were his, the entire family had nearly imploded from shock. But it didn’t change anything. They were already ours. Mom was only upset that they’d kept it from him so long.
I bounce on my toes before hugging Auntie Lily just as tightly. “It’s so good to see you! It’s been forever!”
She squeezes me like she’s making up for lost time.
They step aside.
My cousin Jace stands there, eighteen now — a recessive alpha — stuck in that awkward in-between phase where his limbs seem too long for his body and his shoulders haven’t quite decided what shape they want to take. He gives me a shy, crooked smile.
I hug him anyway.
Kelly, fourteen and a dominant omega, stands beside him with a soft, uncertain expression. She hugs me carefully, like she’s still figuring out how to exist in her own skin.
“Hey,” I grin. “What have you guys been up to?”
Jace shrugs. “School. Home. Not much else.”
Kelly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I entered a talent show. I want to be a dancer when I grow up.”
My face lights up. “That’s amazing! You have to show me. I'd love to see what you've got."
She blushes. “Okay. I will.”
More arrivals follow in waves. Auntie Lissa with her husband. Bella and Sara. Then more aunts. Uncles. Cousins. The house fills until every room hums with overlapping voices.
We set up two long tables in the dining room because one isn’t enough. Chairs scrape. Silverware clinks. Laughter bounces off the walls.
Mom brings out dish after dish after dish.
Turkey and stuffing.
Fried chicken.
Ham glazed to perfection.
Mashed potatoes swimming in butter.
Candied yams.
Mac and cheese with a golden crust.
Fried fish.
Lasagna.
Green beans.
Collard greens.
Corn on the cob.
And that doesn’t even take into account all the pies and cakes waiting patiently on the counter.
By the end of the night, I’m ready to slip into a food coma and sleep until New Year’s.
I missed this.
I missed his cooking.
And slowly — almost imperceptibly — the ache in my chest quiets. The storm inside me softens.
Home does that. Even when everything else feels impossible.
Later, I sink into the couch, drowsy and heavy with food, listening to the overlapping noise of my family. The room glows with lamplight and tree lights. Someone laughs too loudly in the kitchen. Dad argues about football with Uncle Tim. Luca zooms past with a new toy.
The sound wraps around me like a blanket. I let myself sink into it.
My attention drifts in and out, catching fragments of conversation before slipping away again. And in the quiet spaces between those voices, my thoughts wander — uninvited, inevitably — back to him.
What is he doing today?
Who is he spending Christmas with?
Is he laughing somewhere? Cooking? Sitting alone with a book and a mug of coffee?
Does he feel the absence of our strange, impossible connection the way I do?
The questions settle warm and aching in my chest.
And then, without meaning to, my mind begins to paint pictures. Soft, impossible futures bloom behind my eyelids like golden light.
Holiday mornings with him. A home filled with traditions that are ours. Little feet pattering across hardwood floors. The two of us moving through a kitchen together, brushing shoulders, sharing quiet smiles that feel like secrets.
The images are so vivid they almost feel like memories instead of fantasies.
I drift further, slipping toward sleep as the house hums around me. My head tips back against the couch. My breathing slows. The warmth of home wraps around me like a cocoon.
In my dreams, everything is gentle.
I dream of waking beside him, sunlight spilling across tangled sheets. Of falling asleep with his body curled warm against mine. I dream of quiet mornings, soft kisses before work, shared routines that feel like belonging. I dream of him cradling our first child in his arms — and every child after that.
I dream of a future where love is simple and steady and ours. A life built together. A family grown from that love. A home filled with laughter and warmth.
The dream is so vivid, so heartbreakingly beautiful, that I smile in my sleep.
Because for a few precious moments, in my dreams, it all feels real.