Chapter 40 Home for the Holidays
December had always been the Kane family’s favorite month, but this year it carried an extra layer of meaning. Lily, now a senior at Denver, was coming home for her last college winter break. Everett was thirteen and in the full swing of travel hockey season. Clara was eight, all legs and opinions, and had just earned her first “player of the game” puck in her girls’ league.
The house smelled like pine and cinnamon from the moment Holly started decorating in late November. She and Clara strung lights on the porch while Everett hauled the tree in from the backyard lot Rowan had picked. Lily’s flight landed the Friday before Christmas, and the whole family bundled up for the airport pickup—signs, hugs, and Clara’s nonstop chatter the entire drive home.
That first night back, after suitcases were unpacked and Clara finally asleep clutching the new stuffed Pioneer mascot Lily had brought her, the older three Kanes gathered in the living room by the fire.
Lily curled up on the couch in one of Rowan’s old hoodies, legs tucked under her. Everett sprawled on the rug with a bowl of popcorn. Rowan and Holly shared the big armchair, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her.
For a long time nobody spoke; they just listened to the crackle of the fire and the soft sound of snow against the windows.
Everett broke the silence first, voice quieter than usual. “It’s weird thinking this is Lil’s last college Christmas break.”
Lily’s eyes filled instantly. “Don’t say that. I’m getting emotional already.”
Holly reached over and squeezed her knee. “It’s okay to feel it all, baby. We are too.”
Rowan’s voice was rough. “Proud doesn’t cover it. Watching you grow into this incredible woman… it’s the best thing we’ve ever done.”
Lily wiped her eyes, laughing through tears. “You guys are gonna make me ugly-cry before I even open presents.”
Everett crawled over and flopped across Lily’s lap like he was eight again instead of thirteen. “You’re not allowed to graduate. Ever.”
Lily hugged him tight. “I’ll always come home. Promise.”
They stayed up late that night, telling old stories: Lily’s first goal at four years old, Everett’s championship medal at eight, Clara’s toddler obsession with stealing pucks. They laughed until their sides hurt and cried quiet, happy tears when the memories got too big for words.
Christmas Eve brought the traditional Kane chaos: baking cookies (Clara in charge of sprinkles, which meant half ended up on the floor), driving around town to look at lights, and the annual family skate at the outdoor rink.
The air was crisp and cold, the sky clear and full of stars. They laced up together on the benches—Rowan helping Clara with her tiny skates, Everett showing off new edges he’d learned, Lily gliding effortlessly like she’d never left the ice.
They played a loose game of shinny under the string lights: no scorekeeping, just passing and laughing. Clara scored on Holly five times in a row and celebrated like she’d won the Stanley Cup. Everett and Lily raced end to end, letting Clara “win” every time. Rowan stole the puck only to pass it gently to whoever was open.
At one point they all stopped in the middle of the ice, breathless and rosy-cheeked, looking up at the stars.
“This,” Lily said softly, “is my favorite place in the world.”
Everett nodded solemnly. Clara leaned against Rowan’s legs. Holly felt tears prick again and didn’t bother hiding them.
Later, back home with hot chocolate and the tree lights glowing, they opened one gift each—the traditional new pajamas. Clara’s were Pioneer-themed. Everett’s had little hockey sticks all over. Lily’s were soft flannel with tiny hearts (a nod to Heartstrings). Rowan and Holly matched in classic red plaid.
They took the annual photo in front of the tree: five Kanes in pajamas, arms around each other, smiles wide and real.
Christmas morning was pure magic.
Clara woke everyone at 6:00 a.m. sharp with shouts of “Santa came!” They stumbled downstairs in a sleepy pile to find the living room transformed: presents under the tree, stockings overflowing, the smell of cinnamon rolls baking on timer.
Everett helped Clara with the hard-to-reach gifts. Lily filmed everything on her phone, narrating like a sports announcer. Rowan and Holly sat on the couch holding hands, watching their children with the quiet, overwhelming gratitude of parents who know how fast it all goes.
Later, after brunch and more presents and Clara’s new skates tested on the driveway, the family bundled up for the town’s holiday skate at the big rink. Half of Evergreen Hollow was there—old friends, former teammates, neighbors waving across the ice.
Lily skated with her old youth coach. Everett showed off moves to kids who now looked up to him the way he once looked up to Lily. Clara held Rowan’s hand the whole time, demanding “faster, Daddy!”
Holly glided slowly in the middle, watching her family scattered across the ice like bright constellations, heart so full it felt like it might float away.
That night, after the kids were finally asleep (Clara clutching her new stuffed reindeer, Everett surrounded by new gear, Lily texting friends from under her covers), Rowan and Holly stood in the quiet living room looking at the tree.
Rowan’s arm came around her shoulders. “Best Christmas yet?”
Holly leaned into him, eyes misty. “Every one with them feels like the best.”
He kissed her temple, then her cheek, then her lips—soft, lingering, full of twenty years of shared miracles.
They turned off the lights and went to bed, hands linked, listening to the soft breathing of their children down the hall and feeling the gentle certainty that these moments—the ordinary, perfect, tear-streaked ones—were the real gifts.
Outside, snow fell soft and steady over Evergreen Hollow, covering the world in quiet white, and inside, the Kane family slept wrapped in love that had started with a mistletoe bet and grown into something deeper than words.
In the hush of Christmas night, with the tree lights still glowing and the promise of many more mornings to come, they held each other close and let the emotions settle—gratitude, pride, a little ache, and the overwhelming joy of a family that had learned to carry each other through every season.