The Christmas Arrangement

Ten

Emma:

I lasted all of thirty seconds after Kaden walked away.

Thirty seconds of sitting perfectly still in that chair, breathing like a person who definitely wasn’t about to have a nervous breakdown. Thirty seconds of replaying his voice — For the record… I didn’t hate that kiss — on a loop that made my pulse trip over itself.

Then the adrenaline that had carried me this far just… evaporated.

My body slumped forward, forehead dropping to the edge of the table.

Oh no.

Not like a dramatic fainting spell. More like the world suddenly hit unpause and everything I’d been outrunning — pain, panic, exhaustion, trauma, the kiss, the plan, the fact that I had just agreed to live with him — came rushing in too fast.

My breathing stuttered.

The table blurred.

My ribs throbbed in painful, hot waves that made my hands shake again.

I wasn’t falling apart. I never fell apart.

Okay, sometimes I fell apart. But very privately.Quietly.Preferably under a weighted blanket or inside a locked bathroom stall.

Not in a firehouse with a man who kissed like he meant it and looked at me like he could feel my heartbeat in his own damn chest.

I shoved to my feet, wobbling toward the hallway and pulling myself together enough to make it to the guest room.

The moment the door shut behind me, the panic hit like a punch.

Not loud — not a scream or sob.Just a deep, twisting, suffocating ache that made my ribs feel too tight and my head too light.

I pressed a hand to my sternum. My fingers trembled.

Breathe. Please breathe.

My heartbeat thudded unevenly. The room tilted a little. My throat closed up, that old, familiar terror clawing its way up from the place I’d buried it.

Not about Kaden.

Not even about the plan.

Just… the simple fact that someone was finally helping me, and my body didn’t know what to do with that kind of safety.

I sat down on the edge of the bed — or maybe fell — gripping the blanket so hard my knuckles turned white. Each breath came too fast, too shallow, too—

A knock.

Soft.

Tentative.

Not Kaden’s knock. Kaden would sound like a battering ram even if he whispered.

This was lighter. Smaller.

“Aunt Emma?” Avery’s voice floated through the door.

Oh no.

No, no, no, not right now.

I scrubbed a hand down my face, forcing my lungs to behave, forcing my voice steady. “Yeah? I’m here.”

The door cracked open, and Avery peeked in, clutching that stuffed fox she carried everywhere. Her hair was sleep-mussed, cheeks warm from her nap.

“You okay?” she whispered.

Something inside me snapped.

Not in a bad way.In a… molten way.A warm, terrifying, tender way that made my chest ache more than my ribs.

I nodded. “Just tired.”

She stepped fully inside, pushing the door shut with her foot. “Dad said you were gonna stay with us now.”

Us.

Not him.

Us.

My throat tightened. “If that’s okay with you.”

She shrugged with the casual confidence of someone who had never doubted she was loved. “I like you. You’re nice.” Then she climbed onto the bed and sat beside me, swinging her little legs. “Daddy likes you, too.”

I choked. “Oh?”

“Yeah. He gets this… face.” She scrunched her nose in dramatic disgust. “All soft and weird.”

Okay, that nearly killed me.

I swallowed a weak laugh. “A soft face?”

“Super soft.” She nodded vigorously. “Like he’s looking at pancakes. Or puppies.”

God.

I was going to die.

Avery leaned her head against my arm like it was the most normal thing in the world. “When you move in, can we paint nails? Dad won’t let me paint his anymore.”

The image of Kaden with glittery pink nails stabbed me straight in the heart.

“I would love that,” I said, meaning it.

She nodded, satisfied. “Daddy says you help him. And you help me. So you’re gonna be part of our pack now.”

Pack.

The word landed differently. Heavy. Binding.Something I had never belonged to in my entire life.

I blinked rapidly to keep tears from spilling.

Avery didn’t notice. She was already curled into my side, warm and trusting and so heartbreakingly gentle.

“I’ll protect you,” she murmured, already half-asleep again.

My chest cracked open.

No one had ever said that to me either.

Not until this morning. Not until her. Not until him.

I stroked her hair carefully, my ribs protesting. “You’re fearless, you know.”

She hummed sleepily.

And as she drifted off against me, her small weight pinning me to the bed in the softest way possible, the panic that had been clawing at me slowly eased.

My breath steadied.

My hands stilled.

The room stopped tilting.

It wasn’t fixed. God, I wasn’t fixed. But something inside me settled enough to keep going.

Enough to stay.

I leaned my head back against the wall, closing my eyes, letting the warmth of this tiny human anchor me.

I didn’t hear Kaden return. Didn’t hear him pause in the doorway.Didn’t hear his breath catch at the sight of us.

But I felt it — that shift in the air, the buzz under my skin, the soft intensity I was beginning to recognize as uniquely his.

Because he stood there watching us from the hall.

And even without opening my eyes…

I knew he was looking at me with that soft, weird face Avery described.

The one that scared me.

The one that warmed me.

The one I wasn’t sure I’d survive.

Kaden:

I wasn’t expecting to find them like that.

Hell, I wasn’t expecting to find anything when I walked back down the hallway — not after pacing the bay until my thoughts tangled themselves into knots, not after making the first round of calls, not after convincing myself I had my head firmly screwed back on.

But then I reached the guest room.

The door was cracked open.

A sliver of warm light spilled into the hall.

And inside—

Jesus.

Emma sat on the edge of the bed, back against the wall, her body curled protectively around Avery. My daughter was tucked against her like she’d been built to fit there, fox plush pressed between them, tiny fingers curled into the hem of Emma’s shirt.

And Emma…

She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t shaking anymore. Her breathing had evened out, slow and steady, her hand resting in Avery’s hair with this gentle, careful tenderness that hit me so hard I had to brace a hand on the doorframe.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It wasn’t loud.

It was quiet. Soft. The kind of moment you don’t intrude on unless you’re ready to have something inside you permanently rearranged.

I felt it happen anyway.

A slow, deep shift — like something heavy in my chest finally cracked open and light got in for the first time in… God, years.

Maybe ever.

I stood there, one hand on the frame, heart thudding too hard for how still everything was. My throat went tight — the kind of tight I only ever got when I was too tired or too scared or too grateful to breathe right.

I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until Emma shifted slightly, adjusting Avery so she wouldn’t slump over. The movement pulled her shirt a little, exposing another bruise blooming along her ribs. Darker than before.

My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached.

My fingers curled against the wood.

I should’ve been thinking about the custody hearing. The plan. The logistics.

But all I could think was:

That bruise is because of someone who didn’t deserve to touch you. And Avery is safe because you stepped between her and the world.

I swallowed hard. The kind of swallow that scraped down my throat.

Avery’s breath hitched in her sleep as she burrowed closer to Emma. And Emma — even half-hovering in sleep herself — curled her arm around Avery like she’d been doing it for years.

My daughter didn’t trust easily.

But she trusted Emma.

She trusted her enough to sleep on her. Enough to run to her last night.Enough to snuggle into her now like she’d found her missing piece.

And seeing that…

Yeah, I was done for.

Absolutely done for.

I stepped forward before I could think better of it, slow and quiet, lowering myself to lean a shoulder against the wall beside the doorway.

Not too close.Not far away either.

Close enough to watch.

Close enough to memorize.

Emma’s eyes were closed, lashes dark against her bruised cheeks. There was a crease between her brows — the leftover tension she tried so hard to hide. But with Avery anchored against her, some of it had softened.

There was a strength in her stillness. A kind of survival I recognized in my bones. And yet… something gentler, too.

Something she didn’t show anyone else.

Something she shouldn’t have to show anyone else.

Something she was showing us.

I let out a slow breath through my nose, rubbing a hand over my mouth.

I wasn’t supposed to get attached.

I wasn’t supposed to want this.

But standing there, watching the two of them fit together like they’d been doing it for years…

A dangerous thought slid through me.

This is what a family looks like.

My chest tightened.

Not the kind of tight that hurts.

The kind that pulled.

Drew.

Anchored.

Emma shifted again, the smallest motion, but enough that her head tipped slightly to the side. Enough that she sensed me — somehow — and her lashes fluttered.

Her eyes opened.

Bleary. Soft.Still raw around the edges.

They found me instantly.

And that was the moment I forgot how to breathe.

Because the look she gave me wasn’t scared.Wasn’t guarded.

It was warm.

Sleep-warm.Pain-softened.Unprotected in a way she didn’t let herself be when she was awake.

A look you didn’t earn.A look you didn’t fake.

A look you only gave to someone you trusted.

Something deep in my gut twisted.

“Sorry,” she whispered, her voice rasped from exhaustion. “We didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

My voice came out low, rougher than I meant. “Don’t apologize.”

I stepped into the room fully, slow and deliberate, careful not to wake Avery. The closer I got, the more the air felt thick — charged in a way that made every hair on my arms stand up.

“I didn’t want to wake her,” Emma murmured, brushing Avery’s hair back gently. “She came in and—”

“She came to you,” I finished quietly.

Emma’s eyes flicked up to mine again.

Something passed between us — unspoken but heavy.

I dragged a hand through my hair, letting out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

“I’ve never seen her fall asleep on anyone that fast,” I admitted.

Emma swallowed. “She must be exhausted.”

“Maybe,” I said softly. “Or maybe she feels safe.”

Emma’s breath hitched, just enough to notice.

Her eyes dropped to Avery, her hand trembling for a moment as she smoothed the blanket.

I didn’t touch her.

God knew I wanted to — to brush my fingers over hers, to push the hair from her face, to thank her in a way words couldn’t handle — but the space between us was a live wire, and one wrong move might set both of us on fire.

So I stayed beside the bed, hands shoved in my pockets, heart in my throat.

“You okay?” I asked quietly.

She nodded once, too quickly.

Lie.

But it wasn’t the kind of lie meant to deceive. It was the kind meant to protect.Herself.Me.This tiny, fragile moment.

I didn’t call her on it.

Instead, I spoke softly — as if I raised my voice, the whole thing might break.

“You don’t have to be strong right now. Just… breathe. That’s enough.”

Emma’s lips parted. Not quite a reply.Not quite denial.

Just… a breath.

And I understood it.

All of it.

The fear.The fight.The quiet.The way she held Avery was like she was holding herself together.

I swallowed hard.

“We’ll figure everything out,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “I promise.”

Her eyes closed again for a second.

Like she believed me.

Like she wanted to believe me.

And that… God. That undid me more than anything else.

I took another slow step forward, lowering myself to sit on the floor beside the bed — close enough to guard them both, far enough not to overwhelm.

A quiet vow settled in my chest:

I’m going to protect her. Both of them. No matter what it costs me.

I leaned my head back against the wall, exhaling.

Emma’s fingers drifted through Avery’s hair again, soft and steady.

I let myself look at them — really look.

And for the first time in a long damn time…

The firehouse didn’t feel empty.

It felt like home.