A Christmas at Ease

Chapter 7: Jaxon’s Awakening

Jaxon Williams stared at the ceiling of the guest room, the faint sound of wind whistling through the cracks in the old window. The house was too quiet for his liking. Back at home, there was always noise—the buzz of his mom on a call, Elijah running around, Amelia humming while she sketched. Here, in Evergreen Falls, the silence pressed on him like a weight.

He rolled over and glanced at his phone. 2:13 AM. His messages were empty, aside from the occasional “Merry Christmas!” text in the family group chat that he hadn’t replied to. Not that it mattered. His friends back home didn’t get it. They didn’t understand what it felt like to be uprooted, dragged to a town that felt like it belonged in another era, with people who expected you to smile and pretend you were happy about it.

Jaxon’s anger toward his mom wasn’t new, though he tried not to let it show too often. She had enough to deal with—work, Elijah’s endless questions, and Amelia’s moods. But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel it—the slow-burning resentment that simmered whenever he thought about how she seemed to carry on, as if the divorce hadn’t shattered everything.

It wasn’t just the divorce, though that had been the spark. It was everything that came after. The constant moving, the changes he never got to weigh in on, the way he was expected to just… adapt. Like when his mom decided they’d spend Christmas in Evergreen Falls this year. He hadn’t wanted to come. He’d begged her to let him stay with his dad instead, but the argument hadn’t gone far.

“We’re spending Christmas as a family,” she had said, her tone final.

He hadn’t missed the irony. How could she call them a family when the person who was supposed to hold it all together had walked out?

The faint creak of a floorboard pulled Jaxon from his thoughts. He sat up, his heart thudding lightly in his chest. The house was old, its groans and sighs amplified by the stillness of the night. He told himself it was probably just Elijah wandering to the bathroom or Diane checking on something in the kitchen.

Still, curiosity got the better of him. He slipped out of bed, careful not to make a sound, and padded toward the door.

The hallway was dimly lit by the soft glow of the Christmas tree in the living room. Jaxon peered around the corner, his breath catching at what he saw.

A figure sat on the couch, head bowed as if lost in thought. Even from the shadows, Jaxon could recognize him.

His dad!

Jaxon stepped back into his room, letting the door close softly behind him. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing. What was his dad doing here? Why now, after all this time? He sat back on the edge of the bed, his hands gripping the mattress as he tried to make sense of what he’d just seen.

Part of him wanted to march into the living room and demand answers. But another part—a quieter, more cautious part—held him back. What would he even say? That he was angry? Hurt? That he’d been waiting for this moment for months but hated how unprepared he felt for it?

Jaxon hated how complicated it all was. He hated the tightness in his chest whenever he thought about his dad leaving, the lingering questions he couldn’t push away. Why hadn’t his dad fought harder for their family? Why had he let everything fall apart?

The next morning, Jaxon woke to the sound of Elijah’s laughter echoing through the house. For a moment, he thought he’d dreamed the whole thing—that his dad hadn’t really been sitting on the couch in the middle of the night. But as he sat up and rubbed his eyes, he heard another voice—deeper, familiar, impossible.

His dad was still here.

He threw on a sweatshirt and headed downstairs, his stomach churning with a mix of anticipation and dread.

When he stepped into the kitchen, the scene stopped him in his tracks. His dad sat at the table, laughing softly as he helped Elijah fold a paper airplane. Amelia was nearby, sketching the scene with quiet focus, while Diane flipped pancakes at the stove.

Jaxon leaned against the wall, his arms crossed as he tried to mask the storm of emotions brewing inside him.

“Morning,” his dad said, his voice tentative but warm.

“You’re here,” Jaxon said flatly, his tone giving nothing away.

David nodded, his expression earnest. “I am. I wanted to see you. All of you.”

Jaxon’s jaw tightened, his gaze flicking to his mom, who was standing in the doorway, watching the exchange with careful eyes. “It’s been a while,” Jaxon said finally.

David’s face fell slightly, but he nodded again. “It has. And I’m sorry, Jax.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and raw. Jaxon wanted to say something—anything—but the lump in his throat made it impossible. Instead, he turned and walked out of the kitchen, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

In the den, Jaxon sank into an armchair, his head in his hands. The flood of emotions was too much—anger, sadness, confusion, a tiny flicker of hope he didn’t want to admit was there.

He hated how much he wanted to believe his dad’s words, how much he wanted them to mean something. But how could he? How could he trust someone who had left so easily, who hadn’t been there when it mattered most?

The sound of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. He looked up to see his dad standing in the doorway, his expression cautious.

“Can I come in?” David asked.

Jaxon shrugged, his face carefully neutral.

David stepped into the room and sat on the edge of the couch, leaving a careful distance between them. “I know I’m the last person you want to see right now,” he said softly. “And I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

Jaxon didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the floor.

“But I’m here because I want to try,” David continued. “I know I let you down, Jax. I know I wasn’t there when you needed me. And I’m sorry. More than you know.”

Jaxon’s hands clenched into fists. “Why now?” he asked, his voice shaking. “Why couldn’t you try before? Why couldn’t you stay?”

David’s shoulders slumped, the weight of the question visible on his face. “I thought I was doing what was best,” he admitted. “I thought… maybe you’d be better off without me. But I was wrong. And I’ve regretted it every day since.”

Jaxon looked up, his eyes blazing. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to just show up and say sorry and expect everything to be okay.”

“I don’t expect that,” David said quickly. “I don’t expect anything from you, Jax. But I want to try. I want to show you that I can be better.”

The room fell silent, the tension thick between them. Jaxon wanted to scream, to cry, to tell his dad exactly how much his absence had hurt. But instead, he just shook his head.

“I don’t know if I can believe you,” he said quietly.

David nodded, his expression pained but understanding. “That’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to believe me right now. But I’m going to keep trying, no matter what.”

Jaxon didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Instead, he stood and walked out of the room, leaving his dad sitting alone.

Later that day, as Jaxon sat in the guest room, staring out the window at the snow-covered yard, he thought about his dad’s words. He didn’t know if he could trust them, but a small part of him—a part he couldn’t ignore—wanted to try.