Tangled Hearts.

~Chapter 63~

~Colby~

I was dreaming about something peaceful. Snow. Silence. Maybe Rae in a nightgown telling me I didn't have to do dishes for the rest of my life. Something wholesome.

Then suddenly—

"IT'S CHRISTMAS!!"

Three separate sets of feet thundered through the hallway like a stampede of caffeinated squirrels on fire.

Before I could even groan, the bedroom door flew open with enough force to knock it off the hinges and I felt it—Blake, human wrecking ball, launching himself directly onto my back like a weighted blanket of chaos.

"MERRY CHRISTMAS!" he shouted into my ear.

Gigi dove onto the bed next, wriggling herself between me and Rae like she paid rent, dragging half the comforter with her.

Daisy, sweet little demon cherub that she is, crawled under the blankets and snuggled straight into Rae's side with a dramatic sigh. "Auntie Rae," she whined softly. "Get up. It's Christmas. You have to get uppppp."

Rae groaned, voice scratchy and half-asleep. "No. I'm dead. I died in my sleep. You have to go open your presents without me."

"You're not dead," Daisy whispered, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "You're warm. Dead people are cold."

"Okay, that's terrifying," Rae muttered.

I cracked one eye open, face buried in the pillow as Blake sprawled across my back like a human backpack.

"Get out, you hellions," I groaned. "It's too early for this."

"It's *seven thirty*," Gigi argued like a lawyer.

"Too. Early."

Then Aspen started fussing from the bassinet in the corner, letting out that soft, building whine that meant she was seconds away from Defcon One.

Rae sighed and pushed herself up. "Alright. Alright, I'm up."

Blake immediately rolled into her spot. "I get her pillow."

"No, I get her pillow!" Gigi whined.

"You get the decorative one."

"I *hate* the decorative one."

"Then suffer."

Rae crossed the room in her oversized sweatshirt and fuzzy socks, scooping up our tiny dictator from her bassinet and kissing her soft forehead. "Good morning, Bean," she whispered, already swaying with that automatic, tired-mom bounce. "Merry Christmas, my little noise machine."

I blinked slowly, dragging myself upright while the kids continued to argue over who got the blanket and who was a "pillow thief" and who "snores like a grandpa."

Rae disappeared into the bathroom with Aspen, and I finally peeled myself out of bed.

I opened the drawer on my side of the nightstand. My hand hovered there for a beat.

The ring box was still there. Tucked under the baby monitor and an old pack of gum and a half-written to-do list that just said "apologize to Rae for being a jackass" and "find that one pacifier she likes."

I grabbed the box. Just held it. Cold in my palm.

I'd been holding onto it for months. Waiting. Stalling. Waiting again. I told myself I'd do it when things calmed down — which, let's be real, in our world? Meant *never.*

But now... we were home. Everyone was here. Aspen was here. The whole house smelled like cinnamon and coffee and childhood.

So why did I feel like I was about to puke into a stocking?