Chapter 45
Nick feels ridiculous for crying the moment his mother opens the door. There’s no reason for it, no sadness in his heart—only overwhelming happiness, so much that it spills out of him in quiet, unshed tears. He sniffles, blinks rapidly to hold them back, but his mother notices. Of course she does. She always does.
“Hello!” Remy calls cheerfully from his perch on Nick’s shoulders, waving excitedly before wrapping his little hands around Nick’s chin like he’s trying to anchor himself there. Nick chuckles, reaching up to steady him.
Sarah’s gaze softens as she takes in the sight—Nick, with a child giggling on his shoulders, Charlie standing beside him, hand gently resting on Nick’s lower back, and Daisy, their overexcited puppy, circling them in chaotic excitement.
She doesn’t say anything at first, just steps aside and gestures them in, her expression unreadable. “Come in, come in.”
Nick swallows past the lump in his throat, gently lifting Remy down so he can stand beside Charlie. Immediately, the little boy wraps his arms around Daisy, who huffs happily at the attention.
“Hi, Mom,” Nick says, his voice thick as he steps forward, accepting the hug she pulls him into.
When they part, he clears his throat, glancing between her and Charlie. “This is my boyfriend, Charlie.” The words feel so good, so right. “And this is Remy.”
Remy bounces on his heels, grinning up at her. “You’re Papa’s mommy, right?”
Sarah beams. Actually beams. And Nick doesn’t miss the way Charlie stiffens slightly beside him, like he’s suddenly unsure of his place, unsure of his welcome.
Sarah pats Nick’s cheek, then bends down so she’s eye level with Remy. “I sure am,” she says warmly. “And who’s this?” She points to Daisy, who wags her tail so hard her whole body moves.
“My doggo!” Remy exclaims. “She’s Daisy! Right, Daddy? She’s a good puppy!”
Charlie, still looking slightly uncertain, nods, his voice quieter than before. “Yeah… Hi, sorry, I’m Charlie.” He moves to shake her hand, polite, reserved, but Sarah waves it off entirely.
“Oh, no, none of that,” she says, pulling him into a hug instead.
Charlie stiffens for half a second, startled, but then she’s squeezing him gently, like a mother would, like she’s already decided that he belongs here. And Charlie—poor, unsure, constantly second-guessing Charlie—melts into it, just a little.
Nick watches, his throat tight, his heart so full it hurts.
Yeah. This was a good idea.
Nick pulls Charlie close, pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek before reaching for Remy’s hand, leading him inside. Daisy, their newest addition, sniffs curiously at the air before immediately deeming Remy the safest option, sticking close to his side instead of exploring.
Nick’s eyes instantly go to the Christmas tree, twinkling with warm lights, surrounded by neatly wrapped presents. The scent of pine and cinnamon fills the room, and for the first time in a long time, Nick feels at home. Really, truly at home.
“Is David coming?” he asks, turning to his mother, his voice hesitant but hopeful.
Sarah sighs, shaking her head gently. “I don’t think so… But that’s okay. I have all you lovely boys here.”
Nick nods, offering her a small, grateful smile just as an old, waddling Henry makes his grand entrance, eyeing Daisy with suspicion before letting out a sharp little yip. Whatever challenge was issued, Daisy accepts, the two dogs immediately bounding around each other in playful chaos.
Remy gasps dramatically, his eyes lighting up. “Woah!” He runs toward the Christmas tree, stopping right in front of it before turning back excitedly. “Daddy, up! Daddy, up!”
Charlie laughs, already making his way over. “Yeah, okay, bud,” he says, lifting Remy with ease.
From his new height, Remy takes in the decorations, his eyes darting from one ornament to the next before his gaze settles on the framed photos arranged carefully on the wall. His little face scrunches in thought before he gasps again, pointing enthusiastically.
“Papa, look! Papa! Papa!” He waves excitedly at a series of childhood photos of Nick—grinning with missing teeth, wearing a football jersey two sizes too big, sitting beside a very smug-looking David, and most notably, one of him as a toddler, cradled in his mother’s arms.
Nick chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck as he watches Charlie take in the pictures, his expression soft and warm. When he turns back to his mom, she’s already looking at him, her eyes filled with something deep and knowing. She steps forward, placing a gentle hand on his cheek.
“Oh, Nicky,” she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m so proud of you.”
Something tight and long-buried in Nick’s chest eases at her words, and he swallows past the sudden lump in his throat. He looks back at Charlie, who is already watching him, beaming, sending a small wave like he always does when he’s overwhelmed with affection.
Nick waves back, his heart feeling too big for his chest.
And then he lets out a breathless laugh, turning back to his mother. “Oh yeah,” he says, shaking his head, voice filled with nothing but certainty. “I’m… I’m so fucking happy.”
He pauses, cringing slightly. “Sorry, Mom. I know you don’t like cursing, but yeah.”
Sarah just laughs, reaching up to smooth his hair like she used to when he was a boy. “I think I can make an exception this time.”
Nick grins, the warmth of his mother’s love lingering as he turns, already zeroing in on Charlie and Remy. He walks toward them with exaggerated steps, bending his knees, lifting his arms, and letting out a low, playful growl.
Charlie barely has time to react before Nick pounces, scooping Remy up in his arms, making dramatic chomping sounds against the little boy’s side.
“Chomp, chomp, chomp! I’ve got you now, tiny human!” Nick declares, nuzzling his nose against Remy’s cheek as the little boy shrieks in laughter, squirming against the attack.
“No, Papa!!” Remy yells between giggles, flailing in Nick’s grip, his little hands pressing against his chest in protest. “Photos! Photos first!”
Nick freezes mid-chomp, pulling back with wide eyes. “No!” he gasps, feigning horror as he dramatically shields his face with one hand. “Not the embarrassing photos! Anything but that!”
Remy, still laughing, puffs out his cheeks in an exaggerated pout. “Mmmhmm!” He nods fiercely, pressing his little forehead against Nick’s. “You're just blah.”
Nick gasps as if he’s been mortally wounded, staggering backward, still holding Remy tight. “Blah?!” He turns, looking over at Charlie in pure betrayal. “Did you hear that? Did you hear your son just call me blah?!”
Charlie, arms crossed and lips twitching, shakes his head in mock disapproval. “Wow, Remy,” he sighs. “That’s just cruel. Your Papa is many things, but blah? Never.”
Remy giggles, clearly pleased with himself, but Nick’s dramatic pout doesn’t waver. “I dunno, Char, this is a deep wound,” he murmurs, setting Remy back on his feet before stepping forward, closing the small distance between them.
Charlie barely has time to register it before Nick leans in, pressing a quick, sweet kiss to his lips. The touch is warm, soft, over before it even begins, but it sends a warmth rushing through Charlie’s chest all the same.
“Gotta heal my heart somehow,” Nick murmurs against his lips, and Charlie laughs, rolling his eyes but squeezing Nick’s hand in silent affection.
Nick’s eyes light up as he suddenly remembers, “Oh! Presents!”
He turns to his mom with a grin, but his excitement fades into sheepish embarrassment when he catches her with her phone, camera raised. Sarah smirks, clearly having snapped a photo of his enthusiasm.
“Mom,” he groans, rubbing a hand down his face, but she just chuckles.
“What? You looked cute,” she teases, lowering her phone. “Besides, it’s nice to have these moments captured.”
Nick sighs dramatically but doesn’t argue. Instead, Sarah gestures toward the front door. “Why don’t I grab the presents while Charlie and Remy finish looking at your photos?”
Nick shakes his head immediately. “No way, Mom. I got it.”
He carefully lifts Remy onto Charlie’s hip, placing a quick kiss to Charlie’s lips, and grins at the little squeak Charlie lets out in surprise. “Be right back,” he promises, ruffling Remy’s hair before heading toward the door.
As he grabs his keys, he glances back once more, heart swelling at the sight of his little family. Charlie is balancing Remy easily, his head tilted slightly as he studies the photos displayed on the mantle—photos of Nick through the years, from childhood to college, frozen snapshots of his past. Meanwhile, Sarah is sitting on the couch, both dogs curled up beside her as she animatedly tells Remy a story.
Nick doesn’t hear the whole thing, but he catches something about him as a toddler, covered in sticky melted ice cream, and Remy’s delighted giggles fill the room.
Nick smiles to himself as he steps outside to retrieve the gifts.
When he returns, arms full of neatly wrapped presents, he’s pleased to see the cozy scene unchanged. Remy is now curled up beside his mother, wide-eyed and giggling as she recounts tales from Nick’s childhood, while Charlie is lost in thought, tracing his fingers over a particular photo on the mantle.
Setting the presents down carefully, Nick moves toward Charlie, slipping his arms around his waist from behind and pulling him into his chest. He presses a soft kiss to Charlie’s neck, feeling the slight shiver that runs through him in response.
“Mmm, what are you doing?” Charlie hums, his voice warm and teasing as he leans into Nick’s embrace.
Nick nuzzles against his jaw, dropping another kiss to his cheek. “Just recharging,” he murmurs, tightening his arms around Charlie for a second before turning his attention to the room.
He looks at his mom, Remy, the dogs curled up on the couch—the warmth of his childhood home mixing with the love of his present.
For the first time in a long time, Nick feels like everything is exactly as it should be.
“Alright,” he says, grinning as he turns to his family. “Who’s ready for presents?”
Nick swears his heart could burst.
This moment—this small, domestic moment, in the warmth of his mother’s living room, surrounded by the people he loves most—feels so impossible, so surreal, that he has to ground himself, fingers pressing lightly into the armrest of the couch as he watches it unfold.
Remy is practically vibrating with excitement, his curls wild from the wind outside. He giggles, looking up at her with bright eyes, and announces, “Me, Papa! I have a present for Grandma!”
And just like that, Nick’s mother lights up. There’s a flicker of something deep and warm in her eyes at the title—Grandma—but she doesn’t say anything about it, just smiles in that soft, maternal way of hers, the one that’s held Nick together more times than he can count.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Sarah says, her voice all warmth and affection, “you didn’t have to get me anything.”
But Remy gasps, as if the very idea is absurd. “No! I had to!”
And then he’s off, scrambling off the couch with all the grace of a determined four-year-old, nearly tripping over Henry as he rushes across the room to retrieve his treasure. The gift itself is wrapped in far too much tape, the paper slightly crinkled from tiny fingers working so hard to make it just right, but he holds it out with such pride that Nick feels something tighten in his chest.
God, he loves this kid.
Sarah takes the present with gentle hands, eyes soft as she carefully peels back the wrapping, taking her time, making it feel important. Reverent. Because it is.
Nick watches her expression shift as she finally reveals what’s inside: a small ceramic vase, slightly misshapen, painted in every color imaginable, a vibrant, messy rainbow of brushstrokes forming what is, unmistakably, a flower.
And Nick knows how much effort went into this. He remembers Remy at the kitchen table, tongue poking out in concentration, tiny fingers gripping the paintbrush as he carefully, carefully worked, switching colors every few strokes. He remembers how Charlie had sat beside him, encouraging every haphazard splash of paint, smiling even when Remy’s enthusiasm led to more paint on his hands than the actual vase.
Sarah traces the edges of the painting with delicate fingers, her expression one of pure, unfiltered love. “Oh, sweetheart,” she breathes, eyes glassy as she looks at Remy, “this is so beautiful. Thank you.”
Remy beams, positively glows, and in the next second, he’s launching himself at her, wrapping his little arms around her neck in a hug so fierce it nearly knocks the vase from her hands.
Nick swallows hard, his throat tight, because this is his life. Somehow, impossibly, this is his life.
The warmth of his mother’s laughter. The bright joy in Remy’s giggles. Charlie’s soft smile from across the room, watching them with eyes that hold entire galaxies. The sound of Henry’s snores, Daisy nuzzling into Nick’s leg, all of it pressing into his chest, making him feel so full, so overwhelmingly lucky.
His fingers twitch, instinctively brushing against the weight in his pocket.
Not today, he thinks. Soon. But not today.
Charlie deserves something big, something special, something extravagant.
But that doesn’t change the fact that Nick’s entire future is sitting in his pocket, resting heavy against his leg, a promise waiting to be made.
And as he watches Remy squeeze Sarah just a little tighter, his heart so full it aches, he knows—knows—that his future has never looked brighter.