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"We aren't a normal family."
I grimace at the reminder. I guess when you lose your parents in a fiery plane crash two days before Christmas, there isn't a lot to celebrate. He and Roman are both old enough to remember losing our parents, but I don't even remember them. I was only four when their plane went down.
But I think it's important to celebrate the holiday even if we aren't normal. My brothers need a reminder that there is more to life than work. God knows, if it were up to them, they'd spend all day, every day at their respective offices. They need to live a little.
"No family is normal, Jordan," I say quietly. "Every family looks different. It doesn't make them any less of a functional, cohesive family. You've worked through Christmas every year since I started college. I miss you."
His expression softens. "I haven't gone anywhere, Half-Pint."
"Good. Then it won't be a problem for us to have Christmas at your place." I beam at him, batting my lashes. "Unless you and Rome want to carry a giant tree up three flights of stairs to mine and Hollie's apartment."
He goes still as soon as I say her name. "Is she spending Christmas with us again this year?"
"Yes," I say slowly. Hollie's parents are…honestly, I don't know what to call her parents. As soon as she graduated from high school, they sold their house and all their worldly possessions and took up cruising the world. Last I heard, they were in Iceland. Hollie spends most holidays with us as a result.
Jordan nods slowly. "Fine. We'll do Christmas at the house. I'll even buy a damn tree for you two to decorate."
I fight the urge to gape at him, stunned at how quickly he capitulated. Does he know the woman he met at Rome's masquerade party was Hollie, or is he just trying to appease me? I don't know!
Our food arrives before I can work it out. My stomach growls as I dig into my strawberry crepes heaped with whipped cream.
Jordan watches me in amusement, shaking his head. "That shit still doesn't qualify as breakfast, Half-Pint."
"Shut up," I mumble around a mouthful.
We eat in silence for a few moments before I work up the nerve to bring up Atlas…and by bring him up I mean I lie like the wind.
"How is the hockey player that got hit with the puck? Atlas, right?" Oh, I'm good, and I'm going to hell for it.
Forgive me, Baby Jesus.
"Out for two weeks." Jordan scowls at the reminder. "His replacement is shit."
"He can't play for two weeks?"
"We'll be lucky if he's only out that long," my brother mutters.
"What? Why?"
"This is his second concussion in a year. We're not taking it lightly. If we have to bench him for the rest of the season to ensure he's able to keep playing for as long as possible, that's what we'll do."
This is what I love about my brother. A lot of people would push for their players to return to the ice as soon as possible. How many times has one played through a head injury in a professional sport? Jordan isn't like that. For him, the players mean more than a win, even if it costs him now. He'd rather have a healthy player in the long run than a win in the short-term. He values people above business.
But it sucks for Atlas. It's his first season with the Falcons, and it's only just begun.
"You like Atlas, don't you?" I ask softly.
"Wouldn't have pushed to get him signed to the team if I didn't." He narrows his eyes on me. "Why?"
"Just curious," I lie.
"Gabriella."
"What?"
"Don't bullshit me. Why are you asking?"
"I was just curious." I shrug. "Is that a crime?"
