Page 42 of Worth the Shot

We pull into the driveway, and Shayne carries Luca inside. I help Emma get him cleaned up and into his pajamas. She settles into the rocking chair with his favorite picture book, and I slip quietly out of the room before he gets too distracted.

I put on my pajamas and head downstairs, where Shayne is already pulling ingredients from the cabinet. Vodka, crème de cacao, Godiva liqueur, the works. His famous chocolate martinis. A Christmas Eve tradition that, frankly, might be the best thing he’s ever brought into this family.

I take my usual seat at the island, mostly to keep him company, but if I’m being honest, it’s also because I need his. He doesn’t look up as he pours.

“So, do you wanna talk about what was actually bothering you in the car, or are we pretending I believed you?”

“The latter,” I say, and he smirks, nodding like he’s surrendering.

“I was just…thinking about my dad,” I finally admit, because there’s no point lying to Shayne. He’s always been able to see right through me. As close as I am with Emma, sometimes it’s easier with Shayne. Less emotional fallout, more matter-of-fact reactions.

“I had a feeling.” He pauses mid-pour, glancing up just enough to check my face. “You wanna talk about it?”

I shake my head. “Not really.”

“Didn’t think so,” he says softly, resuming his task. Ice clinks against metal, and for a moment the only sound in the kitchen is the rhythm of the shaker.

“You talk to Halesy today?” he asks after a beat. “I think he and Miles were grabbing takeout. I told them to come to dinner, but neither one would budge.”

Every year, we invite Miles to Christmas Eve dinner, and every year he politely declines. Says he doesn’t want to intrude on family time, as if he’s not already family. “I haven’t heard from him,” I say, checking my phone just in case. No new messages. “I’m sure they’re fine.”

Shayne raises a brow, still not looking at me. “You guys have gotten pretty close.”

I sigh, cutting him off before he can continue. “We’re just friends. Really good friends. Why does everyone have a problem with that?” It comes out rough and defensive in a way that’s more than I intend.

He sets the shaker down with a quiet thud. “Delaney.” His tone is gentle but firm, the way it gets when he’s about to make a point I don’t want to hear. “First of all, chill. No one’s asking anything of you. I’m saying I’m glad you have each other. That’s it.”

I stare at him for a moment, the tension easing just slightly. “Okay. Fine. Sorry. I just wish everyone would let me be.”

He gives a small laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “What do you think I’ve been doing for the last few months? I’ve had your back, Delaney. Always have, always will. It’s why I kept quiet when Morris left. I just want you to be happy, however that looks. And if that’s being just friends with Brennan, then fine. That’s your choice.”

His words hang heavy between us, and for a while, neither of us speaks. The ice rattles again, louder now, bouncing off the sides of the shaker until it feels like it’s echoing straight through my chest.

“What if being just friends isn’t good enough anymore?” I say it so quietly I’m not even sure he hears me. Hell, I barely hear me. But he does. He always does.

“Then do something about it.” His back is still to me when he says it, calm and certain, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. He doesn’t push any further. Instead he pours the martinis, resulting in three perfectly even glasses that are looking a lot like the answer to my prayers at the moment.

“I don’t think I know how to without worrying it’ll fall apart,” I blurt out, like I’m looking for him to fix me. Slap me. Anything.

He finally turns, meeting my eyes, bracing both arms on the counter in front of me. “Give it a try.”

For a second, I forget how to breathe. His voice isn’t challenging, just soft and understanding because he gets it. He was there for all of it. He saw the wreckage, the pieces I’m still trying to glue back together so I can learn to let my guard down long enough to let someone back in.

He sets the glass in front of me, then leans down and kisses the side of my head before messing up my hair. It’s rough, warm, brotherly and the exact kind of tough love I need. And for the first time all night, I let myself feel it. The weight of everything I felt like I lost when Matt left without a trace, and the comfort of knowing who’s still here.

I take a sip of my drink and let the chocolate warmth coat my throat. For all the chaos in my life, I think, not for the first time, how damn lucky I am to have Shayne Bennett in my corner.

We clean up the martini aftermath together and migrate to the living room. I settle into the couch as Shayne buries himself into the loveseat beside it, and Emma finally makes her way back downstairs. The big screen is paused on the opening credits of Christmas Vacation, and her chocolate martini waits for her on the coffee table. Shayne’s already half-asleep, his glass nearly empty. I lift the blanket beside me and pat the spot underneath, inviting Emma in. She slides under, curling up close and our matching silk hunter-green pajamas make it hard to tell where I end and she begins. It’s been so long since we’ve done this, and I make a silent promise not to let that happen again. Life moves quickly when you’re not looking, and before you know it, moments become memories or missed opportunities that could have been. She lays her head on my shoulder, and I rest mine against hers, pressing play on the remote. It’s our favorite movie and we could quote every line by heart, yet somehow it still captivates us like it’s the first time.

Halfway through, Shayne’s snoring softly, and I’m seconds away from doing the same when I feel Emma’s gaze on me instead of the screen.

“What?” I ask, half defensive. “I’m not sleeping, I swear.”

She smiles, shaking her head. “No, I know. I’m just looking at you because you seem so…Delaney. Like you’re you again. Happier, maybe. Less…broken.”

She says the last part softly, almost afraid of how I’ll react. I nudge her shoulder gently and settle back into her warmth. She’s home.

“I am,” I say, meaning every word. “I think. I feel like it, anyway.”