Page 43 of One Last Storm
“I met…um…an elf who knew you, and he said that he’d been looking for a pup. And I think Santa sent him exactly my way because this pup is looking for a home.”
Hazel sat on the floor, running her hand over the puppy. “She can live here.”
“Can she?” Wilder asked seriously. “Because she’s going to need someone who can teach her properly. Someone who’ll be patient with her.”
“I will! I promise I’ll take really good care of her!”
Moose and Tillie exchanged glances. Some silent communication passed between them before Moose nodded.
“If Santa thinks she needs a home...” Moose said.
The puppy scrambled into Hazel’s lap, licking her face. Hazel fell back laughing.
Moose picked it up, off Hazel, set the pup back on the floor.
“I think she does.” Wilder said as he crouched next to Hazel. “What are you going to call her?”
Hazel studied the small face seriously. “Fluffy. Because look at all this fur!”
Yeah, that sounded right.
The puppy wiggled in Hazel’s arms, small yips of excitement filling the room.
And he felt none of it.
He could see it—their joy. Wanted to join in, but he stood with a pane of glass between them. Separated by a before and after. A happy ending.
And…this.
Caspian lifted his head, studying Dawson’s face with those amber eyes that seemed to see everything. Fine. He could stay.
And maybe Caspian could sense something Dawson couldn’t—that underneath the fractured pieces and the determination to just keep moving forward, there was still something worth saving.
The memories stirred, pushing against his resolve to stay present. The little girl’s face. The scream that dug into his soul, haunting.
Not today.
He gripped the couch cushion, anchoring himself to this moment. Focus on getting back on his feet. Yes. But for now, there was this. A warm living room full of people loved him. A dog who’d seemed to have chosen him. The sound of Hazel’s laughter as a puppy tried to eat her hair.
It wasn’t healing.
Not yet.
But maybe it was a foothold. A place to stand while he figured out how to put the fractured pieces back together.
“I guess it’s just you and me, bub,” he murmured to Caspian.
One day at a time. One moment at a time. One breath at a time.
Starting with this one.
Outside, snow continued to fall, blanketing the world in clean white. Inside, his family celebrated life and love and the promise of good things to come.
And somewhere between the warmth of the fire and the weight of Caspian’s head on his knee, Dawson began to believe that maybe—just maybe—he might survive this after all.