Page 202 of The Holiday Clause

Magnus’s glare snapped to the foot of the table where Greyson sat. “Where’s Sable?”

Again, the table stilled, and the conversation stopped.

Magnus’s cold gaze lifted past his son and his chin trembled. Everyone followed his stare except Wren, who kept her eyes on Magnus. His breath caught, and he abruptly dropped his gaze. “I’ve had enough.”

Soren sprung to his feet as Magnus started to rise. “Take my arm, Dad.”

His father shook off his help. “I can walk.” But he couldn’t, and when he realized that, Soren’s arm was there.

The room seemed to hold a collective breath as the patriarch shuffled away from the table, grumbling and snapping, ridiculing anyone brave enough to help him.

“I said wait!” Magnus snapped, and Soren’s patience visibly diminished. Leaning heavily on his son’s support, he turned to face them one last time—not an ounce of kindness in his sharp gaze. “Your mother always hoped you boys would stay close. Thick as thieves, every last one of you. She always got her way.”

Wren’s breath turned unsteady as she realized what was coming. Greyson’s hand clutched hers, tightening ever so slightly.

Magnus met her stare, then glared at Greyson. “You never wanted real responsibility. Always looking for an escape. The real work was a cage to you.”

Silence fell like a guillotine.

Wren’s grip tightened around Greyson’s as Magnus turned his attention back to her. “Your mother…” He grunted a derisive laugh and scowled. “She was an ache in the shape of a woman.”

A chair squealed as Bodhi abruptly stood, a look Wren didn’t recognize burning in his weathered eyes.

Magnus didn’t appear threatened in the least. “Haven taught Sable not to need anything from a man. Your mother wanted me to suffer.” Eyes still on Greyson, his mouth curved with a wicked smile. “She’ll never need you.”

Greyson stood in one fluid motion and thumped his fist on the table with a hard, warning bang. Wren’s stomach dropped as she felt all her hard work wither into ash.

“That’s the difference between you and me. I don’t need her codependence. I only want her love.”

“Love,” Magnus spat, as if the word tasted like rust on his tongue. “The prettiest lie ever whispered. Fools die under its spell. Real men know better.” His cold gaze slid back to Wren. “Beautiful things hiding teeth. She’ll eat you alive.”

“That’s enough,” Logan said, standing from his chair. “Soren, take him to bed or I will.”

His father laughed gruffly. “Well, well, look who grew a spine.”

Greyson jerked his chair back and took a warning step. Wren caught his arm. Despite his hurtful words, something told her they needed this moment to play out. Her hope of ever redeeming Magnus in their eyes was now gone, so they needed to face down their demons together.

Magnus pulled the oxygen mask to his face and drew a deep breath, as if reloading a weapon. Wren braced for whatever came next. “I should have never let that woman into our lives. You boys were lost the day you met her.” He angled a trembling finger at Wren.

“Soren,” Greyson said with zero reflection. “Get him out of here.”

“Can’t run, so now you chase me away?” His cold chuckle was framed in a cough. “No need for old Dad anymore, eh? Got everything you wanted. Just like your mother.”

The effort to stay calm radiated from Greyson. Tension filled the room.

Wren pried her fingers free of his grip and rounded the table, not stopping until she stood in front of Magnus. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Hawthorne.” Despite the way she internally trembled, she rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to his dry cheek. “Thank you for a beautiful day.”

He frowned, confused by her contrasting gratitude.

Wren didn’t flinch or recoil from his bitter stare. It was clear, years of rotted pride had poisoned him. “You don’t have to understand it,” she said gently. “But this is what love looks like.”

Magnus glanced over her shoulder at the table. She didn’t look back to see what he saw. She already knew what was there.

It was not the image of greedy sons circling his deathbed like vultures, waiting for his legacy to fall into their palms. No brittle alliances had formed. Despite all of his efforts to turn them against each other, their bond remained strong to the very end.

“I love your sons, sir. All of them. And they love you. You can thank their mother, and mine, for that. They taught us how to love without expectation. The more you try to divide them, to divide us, the tighter we’ll hold onto each other.” She cradled his cold hand in his. “Can’t you see? Christmas is grace unearned. That’s why we’re here today, with you. Our love might be undeserved, but we’ve given it anyway. And we expect nothing in return. Your legacy has nothing to do with it. We’re here, for you, out of love. Just love. The kind, even death, can’t destroy.”

She released his hand and stepped back. No one said a word for several seconds, until Soren softly whispered, “Come on, Dad. I’ll take you to bed.”