Page 129 of Tricked By Jack
“He sleeps on Jack’s chest every night,” she says, and the image of my brother—the man who once tortured information out of people without blinking—cuddling a cat is almost too much to process.
Willow climbs into Jack’s lap, sticky hands clinging to his shirt as she demands to know if they have Christmas trees in San Francisco. Or, as she called it,Sanny Franiso.He assures her they do.
“And Santa always stops by,” he tells her solemnly.
I watch them, this strange, cobbled-together family of ours. Carolina leans against the counter, coffee mug in hand, her smile soft as she observes Eve helping Lily with tiny bites of pancake. The tension that’s lived in my shoulders since Jack left New York finally eases.
The morning light strengthens, filtering through the windows and catching on the ornaments of our Christmas tree. Willow giggles at something Eve whispers in her ear, and Jack’s smile—genuine, unguarded—makes him look younger than I’ve seen him in years.
It feels like family again. Not perfect, not unmarked by the scars we all carry, but real. Present. Alive.
Later, when the girls are sated and Carolina has Eve trapped in conversation about the Sanctuary’s expansion plans, I drive Jack out to Ruby’s grave. The cemetery is empty on Christmas Day, paths barely cleared of snow, silence deeper than any church I’ve ever entered.
Ruby’s headstone stands apart from the family plot—Jack bought it for her. I used to feel guilty I hadn’t thought of it, but it doesn’t matter. Here, in death, she finally got to be only herself.
The snow is thin here, clinging to the stones, melting where the winter sun touches it. Jack carries a small bundle of red roses. He kneels to brush snow from the base of the headstone before laying them down, his movements careful, almost reverent.
I stand beside him, hands in my pockets, watching my breath cloud in the cold air. We don’t speak at first. Don’t need to. The quiet between us has always said more than words.
“Hey, Rubes,” Jack finally says, his voice low but steady. Not like the first time we visited, when his words broke apart before they left his mouth. “Merry Christmas.”
I smile at the greeting, so normal, as if she might answer back. “The girls are getting big,” I add, continuing our tradition of talking to her like she’s listening. “Willow’s into dinosaurs now. Carries this little T-Rex everywhere. Carolina says she gets her obsessiveness from me.”
Jack laughs softly. “Definitely not from me.” He adjusts the roses, making sure they won’t blow away.
The wind picks up, carrying the scent of pine from nearby trees. I study my brother’s profile, the steadiness in him that wasn’t there even a year ago. Not just the absence of rage, but the presence of something else—purpose, maybe. Peace.
“Will you ever come back?” I ask the question I’ve been holding since he left. “To New York, I mean. For good.”
Jack stands, brushing snow from his knees. He meets my gaze directly, no evasion, no calculated response. “We closed on a house last week,” he says. “Here in New York.”
“Tell me about it.”
“It’s an old Victorian,” he continues. “Needs work, but Eve loves it. Apparently our fortune teller told her it has good bones.” His mouth quirks in a half-smile. “Considering our professions, that’s probably not the best way to describe it.”
The joke lands between us, unexpectedly light. I find myself laughing, the sound strange in the solemn quiet of the cemetery.
“You’re happy,” I say. Not a question but an observation.
He considers this, his gaze drifting back to Ruby’s grave. “I’m… at peace,” he says finally. “With what happened. With what I did.” His shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. “Eve helps. She understands the dark parts without trying to fix them.”
I think of Carolina, how she sees my shadows but never flinches from them. How she accepts the violence in my blood without letting it define me.
“I get that,” I tell him.
Jack nods, knowing I do. We stand in companionable silence, two brothers bound by blood and memory, by the sister we mistakenly thought needed safety. But that’s not what Ruby needed. She wanted to be free, and now she is.
“So, Mr. Mortis,” I tease. “Does your house have spare rooms?”
He rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Of course it does. But they’re for Willow and Lily. We don’t want kids.”
“Good,” I reply. “That means you have time to babysit mine.”
He shudders theatrically. “Eve’s already planning to convert the sunroom into a playroom for them.”
I burst out laughing. “Fair warning, Willow will bring her entire dinosaur collection.”
“Eve will help her name them all,” he grins.
I laugh again, the sound less jarring this time against the quiet of the cemetery. We turn back toward the car, but Jack pauses for one more look at Ruby’s grave.
“She’d be glad,” he says softly. “That we’re both okay. That we found our way.”
I think of our sister—her fierce independence. “Yeah,” I agree. “She would.”
When we reach the car, I smirk at my brother. “I wasn’t joking about babysitting, by the way.”
“Oh?” He narrows his eyes, probably guessing I have something planned from the tone I’m using.
“The next Sanctuary of Secrets starts December twenty-seventh, and I have plans for my Kitten.”