“Clare,” Rory whispered softly to his wife, touching her elbow to wake her. She was curled up next to their son in bed, her blond curls spread out on the pillow behind her, still a bit damp from her recent shower. He’d taken a moment to look at them both before deciding to wake her and bring her back to their bed. She’d fallen asleep next to Murphy after reading a Christmas story to him, and there was such a sweet innocence in that moment, his heart hurt.

Mother and son, healthy and ill.

When he’d first fallen in love with Clare over a decade ago, there had been no doubt in Rory’s mind that this was the woman he’d be with for the rest of his life. He’d pursued her hard, refusing to let her slip through his fingers when fear—and a violent ex-boyfriend—tried to take her from him. Every part of him was head over heels for her, and he was certain that his heart was filled to capacity every moment he looked at her.

It wasn’t until these last few months that he’d realized how naive he’d been. He’d fallen in love with a young woman—the way she laughed with a joy he’d never seen before, or the way she encouraged him to do better, try harder, or how she gasped when he pushed inside her. Everything about that woman was a distant memory now, and he wouldn’t change it for the world.

The woman he loved now had small wrinkles around her eyes that she put serum on at night trying to keep them at bay, even though he loved the happiness those lines represented. The woman he loved now chose dinners at home, their little family gathered in the kitchen cooking together, instead of the bars and restaurants they’d once frequented. The woman he loved still moaned his name and everything about her still drove him wild, but now they whispered and moved quickly, trying to get a moment of passion before a child ran into their bedroom complaining of a bad dream.

“Clare,” he whispered again, nudging her with a bit more force this time. “Come to bed, mhuirnín.”

“Mmm.” She groaned, her eyes blinking open slowly. “What time is it?”

“Past midnight. It’s officially Christmas. Come on, let’s go to bed.”

She nodded and carefully slid out from under the covers, taking mind to not wake Murphy. They tucked him back into bed, his soft sighs and snores making Rory’s heart squeeze. Everything from the last few weeks, the start of chemotherapy treatments, the side effects and sickness…it was the hardest thing he’d ever been through. He’d spent his life as a man of action. If there was a problem, he fixed it.

He couldn’t fix Murphy’s cancer. He couldn’t help his son. All he could do was pray and wait, and hope the doctors knew what they were doing. It was agonizing.

“Is the tree ready?” Clare asked, tiptoeing out of the bedroom behind him. “All the gifts under there?”

Rory nodded. “Want to see?”

They relocated to the living room, the entire house dark except for the bright, twinkling lights wrapped around the large evergreen in the corner. Behind the tree was a wide window that covered most of the wall and faced out onto a row of evergreen trees that were sprinkled with white snow. Small snowflakes were floating past the window, and Rory smiled at the realization that his children would have their first official White Christmas.

Both kids were fast asleep in their beds, exhausted after the energetic evening at his brother’s house. Murphy had taken a bit longer to fall asleep as he was still dealing with the nausea, but once his medication eased his stomach, he’d drifted off. As much as he loved them, these moments alone with Clare after they were asleep were some of the most special times of their marriage.

Clare dropped onto the couch with a loud sigh. “Can you believe tonight?”

“It was eventful,” he answered, taking the seat next to hers and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He propped his feet up on the ottoman in front of the sofa and yawned. “Most evenings with my family are.”

She shook her head. “This one was different.”

He knew she was right. Kissing her temple, he nodded in agreement. “Are you angry with me for telling them?”

“No. I mean, I was for a second when your mother burst into the bathroom and insisted on hugging me, even though I was covered in vomit.” Clare laughed lightly, the sound fading into the darkness of the night around them. “They needed to know. We needed help.”

“That’s always been hard for me,” Rory admitted.

“Me, too. It’s hard knowing you can’t help your kid.” She sniffed, running a hand over her cheek. “How helpless we are.”

Rory reached over and lifted her legs, draping them across his lap. He leaned into her and kissed her, his hands cradling her face. There was no mistaking the ache in her voice, the pain in her trembling, and he just wanted to take it all away. She was right—they were completely helpless as parents. But as a husband? That, he could do.

“Mmm.” She moaned against his lips, pulling at the fabric on his shirt to bring him closer to her.

He pressed her backwards into the couch, covering her body with his and sliding his hand between them. His fingers pushed at the fabric of her pants, sliding them down her legs and tossing them onto the floor before unzipping his own pants. She anchored her knees to either side of his hips and he pressed himself against her entrance.

Finding her already slick with desire, he slid inside and pressed his thumb against the sensitive bundle of nerves above. Clare cried out and arched her back off the couch, pushing against him as he twirled circles around her.

“Rory…” His name sounded like sex on her lips, like something he wanted to record and listen to over and over until he came undone at the tremble of her lips.

He slid his free hand beneath her lower back and lifted her hips for a better angle. Their mouths clashed, tongues twirling and thrusting as they devoured every inch of one another. The glow of the Christmas tree lights left shadows on her face and neck that he kissed and nipped until she writhed beneath him, closer and closer to the edge.

“Come for me, Clare,” he commanded, thrusting harder, deeper, faster. He wanted to feel her pulse around him, waves of climax slamming through her and clenching around him. He wanted to see the relief on her face when the pleasure danced through her, easing the tension that had had a hold of her for months. “Come…now.”

Her breath came faster, more erratic as she arched into him. The feeling of her warmth clenching around him almost made his vision go black, his own climax hitting him hard as they came together and fell into the couch in a tangled mess of limbs.

“Rory?” She was panting beneath him, out of breath, so he slid down to her side and pulled her against his chest. Her forehead rested against him and he felt the tiny flicker of her eyelashes fluttering against the skin on his chest as she closed her eyes. “Are we going to be okay?”

Her last words shook as her voice faded in and out.

He considered his words a moment, not wanting to offer her an empty appeasement. She had valid reasons to be concerned about what was coming in the future for them, for their family, for the Kavanaghs in general. As optimistic as so much of his family member’s future’s looked—Casey’s new love with Flynn, Jimmy’s new family with Sophie, Quinn’s move back home with Kiera, Kane’s upcoming marriage to Nora, and Kieran’s new baby on the way—they all still had their moments of pain and suffering. That was life, though. Especially in a family as large as his, the good and the bad came in waves and there was always some of both.

But that was what also made them the best family he’d ever known. No one went through hardships alone. No one celebrated alone. That’s the world he wanted to raise Murphy and Brontë in.

He felt a lightness fill him, tension easing from his body as he kissed Clare’s temple and then her lips. “I don’t know what the future holds for us, Clare, but I do know that whatever it is…we’re going to be okay. Murph’s going to be okay. We’re going to have more children, more adventures, more love than we ever thought possible.”

“I love you, Rory Kavanagh.” She sighed, a smile lifting her cheeks. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Kavanagh. I love you, mhuirnín.”