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Lying on the sofa under Maverick, illuminated only by the multihued glow of the Christmas tree, Jenny looked up into that handsome, scarred, beloved face, into those searching blue eyes, and saw a bottomless reservoir of love for her and their children, and of hope for their future. His hope was better than his reckless confidence of before. That confidence had been heedless of her or anything but what he’d wanted, and he’d dragged her along in his wake. She’d gone willingly, for the most part, but not on her own power. His hope, on the other hand—his hope saw her, heard her, needed her. She was a partner in that hope.

She thought of what he’d told her, of the things he’d gone through in prison, of the horror and powerlessness he’d experienced, and her heart broke that he’d been alone, abandoned, for all those years. She had left him alone. She had abandoned him.

He had left her, too, but to a different kind of torment. An easier kind.

So much of what they’d had before had been good and right—what they had now was a testament to what had been good before—but it had been built on an uneven, unstable foundation. What they’d both needed then they still needed now, but they hadn’t known how to get there—he’d known only how to lead, and she’d known only how to follow. They’d been like two half-selves, unable to make a whole. In their loneliness since, in their turmoil, they’d learned the rest of themselves and come back together on stable ground.

They’d finally made their whole together.

She shifted under him, settling her legs on either side of his hips, and he groaned as her movement pressed his cock against her mound. She wore only his Bulls t-shirt, and he wore only a pair of sweatpants. She slid her hand down his side and pushed at his waistband, reaching between them to find and free his ready cock.

“Fuck me, Mav. I need you inside me.”

He obliged without a word, letting her take hold of him, letting her feed him into herself, and his mouth locked on hers as he thrust deep. Swallowing her moan, lapping it up with his tongue, he rocked his hips, and Jenny pushed her hands into the back his sweatpants and grabbed, digging her fingers into the flexing, muscular meat of his ass.

As Jenny felt her nerves begin to twist together into the pattern of their ecstasy, felt the hot flood of need loosen her joints, she broke free of his mouth, desperate for breath, and bit down on his shoulder.

Maverick grunted and slammed into her. In a sudden move, he tossed a back cushion from the couch, making more room on the seat, and grabbed her head, dragging a fistful of her hair, yanking her mouth from his shoulder and claiming it for his own again.

In her hands, his muscles flexed and released, harder and faster each time until the sofa began to move under them, short, stuttering shifts with each slam of their hips together.

Jenny was coming, sweet God, she was coming, and she needed to breathe, but she didn’t want to lose any part of their union, not even their tongues, and she was going to pass out, and she didn’t care. She could hear that he was close, too—his breathing was as desperate and insufficient as hers, great noisy drags of air through his nose, but he wasn’t going anywhere, either.

When the climax landed, she couldn’t control anything, and she screamed into his mouth. He grunted wildly at the same time, almost a scream of his own, and her eyes flew open—and she found herself starting right into his. He’d already been watching her.

They came down together, gradually slowing to a stop, pulling back from their mad kiss at the same time, swallowing heaps of air together. Then, when satiation brought sanity back, they lay together, still connected, and stared into each other’s Christmas-lit eyes.

She lifted her head and kissed his nose. “This is what I saw, too,” she murmured.

He smiled and brushed his lips over hers. When he pulled out, she hung on, unwilling to let him go far, but she needn’t have worried. He simply adjusted his sweatpants, tossed the other back cushion to the floor, pulled the knitted throw that had had been a gift from Mrs. Turner over them, and settled in behind her, with his arms around her.

Jenny fell asleep cocooned in his strong embrace, feeling the cozy glow of their Christmas tree on her face.

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~oOo~

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“Mommy. Mommy, it’s Christmas!”

Jenny’s eyes fluttered open. Kelsey had her face right up in hers, barely an inch between them.

“Morning, pix,” she yawned and blinked herself to wakefulness. Maverick’s arms still held her snugly, but she could feel him waking, too.

“It’s not morning, it’s CHRISTMAS!” Kelsey corrected, jumping up and down in her flannel holiday nightgown. Miss Shorty, trapped in her arms, seemed surprisingly comfortable with all the ruckus. “Daddy, it’s CHRISTMAS, AND THERE ARE SO MANY PRESENTS! Are they for me?”

Maverick kissed Jenny’s shoulder and sat up, bringing her with him. “A lot of them are, I think. But there’s some for Mommy, too, and some to take to Grammo and Grampop’s house later, too.”

“And some for Daddy, too. Can you find your name on the tags, Kelse?” Jenny asked. She needed to distract her for a few minutes, because she had a mission to complete before the gift-opening got started.

“Uh-huh. K-E-L-S-E-Y. That spells Kelsey.”

“Good girl. Okay—you find the Kelsey presents, and Daddy and I will be right back.”

Maverick cocked an eyebrow at her, but she simply grabbed his hand and pulled him back to their bedroom.

Once there, he tried to catch her, thinking she meant more fooling around. She pushed him away. “Easy, tiger. That’s for later. Just hold on a second.” She went into the closet and pulled the old lockbox down from the shelf. Her father had used it long ago, when he’d brought the till home with him every night after he’d closed the bar. Its lock had been broken for years, but Jenny used it to keep special mementos of Kelsey’s life—things like their hospital bracelets from her birth. A lock of hair from her first haircut, tied in a thin scrap of satin ribbon.

A little sparkly silver gift box.

Standing in the closet, she took that box out, put the lockbox back in its place, and went back into the bedroom, where Maverick waited, clearly perplexed.

“What’s goin’ on, babe?” he asked, wearing an uncertain smile.

“I love you,” she said, holding the box behind her back.

His smile widened. “That’s one.”

“We don’t have to keep count anymore. I know how you feel, and you tell me in so many ways, including with words.”

He came up and tried to take both her hands, but she only gave him her free one. “I like keeping count. It’s our thing. And I want you always to know for sure, every night when you close your eyes, that you heard those words on that day. On every day for the rest of your life. I love you.”

God, she loved him so much. “Okay, then. That’s one.” She brought her hand forward and held out the little silver box.

He knew what it was at once. His eyes widened and came back to hers. “Jen. You kept it?”

“Of course I did. I never gave it to her because...well. I didn’t. Besides, it’s yours to give to her, nobody else’s. It’s the first gift you ever got her.”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, and Jenny saw with a start that he was near tears. In all the time they were together before, she’d never seen him cry. He was not a man who gave quarter to tears—unless the reason for them was his love for their daughter.

He hadn’t taken the box from her yet, so she lifted his hand and set it on his palm, curling his fingers around it. “There are bows in that bag in the corner, if you want to dress it up. But I think the box is pretty enough just as it is.”

He lifted the lid and stared down at the tiny silver heart. “Jesus Christ, babe.”

“You were always her daddy. I always knew that.” She stepped close, bringing her body against his, and closed him up in her arms. He laid his head on her shoulder, and they stood quietly, together.

“Mommy! Daddy!” Kelsey was just on the other side of their closed door. “COME ON!”

Maverick laughed and pulled back. He hadn’t cried, but his eyes glittered, and he took a deep, sniffling breath. “Let’s go. We’ve got a first Christmas to get started.”

He kissed her, closed up the box, and went to open the door. “Merry Christmas, Kelsey. I love you.”

“I love you, too. That’s one, Daddy. Merry Christmas!”

“Let’s go see what’s under the tree.”

Jenny stayed back and watched him sweep their daughter up and set her on his hip. Kelsey put her little arms around his neck, and Jenny was slammed by a memory, striking her so hard she put her hand over her heart—seeing, only a fantasy in her mind’s eye, exactly that, Maverick with a pretty little girl on his hip, her arms locked around him just so. She’d been standing in the women’s section of Wal-Mart, six years ago, when her mind had conjured that image.

As he carried Kelsey toward the living room, Jenny saw him talking, and he handed his little girl the silver box.

She’d leave that memory to just the two of them, and she’d hold her own close to her heart.

A first Christmas, he’d said. It wasn’t, really. It wasn’t their first Christmas together as a couple, and it wasn’t Kelsey’s first Christmas. That day had been sour and dark, full of longing for the life she’d lost and despair for the life she’d had.

On that day, she’d been at her weakest. But she’d survived. And Maverick had survived. Their love had survived. And now they all had the life and family they wanted.

Maybe this was a first Christmas after all.