I wasn't doing dinner with the Bell's this Christmas Eve. They needed space. Paul wasn't happy with me, and I knew he blamed me for Hadley leaving, among other things, when I showed up at the bar, four stitches along my brow and face bruised.

Guilt sloshed through me when I took in the destruction but more so when he walked out—not taking a second look at me. I deserved it. I destroyed the bar and left them to worry; it showed in the tight embrace that Linda locked me in.

I offered to pay for the damages, but Linda—rather aggressively—declined my offer. She refused to charge us, even though she should. And because she wasn't, the insurance company wasn't paying for the damages.

I cleaned up every speck of glass and replaced the tables, chairs, and mirror, but I couldn't pay for the reputation lost.

My head fell back on the couch as guilt twisted through me like a rusted wire, and my hand found Wolf's ears. She never left my side, her head tipping in my lap. Neither had Austin, who plunked down next to me earlier today, surfing Prime, Netflix, Hulu– "Bro," he asked, wielding the remote and not taking his eyes from the screen, "remember that time you broke your leg just before summer break?"

Despite the heaviness, I chuckled. "In eighth grade."

"Remember when Nate tried to wrap your leg in plastic wrap so you could come to the river."

I smiled in memory. Hadley convinced me to sit on the bank that day, promising she'd keep me company. She did and taught me how to play crib as the others jumped from the cliffs. I loved her then, just as much as I did now. But I'd been too afraid to tell her because of her feelings for Max and who I was.

I adjusted, recalling a few days ago when Max showed up at the bar to help. "Why did you do it?" I asked, referring to the night he kissed Sofia. He knew what I would do if he broke Hadley's heart, yet he risked it all. Our friendship, his face.

Max smiled knowingly, his hands full of plaster from mudding the wall. "I knew how you felt about Hadley," he said. "I saw the way you looked at her and how you lit up whenever she came around." He paused. "Sofia and I knew you'd never tell her how you felt. Not without a little push."

Austin eased against the couch, drawing me back to the present. "Your cast smelled so bad."

I grinned. "My mom was pissed."

A heavy silence blanketed us. New Years was right around the corner–my mother's death anniversary and I didn't know how to feel about it.

Austin looked at me the same way Hadley did. With worry and weariness.

Lucky for me, the front door of my dad's trailer opened. "Nick?"

I sighed at the call of my first name. "Yeah."

"Come give me a hand."

Austin and I rose as my dad appeared at the entrance of the hall. Glasses on and silver dusted hair combed along the top.

Austin took the Chinese food he picked up, and I grabbed the bags of groceries to free up his arms. "Are you staying?" Neil asked, addressing Austin as he removed his boots.

Austin made his way back to the table, setting the giant paper bag down. "Not tonight. Hama will murder me if I skip out." On dinner, he didn't need to add.

I cracked a grin at the counter I set the plastic bags on. Austin's grandmother was a woman no one wanted to piss off, and for good reason. That old lady was mean.

He grabbed a small plate, a plastic fork hanging out of his mouth as he made his way to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, Baker. Merry Christmas, Neil."

My dad shook his head in smile as if he expected nothing less. Then the silence descended.

I finished unpacking the groceries before making my way to the table. It had taken us months to mend our tattered relationship, but after my relapse, things seemed... tight—the tension sky high.

I took the remaining Styrofoam boxes from the bag while Neil Baker removed his coat and made his way to the cupboard on socked feet.

"How was your day?" he asked, reaching high for two plates.

I hated the small talk, but there was nothing else to discuss except my relapse, and I wasn't ready to go there just yet. Not with him, but he seemed adamant on prodding. "Have you talked to Paul?"

The sting of disappointment pricked. "I called," I replied, opening up each container of steaming food. "He didn't answer."

Neil came to my side, two plates in hand. I could feel his questions. "And Hadley?"

I didn't answer.

I took the plate he offered and the spoon, scooping our Christmas Eve dinner onto my plate in large heaping piles. I wasn't hungry, this was the first Christmas I'd spent with my dad in years, and it was awkward.

I took my seat at the table, taking the pop he set in front of me before looking around the empty space.

Linda's house was never like this around Christmas. It was brimming with life. Paul and the boys usually played cards while Linda cooked, listening to Elvis Presley's Christmas hits. I missed it. I missed the laughs and the smells of garlic and rosemary. I missed exchanging presents with Hadley in the guesthouse and holding her on the couch after dinner as she lulled to sleep.

I scrubbed the good side of my face, having learned my lesson the last time.

My dad took notice. "The first Christmas is always the hardest."

His statement hit me like a chunk of ice—the first Christmas.

He went back to eating, and I couldn't help but wonder if he was this lonesome his first Christmas alone. The news of my mother's passing hit us both pretty hard, but while my father saw the tragic event as a sign to recover, I'd fallen over the edge completely.

His brown eyes flicked from his plate to mine. "You're training," he added, eyeing my plate and the mountains of chicken fried rice, spareribs, beef and broccoli.

That was another reminder I didn't need.

My sponsors found out about the fight, thanks to Dallas. I'd already been walking on thin ice with the trouble I was causing. They'd been lenient given everything that happened with my mom and the accident, but they had enough. My rep from Polaris was still deciding whether they wanted to keep me, but the others backed out, and I had no idea what was going on with Paul and Bell Racing.

I dropped my fork with a clang, running hands through my hair.

As angry and frustrated as I was, I could feel the guilt and sorrow pricking my insides. I had nothing left. Hadley was gone, and my career was hanging by a thread. I'd lost everything I'd worked so hard to build in the span of a year.

"It's better to talk about it," my dad said, elbowing his way into my thoughts. "Let it out."

I scoffed a smile, having enough. "And what would you know about talking things out?" I asked. "After this many years, you wanna play dad all of a sudden."

Hurt cracked his shield of indifference. "I'm still your father, Nick," he warned, reminding me whose roof I was under. "And I know more than you think I do."

Had I been my sixteen-year-old self, I would have told him to fuck off and left, but I was in no position to say anything. I had nowhere else to go. This was my last stop, my fate.

I glared, allowing a few seconds of silence to bleed between us.

I considered confiding in him. I still didn't know what to make of our relationship, and a part of me wondered if I could truly trust him. I'd gone years hoping he'd recover, for his own sake more than mine. I was taken care of, and as fucked up as it was, I wanted him to be okay. But I wouldn't tell him that.

He waited, and I hated it. There was never any rush with the new version of him. He allowed me all the time I needed to make my own decisions when it came to confiding in him. He never forced, never argued. He let me set the pace.

I leaned back in my seat, folding tattooed arms and tipping my head casually at my plate. "I fucked up," I said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I lost everything because I can't control my fucking self. Because I'm pissed off all the time."

He said nothing, waiting for me to go on. To let it all out.

I finally gave in. "I promised Hadley I'd do better. I promised Linda and Paul." I shook my head. "All I seem to do is fucking disappoint."

Hadley's anger ran deep. I heard it in the quiver of her voice when she tried to be strong. I felt it in the way she held me, but there was also worry and pain. "I let her down."

He let a solid beat pass before giving his two cents. "It's a shame we don't pay more attention to the ones who take it," he mused, stabbing a fork into his broccoli. "We're so concerned with the one destroying themselves we often forget about the pillars we lean on for strength. Given time, that stone eventually erodes under the stress and crumbles like water to a faulty foundation, and no one realizes it until it's too late."

Spoken like a true carpenter, but he wasn't wrong. "It doesn't matter," I said, not wanting to talk about it. "She made her decision."

"You hurt her, Nick," he replied, imploring me to understand. "She has every right to feel angry."

I did hurt her. And I fucking hated myself for it. I hated myself for all the shit I said, for the pressure, others put on her to care for me when I wasn't her responsibility. The pressure I put on her.

My dad propped his elbows on the table, forgoing his Christmas Eve dinner. "I was angry at your mother for a long time, too," he said. "I blamed everyone. Everything. In my mind, she'd given up on her family."

My throat constricted, hating how close that resentment was to my own.

"I only wish she would have done it sooner."

I furrowed my brows. "You hated mom for leaving," I cut back, recalling every drunken curse he belted to no one when he went on one of his tirades.

"I did," he admitted, "I was angry at her for leaving you."

"Because I was a liability," I socked back.

"Because I saw how hurt you were," he said sternly, "and I couldn't do anything to prevent it."

"You could've stopped drinking," I accused, starting the one conversation neither of us ever wanted.

"So can you," he challenged, one of the few who wasn't afraid of me. "You didn't have to go to the bar. If you're so mad that you lost, you should've called your supports. You have more than most."

I grated my teeth.

"I know you're angry with Hadley for leaving," he went on, "but it takes a strong woman to do what she did. And if you don't smarten up and take some responsibility for your actions, you'll be eating alone on Christmas Eve for the rest of your life, just like me."

The thought struck a nervous chord in me, but the bass of anger drowned it out quickly. "I'm nothing like you."

He sighed. "Trust me. I wish you weren't either. I see the path you're on, and it doesn't lead anywhere good."

The anger rang.

"I'm glad she left you," he added. "Maybe you'll finally realize. You don't know what it's like to watch the person you love fall apart. Leaving is hard. There's a level of uncertainty that comes with it. You never know if it'll send them over the edge. You leave your phone on every night, praying you won't get a call."

"I know exactly what it's like," I flung back. "Because I waited every night worried about you. But I never got that call."

"No, you got your mothers."

I nearly snapped until he said, "I know you blame yourself. I know she came out to see you. She called me."

Surprise struck—my knuckles going bone white. "When?"

"A week before she made the trip. She wanted your number."

My thoughts ran—my anger red hot. "Did she tell you about her husband? Her kids?"

"She did," he answered. "She wanted to make amends and apologize to you."

"And you kept that from me?"

"It wasn't my place to say anything," he replied simply. "Not that you'd let me. Every time I called, you ignored me."

"Because you were drunk half the fucking time."

A beat of disappointment. Then—"I know she called you the night she died. She called me too, apologizing."

Tears pricked my eyes. "Did you know?" I snapped. "Did you know she was drinking?"

"I didn't think she was driving."

My anger threatened to erupt. To burn me alive. "She texted me that night," I clarified. "She said she was on her way out... if you knew she was drinking..."

I held on. My anger wound so tight I thought I might rip in two. "She had two kids. Two kids." My brother and sister.

I tunnelled in. Doing my best not to break. "If I hadn't sent her away... if I had answered her call...."

She was gone because of me. Because of her guilt and shame. And it was the reason my brother and sister—two of the most important people in my life—two people I only met once would grow up without a mom.

I broke down at the funeral when I saw them standing with their dad. They knew everything about me, my jersey number, the colour of my sled. They watched my races, their dad said when he introduced me.

The shame cut me bone deep. I never told Hadley. I never told anyone. I couldn't.

A tear fell. Then another. Drinking was easier than feeling that shame. Easier than talking it out. Easier than thinking about them and how they were feeling.

"I know what you're feeling, Nick," my dad said. "I blame myself too."

I glanced up, and he said, "I didn't sober up for your mother. She's gone, and I can't go back. When Paul called after your accident..." he trailed off, tears streaming over a quivering lip. "I wasn't sober enough to get to you. I had no one to pick me up. I... I felt helpless."

"I drained every last bottle that day," he continued, "and when I was sober enough, I borrowed the neighbour's car and drove all night to see you." He choked. "But when I got there, I changed my mind. Hadley was there, sleeping in the armchair next to you."

He said, "I knew you were in good hands, so I left and went to my first meeting the next day."

"I'm sorry, Nick," he managed, fighting to hold on. "I... I should've been there for you, but I didn't know how to be. I didn't know how to stop. It took a lot, but I stayed sober."

"Why?" I asked.

He brushed away his tears. "Because I knew eventually you'd need me, and when you ready, I promised myself I'd be there." Like he was now.

He took a steady breath, giving me a glimpse of the broken man I'd once resented.

Despite myself, I rose, coming to his side.

I hadn't hugged my father in years. It was foreign, but the way he gripped me...

I nearly broke. I'd been so angry with him for abandoning my mother and me that I gave up. But seeing him like this...

"Healing takes time," he went on with no small amount of struggle. "It's a fucking fight, but it's easier achieved if you tackle it one day at a time."

I pulled. "One day, huh."

"That's what they say. It's been working for me. Just try for one more day."

I gave him a small smile. "And you'd be willing to help me."

"If you ask," he replied. "I'll always be here for you, Nick—" Clasping my shoulder. "—Whenever you need me."

We finished our dinner, did the dishes and spent the rest of the night on the couch. I sat, pondering my father's words as we watched the races from last year.

Pretending I was okay did nothing but make it worse. I was as broken and as rusted out as that first sled we rebuilt before everything went to shit, like the truck Paul and I spent months tinkering over. I poured countless hours into those projects replacing parts, nuts and bolts. It was a labour of love, but all it took was a little figuring. Slapping J-B Weld on an exhaust leak did nothing but make it worse, which is what I had done. Maybe it was time I started digging, taking things apart and focusing on one piece at a time, and then perhaps I could rebuild.

A knock came at the door before the last person I ever expected opened it and stepped inside.

"Merry Christmas, Paul," my dad greeted. I sat up, hardly noticing the slight suspicion in his tone. "What brings you by?"

His gaze landed on me. "Baker."

He lifted two ringed fingers and a thumb, gesturing for me to follow him outside.

A/N: I wonder what Paul has to say.

Thank you so much for reading! I told myself I wasn't going to write any more romance novels after this one but these two characters won't stop talking to me. I've been outlining what could possibly be a Snowcrossed sequel/spin-off with all my favourite tropes: Enemies to lovers, forbidden romance, and fake dating. If this is something you'd be interested in please let me know 🤎