Bought By Santa (Seasonal Obsessions #1)

Chapter 29

The Breeder

N ick’s voice is low and steady as he speaks on the phone, his words piercing through the haze around me. “Ruby, Willow is dead. Carolina wants the body cremated immediately.” The words hit me like a blow, and I feel myself slipping away, drifting into memories that come rushing back, unbidden and relentless.

I’m seven, and Will is just a year old, her tiny hands clutching my fingers as she giggles, her eyes bright with wonder. I remember the way she used to follow me everywhere, toddling after me on chubby legs, her laughter filling the air like music. We’re in the garden, the sun is warm on our faces, and I’m showing her how to pick flowers without breaking the stems. She looks up at me with such trust, her little face glowing with love and admiration, and I feel like the whole world is perfect at that moment.

The memory shifts, and now Will is eight, and I’m fourteen.

We’re running through the fields behind the house, the tall grass swaying around us as we chase each other. She’s fast, so fast, and her laughter is wild and free, echoing in the open air. I catch her, finally, and we collapse together on the ground, breathless and happy, staring up at the sky as the clouds drift by. She’s my little sister, my shadow, and in that moment, everything feels simple and right.

“Carolina.” Nick’s voice pulls me out of my trip down memory lane. “Do you want… umm, Ruby’s asking if you need any help with Willow’s things?”

Do I? Yeah, I guess I do. I’m not leaving my sister, so someone has to gather it all. “Yeah, I do, actually.” My tone doesn’t sound like mine as I mention that Will’s room at Ability Acres needs to be emptied, and that they need to know she’s not coming back.

“I’ll take care of it.” Ruby’s voice rings out from the speaker on Nick’s phone. “Is there anything else you need?”

Rather than answering, I just shake my head as another memory surfaces, and I let it pull me away from the horrible present.

Will is eleven, and I’m seventeen. We’re at the lake, and while I’m sunbathing, she’s swimming. “Look, Caro,” she shouts excitedly, wiggling her legs beneath the water. “I’m swimming like a mermaid.” The sun sets behind us, turning the water into a shimmering gold, and I remember thinking how beautiful she looked, how full of life and promise.

But then the memories start to darken, the happy moments fading into the background as the accident looms closer in my mind. I try to hold on to the good times, the times when Will was free and happy, before everything changed. But the weight of what’s happened now, the reality of her being gone, pulls me back into the present, into the crushing grief that’s settled in my chest like a stone.

Nick is still talking, but his voice is distant, almost drowned out by the ache inside me. I stare at the wall we’re parked next to, trying to process it all, trying to hold on to the memories of who my sister was before everything fell apart. But it’s hard. The pain is too fresh, too overwhelming, and all I can do is sit here, lost in the past, wishing I could go back to those moments when we were both so young, so full of hope, and nothing could touch us.

The crematorium is quiet, the air thick with the scent of burning wood that clings to everything, filling my nostrils as I step out of the car. Nick moves ahead of me, cradling Will’s body in his arms with a tenderness that feels out of place in a world so dark. I follow him in silence, my legs carrying me forward even though I feel disconnected from everything, like I’m walking through a fog.

We enter the back room, the light dim and cold, reflecting off the stone walls that seem to close in around us. The air is heavy, oppressive, but he moves with purpose, his face set in that unreadable mask. An attendant appears, bowing slightly as he greets Nick, his words laced with respect, even deference. It’s clear he knows who Nick is—what he is—and he treats him with the cautious reverence that people like him command.

The attendant offers his services, speaking in hushed tones, but I barely register the conversation. I’m too focused on Will, on the stillness of her form wrapped in the soft white fabric.

I don’t know how long I sit on the cold stone floor, my back pressed against the wall as I stroke my sister’s hair, but it feels like hours. Time seems to stretch and warp, each second dragging out into an eternity. My fingers move automatically, brushing through her locks like I used to when we were younger, back when things were simple and happy. But now, there’s nothing—no tears, no pain. Just a vast, empty numbness that swallows everything.

Nick joins me after a while, lowering himself onto the floor beside me. He wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close, trying to offer some comfort in the only way he knows how. But I don’t respond, don’t speak. I can’t. There’s nothing left to say, nothing that could make this any less real.

Instead, I begin to sing softly, my voice barely above a whisper as I cradle her head in my lap. The words come from deep within me, songs from our childhood, lullabies that our mom used to sing to us before bedtime. I sing them now, for Will, for myself—trying to fill the emptiness with something, anything, that could bring her back to me, even for a moment.

But the only sound is my voice, soft and broken, echoing off the cold stone walls. Nick holds me tighter, his presence solid and unyielding, but I can’t bring myself to look at him. I just keep singing, my hand moving through Will’s hair, wishing that I could hold on to these last moments before she’s truly gone.

I can’t do this. I just can’t. The thought chokes me, but tears don’t come. They’re trapped, like everything else inside me—my grief, my rage, a scream that’s got no voice.

“Carolina?” Ruby’s voice cuts through the haze of my numbness. I look up, catching the red-rimmed gaze of my sister-in-law to be. “Oh God!” she cries as her eyes dart to Will. Her eyes are bloodshot, and I see the concern etched into her usually immaculate features. It’s a stark reminder that I’m supposed to feel something, anything, but there’s only emptiness where my heart should be.

“Hey,” I manage, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears—flat, lifeless.

“Nick told me what you wanted. I’ve brought everything.” She gestures to the suitcases behind her, her words trailing off as if she’s unsure how to navigate this conversation.

“Thank you,” I reply robotically.

“What do you want to do with—”

“Everything burns,” I say, interrupting Nick, my tone leaving no room for debate. It’s not a request; it’s an order.

There’s a flicker of surprise in Ruby’s eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want to go through—” she starts, but I cut her off.

“Everything, Ruby,” I interrupt, my voice sharper than I intend. “Willow’s gone. What’s left is just… stuff.”

The scent of burning wood lingers in the air, wrapping around me like a shroud. Ruby moves to the suitcases, opening them one by one and emptying their contents onto the cold stone floor without another word. Clothes, books, the small trinkets of Willow’s life—they all make a pile that seems so insignificant now.

I notice the attendant slinking closer, careful not to look at me as he carefully sorts through Will’s things. He makes a small pile where he places a few things such as beauty and hygiene products. “I’m sorry, but we can’t—”

“Burn them,” I insist.

“But—”

Nick clears his throat. “She said to burn it all, so you’ll fucking burn it all.”

The man nods, and I’m irrationally angry at him for making me repeat myself. But my anger dissipates as he scrambles to put all of Will’s things back in the suitcases, disappearing with them once they’re full again.

When it’s time, Nick carries Will’s body again, and I hold her hand for as long as I can.

I stand frozen, my breath catching in my throat as the attendant opens the heavy metal door of the cremator. The heat rushes out, hitting me like a wave, but I barely notice it. My eyes are locked on the dark, gaping mouth of the machine, where flames flicker inside, waiting to consume everything.

Moving forward, Nick cradles Will’s body in his arms with a gentleness that makes my chest tighten. The suitcases are already placed in the metal tray used for the cremation, so Nick carefully places Willow on top of her makeshift pyre. The tray glides out smoothly, almost silently, as if this is just another routine task for the machine.

I step closer, feeling the heat intensify as I reach out to touch her one last time. My fingers brush against her hair, and I want to scream, to tear her away from this horrible place, but I can’t. I have to let her go.

Nick looks at me, his eyes searching mine for something, maybe permission, maybe strength, but I have none to give. I nod, just once, and he gently pushes the tray into the cremator.

The heavy door of the cremation chamber clanks shut, sealing Will’s body from view. The roar of the flames is immediate, voracious, and something inside me cringes at their hunger. I stand motionless, my gaze fixed on the steel door as if I could still see her through it. There’s a smell in the air that’s not quite burning wood, not quite anything I can name—a scent that will haunt me forever.

“Carolina,” Nicklas murmurs beside me. His hand finds mine, a lifeline amidst this storm of sorrow, but my fingers are ice despite his warmth. I don’t look at him, I can’t. My eyes remain locked on where my sister lies beyond sight, being reduced to ashes while memories play hide and seek in my mind.

We’re six and twelve, running through a field dusted with snow, our laughter crystallizing in the frigid air. Willow tumbles, her small frame swallowed by a drift, and I dive after her. We’re angels in the snow, wings flapping wildly, the cold forgotten for the joy of just being us—alive and together.

“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.” I whisper the scripture, the words spilling out like a balm over the crackle of destruction.

That verse is— was —Will’s favorite. At her insistence, we recited it at our dad’s funeral, and again at Mom’s. So it seems only right that I speak the words now.

Nick squeezes my hand, grounding me to the present, to this new… not-funeral where the verse belongs to Will herself. “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me,” he repeats, his voice low and reverent.

Ruby also echoes the verse, her head bowed.

A tear betrays me, carving a hot path down my frozen cheek. I’m a statue, an effigy of loss, yet that single tear feels like a fissure in a dam holding back an ocean of grief.

As the fire dances, my thoughts drift to Will—the gap in our years never mattered to us. She was more than a little sister; she was my confidante, my charge, my reason to keep going when life got too tough to bear. And now, with her ashes and these flames, I’m unmoored, adrift in a sea of grief I can’t even begin to navigate.

“Goodbye, my little angel,” I breathe out, my voice catching on a sob I refuse to release. I imagine her bright eyes, her smile that never dimmed, not after the accident, not ever. She was pure light—a light that’s now fading into embers and smoke.

I know I have to find a way to live in a world without her. But not today. Today, I burn with her.

Through the hours it takes to cremate Will’s body, and the subsequent waiting time for everything to cool back down, Nick remains at my side. His hand never leaves mine. We don’t talk, but our connection transcends words; I know he’s here for me, that he loves me just as much as I love him.

Even though I can’t feel the grief I know is locked down inside me, his love reaches me, and I know I’d crumble without it.

The attendant appears, his movements somber as he respectfully gathers what remains of Willow into a simple urn. He hands it to me; it’s heavier than I expect, and suddenly, the weight of her life, its abrupt end, bears down on me. My arms tighten around the vessel as if I could shield it, protect it one last time.

“Are you ready?” Nicklas asks softly, guiding me toward the exit. His touch is gentle, but there’s an unwavering strength in him, a rock amidst my storm.

“Never,” I answer truthfully. But we walk out together, the urn cradled in my arms like a fragile hope.

Inside the bulletproof vehicle, the silence hangs thick, only the hum of the engine and the faint whisper of tires on pavement breaking it. Ruby turns to me, her green eyes searching for something in my eyes. “What do you want to do with the ashes?” she asks, her voice is careful as though she thinks her question is going to make me shatter.

No words can do that to me, I’m already in as many pieces as one can be.

“When she was six, Will once told me she wanted to be buried with the mermaids in the Hudson River,” I say, my voice a ghost of itself.

A sad smile touches Ruby’s lips, and even Nick lets out a quiet chuckle. It’s a bleak sort of humor we share, but it’s something—a flicker in the darkness.

“Mermaids, huh?” he says, meeting my gaze in the rearview mirror. There’s warmth there, an ember that might ignite if I reach for it.

I momentarily wonder where the nameless security guy is, but as I notice a car driving right behind us, I guess I have my answer.

“Yep. She said she’d race them and win every time.” I clutch the urn a little tighter, imagining Willow’s triumphant laughter echoing through the currents of the river.

“Then that’s where we’ll go,” he declares, his voice firm yet tender.

One day, I think, one day I won’t be this hollow shell. One day, I’ll feel again, laugh again. And maybe, just maybe, Nicklas will be there beside me, his possessive nature not a cage but a cocoon from which I’ll emerge, reborn. But for now, I hold on to the urn, my sister’s final wish, and the stories of mermaids dancing in the depths of the Hudson River.

The Hudson stretches before me, a wide expanse of water that sparkles even under the gray December sky. I’m standing at the edge of a high overlook, the railing cool and unyielding beneath my hands. The urn is heavy in my grip, a weight I’m both reluctant and desperate to release.

“Are you ready?” Nick asks from beside me, his body a solid presence in a world that feels like it’s fracturing.

I nod, not trusting my voice. The wind whips around us, carrying the scent of salt and city grime, an odd mixture that somehow fits this moment perfectly. My heart thuds painfully against my ribs, each beat a staccato reminder of what I’m about to do.

“Whenever you’re ready, Carolina,” he murmurs, and there’s a reverence in his tone that tugs at something inside me—a raw ache that’s been growing since the flames claimed my sister.

Taking a deep breath, I unscrew the lid of the urn. The ashes are lighter than I expect, a soft gray dust that looks nothing like the vibrant girl Will once was. Memories flood me—her laughter, her stubbornness, her dreams—and for a moment, I’m drowning in them, the pain sharp and all-consuming.

“Goodbye, Will,” I whisper, my voice breaking on her name. “Go find your mermaids.”

With a flick of my wrists, I tilt the urn. Ashes cascade into the wind, a cloud of what was once life, now set free over the churning waters below. Some part of me expects to feel closure, but there’s only emptiness, a hollow space where my sister used to be.

“Beautiful,” Nick says softly, and when I glance at him, there’s a sheen of moisture in his eyes that mirrors my own unshed tears. His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining as if he knows I need to be anchored to something, anything.

“Goodbye, Willow,” Ruby echoes hoarsely.

As I look at Ruby, I feel like I should say something. Will considered her a friend, which is all I need to know there’s more to the Mafia princess than what meets the eye. I consider striking up a conversation, but then I decide against it. I don’t bear her any ill will, I just… don’t care about her. I don’t mean it in a cruel way. There’s no underhandedness to my thoughts, it just is.

We stand together, watching the last of the ashes disappear into the river’s embrace. It’s a raw, intimate moment, shared grief that binds us tighter more than any physical chain could. And despite the void inside me, despite the desolation, I can’t help but feel a perverse gratitude for Nicklas’ presence, for his silent strength.