Page 88 of Bought By Santa

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.

Chapter 30

The Santa

The silence engulfing us as I usher my hellcat through the door to the apartment is a living thing, pulsing with sorrow. She doesn’t speak; her eyes are glassy, haunted orbs. I can see the weight of grief pressing down on her shoulders.

“Let’s get you to bed,” I murmur, my voice roughened by the day’s emotion. It’s an unspoken command, and she merely nods, allowing me to guide her to our room.

I shuffle her over to the bed where she obediently sits down. While I undress her, she looks straight ahead; not at me or anything specific. I get the sense that she isn’t even seeing what’s in front of her.

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