Val inclined his head. He didn’t deserve his brother’s gratitude. He required his forgiveness.

“I will admit . . . to some curiosity. Dare I hope you . . . might be considering a journey to Mother’s?”

“No,” he said instantly.

It was still too soon for him to make that same journey to that same event, along those same roads.

Perhaps it would always be.

Regret lit his brother’s eyes. “Perhaps someday.”

“Yes,” Val murmured. “Perhaps someday.”

He lied.

But he couldn’t bring himself to end this shared connection with his brother.

Sidney looped his leg over his opposite knee. “Dare I hope you’ll at least share your destination?”

“No,” he said flatly. He’d trust his brother with his very life, but Val did not intend to share about Myrtle. Myrtle and his time with her were memories reserved just for him.

Curiosity sparked in his brother’s like-blue gaze. “Now you have me intrigued.” Val felt his cheeks go warm. “Worry not. I shan’t press you, dear brother. I shall remain intrigued and allow you to your privacy.”

Taking that as his cue, and suddenly very eager to return to his household . . . and Myrtle, Val set his glass down and came to his feet.

His brother immediately followed suit.

Val hovered, then held out a hand across the small coffee table between them.

Ignoring that offering, Sidney stepped around the table and hugged Val. “Happy Christmas, big brother.”

Val stood there, tense, stiff, unmoving, and then his arms of their own volition folded reflexively around his only sibling. “Happy Christmas, little brother,” he said gruffly, and then stepped out of his brother’s arms. And disquieted by that display of emotion, something still so new and raw and unfamiliar, he headed for the door.

And as he walked, his brother’s tidings registered, and Val’s steps slowed.

How many times at this same point in the year had Sidney offered those wishes? And each time he had, Val had met it sneeringly with the jaded cynicism of one who knew he’d never be happy again.

Only, this time . . . this year, that feeling . . . hadn’t come. The felicitations had fallen just as freely from his lips.

And he knew why.

Because this was the first time in all these years that Val had not been alone. That he’d spent the days leading up to that festive holiday celebrated by his family and so many others with another person.

With Myrtle.

Myrtle, who had more cheer and more spirit and more smiles than anyone he’d ever known.

He was reaching for the door handle when his brother called out, staying him.

Val looked back.