Chapter 183: You Survived

NORA’S POV

"Dinner is served!" Mom announced proudly, setting the turkey in the center of the mahogany table. "Everyone sit, sit! Before everything gets cold!"

Hank took the head of the table, beaming with anticipation. Mom pulled out the chair at the foot of the table opposite him.

Knox smoothly pulled out the wooden chair beside him, resting his hand on the high backrest as he looked down at me. "After you, Bennett."

"Thank you, kind sir," I smiled, sliding into the seat.

Knox sat right beside me, his long legs brushing against mine beneath the table.

Drew took the chair across from us, opposite Knox.

Hank reached for the bottle of chilled sparkling cider, popping the cork with a cheerful thwack that made Mom giggle. He poured five foaming glasses and passed them around the table.

"Well," Hank said, raising his glass high into the warm glow of the chandelier. "I’ll say the blessing. To good health, good neighbors, full bellies, and having our kids back home where they belong."

"Hear, hear," Mom beamed, lifting her glass. "And to Knox. Welcome to Oakhaven, dear. You’re family now."

Knox’s fingers tightened slightly around the stem of his glass.

For a fraction of a second, an unarmored, deeply touched expression softened the sharp lines of his face.

"Thank you, Ellen," Knox said softly. "That means more than you know."

Then Knox raised his glass toward the center of the table.

Over the steaming rim of cider and across the platter of carved turkey, Knox’s cool gray gaze met Drew’s.

Drew held his glass steady and narrowed his eyes, making it clear their rivalry was far from over.

Knox’s mouth curled in a faint, mocking smirk, completely unbothered.

Mom immediately started passing dishes around the table. "Knox, take some white meat before Hank clears the platter! Nora, pass the cranberry relish to Drew."

The table quickly filled with the warm, comforting clatter of silverware and cheerful holiday chatter, but the electric current between the two athletes never flickered.

Whenever Hank brought up hockey, Drew and Knox traded sharp, technical jabs over neutral zone traps and defensive coverage—polite enough for Mom’s ears, but dripping with icy competitive subtext.

"Briar runs a rigid neutral zone trap that leaves the back door vulnerable if the winger has enough speed," Drew noted casually, buttering a dinner roll.

Knox didn’t even look up from carving his turkey. "Only if the winger survives the hit at the blue line. Which, historically, hasn’t worked out well for State."

Drew’s jaw ticked, but Hank let out a booming laugh that rattled the silverware. "Sounds like open-ice surgery to me! Eat your carrots, boys."

Underneath the tablecloth, Knox’s large, warm hand rested comfortably on my knee.

His thumb stroked slow circles against the denim of my jeans, anchoring me to his side throughout the meal. Every few minutes, his gray eyes would flick toward me, checking in, softening into that private warmth he only ever showed to me.

My heart felt so full it almost ached.

I leaned back in my chair, taking a slow sip of the spiced cider, letting the festive mountain warmth wash over me.

Hank loaded his plate with a second helping of mashed potatoes, shaking his head in admiration. "Ellen, if you ever decide to open a restaurant alongside that bakery, you’ll put every diner in Oakhaven out of business."

"Don’t give her ideas, Hank," I laughed. "We just finished ordering the new stone hearth oven for Sugar and Spice. One renovation at a time."

"Smart girl," Hank chuckled. "Know your limits before you skate into the boards."

Knox’s hand squeezed my knee under the table, his thumb tracing a reassuring line. "She doesn’t have limits, Hank. Just priorities."

Mom beamed, looking at Knox like he had personally hung the moon.

When the main courses were reduced to polished plates and leftover bones, Mom cleared the center of the table and brought out Drew’s bakery box.

Drew cut into the Dutch apple-pecan pie, carefully serving generous slices while Mom brewed a fresh pot of dark roast coffee. The sweet aroma of cinnamon, baked apples, and roasted nuts drifted through the dining room.

Drew set a plate in front of Knox with a challenging smirk. "Eat up, Sheridan. Unless your conditioning coach doesn’t let you have carbs on Thursdays."

Knox picked up his dessert fork without missing a beat, carving off a bite. "Coach Brennan cares about results on the scoreboard, Miller. You might want to ask your coach about that."

Drew’s fingers tightened on his fork, but Hank let out another hearty chuckle that broke the tension before it could escalate.

Outside, the mountain wind howled against the side of the house, rattling the windowpanes as thick snow flurries swirled under the glow of the porch lantern.

Hank glanced out the bay window, pushing his chair back with a satisfied groan.

"Well, Ellen, as much as I’d love to sit here and eat this entire pie, look at that street," Hank said, gesturing toward the accumulating white drifts. "If Drew and I don’t walk back down Elm Street now, we’ll need a snowplow to reach our front porch."

"Oh, Hank, take the rest of the pie with you!" Mom insisted, bustling toward the kitchen to fetch foil.

Drew stood up, stretching his shoulders, and followed Hank toward the entryway to pull on their boots and winter coats.

I walked into the hall with Knox right beside me, his shoulder brushing mine.

Hank zipped his red plaid coat, clapping a large, calloused hand against Knox’s arm. "Good meeting you, son. Next time you’re up here in Oakhaven, come by the garage. We’ll see if that college muscle knows how to split seasoned oak."

Knox offered a polite, genuine smile. "I’ll take you up on that, Hank. Happy Thanksgiving."

Drew pulled on his leather gloves, his hazel eyes locking onto Knox with that unmistakable, stubborn athletic edge.

"See you in January, Sheridan," Drew replied sharply. "Don’t get comfortable."

Knox stepped forward half an inch, his gray eyes cool and unyielding. "I’m never comfortable on the ice, Miller. Keep your head up."

Drew held his gaze for a second longer, then turned to me with a softer, somewhat wistful expression. "Happy Thanksgiving, Nora. Thanks for having us."

"Happy Thanksgiving, Drew."

With a final wave and a blast of freezing mountain air, Hank and Drew stepped out into the night, their boots crunching into the fresh snow as the porch door swung shut.

Mom turned the deadbolt with a soft click, leaning back against the wood with a long, happy sigh.

"Oh, my word," Mom breathed, rubbing her lower back with both hands. "That was wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. But my feet are completely numb."

Knox stepped right up, gently taking her arm. "Ellen, go sit down. Nora and I will take care of the kitchen."

Mom looked up at him, her eyes crinkling with sheer maternal adoration. "Knox Sheridan, you are an absolute blessing. I won’t even pretend to argue. I’m going upstairs to soak in a hot bath and collapse into bed."

She reached up on her tiptoes, patting Knox’s cheek before pulling me into a warm, lingering hug.

"Goodnight, my sweet girl," Mom whispered. "I’m so glad you’re home."

"Goodnight, Mom. Sleep well."

Her socks padded quietly up the wooden staircase, and a moment later, the bathroom door on the second floor clicked shut.

A quiet peace settled over the house.

The amber lamps in the living room cast long, warm shadows across the polished floorboards, and the sweet scents of vanilla, coffee, and roasted spices lingered in the quiet air.

Knox walked into the kitchen, rolling the sleeves of his sweater up past his elbows to reveal the corded muscle of his forearms. He turned on the faucet, testing the water until steam began to curl from the stainless steel basin.

I grabbed a linen dish towel from the oven handle and stepped up beside him.

Before I could reach for a plate, Knox turned off the water.

He reached out, his large hands sliding around my waist, lifting me effortlessly until I was sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter.

He stepped between my thighs, his broad chest pressing against mine, his forehead resting gently against my temple.

His breath was warm, smelling of spiced cider and coffee, and his heartbeat thumped steady and strong against my palms as I rested my hands on his shoulders.

"You survived," I whispered, smiling against his cheek.

"Barely," Knox murmured, a deep, rumbling chuckle vibrating in his chest. "I think your mom fed me six pounds of potatoes."

"She likes you," I said softly, tilting my chin up to look into his gray eyes.

"I like her," Knox replied, his voice dropping into that quiet, gravelly cadence that made my pulse jump. "Nora... today was... I haven’t had a day like this in a very long time."

"I know," I murmured, my fingers tangling in the soft, dark curls at the nape of his neck. "You belong here, Knox."

Knox leaned down, pressing his lips to mine in a slow, devotional kiss that took my breath away. It wasn’t rushed or demanding; it was deep, tender, and full of quiet certainty.

When he finally pulled back, his chest rising on a slow, ragged breath, his thumb stroked along my cheekbone.

I smiled, letting out a soft laugh as a sudden thought crossed my mind.

"What?" Knox asked, his brow raising with amused curiosity.

"I was just thinking about Briar," I said, reaching over to the counter to pick up my phone. "It’s almost seven o’clock. You think the SinBin is still standing?"

Knox let out a low snort, resting his hands warm on my bare knees. "Knowing Bear and Jake, forty gallons of boiling peanut oil in freezing weather was either a miracle or a four-alarm emergency."

"We should check on them," I said, opening my contacts. "If they burned the garage down, Coach Brennan is going to make you skate suicides until spring."

"Call Jake," Knox smirked, leaning in closer. "He’s the only one with enough self-preservation to answer before the fire department arrives."

I tapped Jake’s contact and hit the FaceTime icon.

The screen brightened into the outgoing call interface, reflecting the soft amber glow of the kitchen.

I held the phone up between us as Knox leaned over my shoulder, his chin resting against my collarbone, his warm arm wrapped securely around my waist.

Bloop... bloop... bloop...

The screen flashed steadily: Calling Jake Connelly...

Knox’s lips brushed against my ear, his voice low and teasing. "Ten bucks says someone lost an eyebrow."

I bit my lip to keep from laughing, Knox’s warm breath against my jaw as the digital chime pulsed through the quiet house, waiting to see what kind of disaster was about to light up the screen...