O Come, All Ye Kellys

by Olsen, Isla

The elf working the camera manages to snap a photo of Chase screaming his head off while a frazzled Santa tries to soothe him—great memories, right there. When it becomes abundantly obvious that Chase isn’t going to calm down, I step forward and pluck him away from Santa, holding him close. Chase’s screams cease, but he’s still sobbing and he buries his head in my neck like he does when he’s scared.

  “What the fuck did that asshole do to him?” I growl once we get out of the enclosure. My free hand is clenched into a tight fist as I glare back at Santa, who’s now smiling at a giggling little girl sitting on his lap.

  “Con, I really don’t think—”

  “Look at him—he’s terrified!” I gesture to Chase, who still has his head buried in my neck, tears streaming down his face.

  “He’ll be fine,” Josh says calmly. “Here.” He reaches down into the stroller to retrieve Chase’s monkey and hands it to him. Chase immediately clutches it tight to himself, the battered ear going straight into his mouth.

  “Do you want to wait for the photos?” Josh asks me unenthusiastically. “They’re not going to be very good.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Oh, I definitely want to see those photos. I want to see if they managed to catch whatever that so-called Santa did to our son.”

  Josh lets out an exasperated groan. “Connor, calm down. He didn’t do anything. A lot of kids Chase’s age are afraid of Santa—it’s completely normal.”

  I stare at Josh, wide-eyed. “What?”

  He nods. “It’s because they’re aware enough to know some random stranger with a scary-looking beard is holding them, but not aware enough to know he’s not a threat.”

  “I was a random stranger with a scary-looking beard! Are you saying if Chase met me for the first time now he’d be afraid of me?”

  Josh offers a gentle smile and reaches up to graze his hand over the scruff on my face, which I’ve only just recently started growing into a beard again after shaving my last one off because I was sick of getting globs of Chase’s food stuck in it. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be,” he reassures me. “You’re his dad. He’d know you anywhere.”

  I smile gratefully at Josh, ducking my head a little to brush a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks.”

  As Josh predicted, the pictures of Chase with Santa are pretty horrible, but we buy them anyway; it’s my first Christmas with my son and I plan to treasure every memory, even the not so great ones.

  “You know this wouldn’t have happened if Jessi Ramsay were the Santa here,” I say in a huff as we start moving away from Santa, threading through the busy mall crowd.

  “Yeah, she’s a fictional character, babe.”

  6

  Heath

  * * *

  “The Biebs? Seriously?” My sister asks, her face screwed up in disdain as Justin Bieber’s “Baby” starts blaring from my phone.

  I roll my eyes as I tug it from my back pocket. “It’s Melissa’s ringtone,” I tell Lila. “You know, the woman who’s carrying our baby?”

  Lila just shakes her head. “Whatever. There are literally a million other songs you could have used instead. Like “Be My Baby” or “Baby on Board” or “Baby, it’s You” or “Baby Love” or “Hey Baby”…”

  She continues rattling off song titles but I tune her out as I answer the call and put the phone against my ear. “Hey, Melissa.”

  I can hear the bustle of Manhattan in the background as she talks. “Hey Heath. I’m on Second Avenue right now—am I anywhere close to this place?”

  “Uh, that depends on where on Second Avenue you are.”

  She rattles off some information about her surroundings and the closest street she can see, and I’m relieved to know she’s not far away at all. I give her directions and stay on the phone with her until I see her walking through the door of my restaurant. Okay, it’s my sister’s restaurant, but I’m the manager so that counts for something.

  It’s quiet in here at the moment because we haven’t opened for lunch yet; Lila and I have just been running through our daily routine, checking with the kitchen and the wait staff that we’re all set for a smooth day and evening ahead. There are always little issues that come up throughout the time we’re open, but the best thing we can do is be as prepared as possible.

  I greet Melissa with a smile, my heart thumping as I notice how much bigger she’s gotten since the last time we saw her. And I mean that in the nicest possible way. She’s carrying our baby and she looks ready to pop any second. Dec and I are going to be dads really, really soon.

  “This place looks really nice,” she says after I’ve introduced her to my sister and Lila has disappeared somewhere at the back of the restaurant, presumably her office. Melissa glances around at the restaurant and bar, taking it all in. “Do you guys really only serve rice?”

  My lips quirk in a smile. “It’s all there in the name.” I point to the logo on my shirt that reads Rice, Rice, Baby. “It’s amazing how many different kinds of rice there are and what can be created with them.”

  My phone chimes with a text and I check it to see it’s from Declan.

  “Shit. Dec’s stuck in the subway so he’s going to meet us at the hospital.”

  She shrugs, offering a friendly smile. “Okay, should we get going?”

  The hospital where Melissa is having her scan today is only a few minutes’ walk from the restaurant, which is why we suggested to meet here.

  “So, have you got much planned for Christmas?” I ask as we walk.

  She shakes her head. “We do a big family thing for Hanukkah, so we keep things pretty quiet on Christmas Day.”

  I smile, tugging my jacket tighter around me to block out the icy wind. “Sounds like my family. Our Christmas Day pretty much consists of Chinese food and board games. It’s actually a near miracle we were able to convince my parents to come here instead of us going to Boston. Mom keeps fretting that we won’t have an adequate selection of games. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s all she packs in her suitcase—just a bunch of board games and maybe a toothbrush. She doesn’t seem to really get that there are department stores in New York where you can buy everything under the sun, including every board game to ever be invented.”

  Melissa chuckles, shaking her head in wry amusement. “I think she’d get along with my mom just fine.”

  We enter the hospital and take the elevator to the consulting rooms where Melissa has her appointment.

  As we’re waiting to see the doctor, my phone goes off to the sound of Ed Sheeran’s “Galway Girl” and I jump to answer Dec’s call.

  “Hey, we’re just waiting to see the doctor. Are you almost here?”

  “Babe, I’m so sorry, I’m still stuck. I don’t think I’ll be there in time. You’ll have to just have the appointment without me.”

  “What? You mean…I should go in by myself?” I lower my voice and whisper into the phone. “Is that allowed?”

  “What do you mean ‘is that allowed’?” Dec asks, amusement in his tone. “You’re the baby’s father, of course it’s allowed.”

  I draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

  Fortunately, it’s just a standard check up that goes without incident. The doctor confirms that the baby has moved into the ‘delivery position’ so could really come any day now, but he also says he’s confident we’re still a week or two away.

  * * *

  That afternoon, once Dec is finally free of the subway, we head out to one of our favorite bars to catch up with Aidan and Ben before they return to Austin. I have to admit, I’m thrilled they’re together and so happy, but I was kind of enjoying having them here in New York. It would have been cool if they’d decided to stay and be happy together here. Ah well, you can’t have everything in life.

  “So, you’re liking your new place?” I ask.

  They both nod, and then Ben says, “Yeah, but I’m not sure how long we’ll stay there.”

  My brows draw together. “How come?”<
br />
  Aidan shrugs. “It’s kind of a two-person place. Great for right now but…down the road…”

  “Wow, you guys are already talking kids?” Dec asks as he takes a swig of his beer.

  Ben lets out a wry chuckle. “Didn’t you guys talk about kids before you got engaged?”

  I frown. “I don’t know. It happened very quickly…we were having sex in the bathroom and then all of a sudden we were engaged.”

  “And then for our first Christmas together you bought me an online membership to a cryobank.” There’s a wide, affectionate smile plastered all over Declan’s face as he gazes at me in that adoring way that never gets old.

  “Wow. You’d better up your game this year, buddy,” Aidan says dryly. “I’m not sure how you’ll top a present like that.”

  7

  Owen

  * * *

  The Holiday season is always a hectic time in the ED at St. Thomas’s—more hectic than usual, I mean—and tonight is no exception. We have brothers who’ve gotten into a serious fight at a family Holiday party; a woman who needs her stomach pumped; a kid who’s stuck a candy cane so far up his nose he’ll need surgery to remove it safely. Never a dull moment.

  About halfway through my shift, a little boy is brought in and there’s a mad rush as we see he’s in the midst of a seizure so bad his lips are turning blue.

  “How long has he been seizing?” Andrea, one of the resident nurses, barks at the woman who brought the little boy in as we rush him to one of the high acuity beds.

  “I don’t know—fifteen minutes maybe,” the woman responds.

  My brow draws tight at what I perceive to be an alarming lack of concern in her tone, but I remind myself everyone handles stressful situations differently and determine to concentrate on the job at hand. I retrieve an infant pulse oximeter and wrap the little adhesive strip around the boy’s toe, watching carefully as it indicates the level of oxygen in the blood. Andrea, meanwhile, begins to administer oxygen.

  I breathe a small sigh of relief as the seizing seems to stop, although I know it’s not necessarily over. I’ve been with patients before who have seized on and off for hours. The fact that the boy is now still does at least give us the opportunity to safely insert an IV line in his little arm.

  “Is he allergic to any medication?” I ask.

  The woman shakes her head. “I don’t know. I’m just his foster mother. They didn’t tell me anything about this.”

  It would be easy to get annoyed hearing her speak in this tone that makes her seem more like someone who’s been severely inconvenienced, rather than a concerned carer, but I know how stressful medical situations can be for guardians and foster parents. Particularly if they don’t have much information about the patient’s history.

  As we wait for a doctor to come examine the boy, Andrea and I go through his history with the foster mother.

  “What’s his name?” I ask.

  “Ryder Bellamy.”

  “And how old?”

  “Three.”

  “Has he been unwell in the past few days? Feverish at all? Any unusual rashes?” Andrea asks.

  The woman shakes her head. “No, he’s been fine.”

  “Any history of seizures?” I ask.

  “Well…” she hesitates for a moment, her lips pursed together. “He had one last week. It was over really quickly, though, and then he was just back to normal. Maybe a little sleepy afterward, but it wasn’t like this.” She gestures to the little boy on the bed who’s still unconscious. “When it started tonight I assumed it would just be like that one, but then it just didn’t stop.”

  “And you don’t know how long it went for?” I ask. I’m trying to keep my tone even and non-judgmental, but going by the warning look from Andrea, I don’t think I’m successful. I’m just finding it incredibly worrying that Ryder’s carer didn’t seek medical attention after the first seizure.

  The woman waves her hand. “I don’t know. We’re about a five-minute walk from the hospital, and it had probably been about ten minutes by the time I thought I should bring him in and getting my neighbor to watch the other kids and everything.”

  “Has he ever been tested for any brain conditions, like epilepsy?” I ask.

  “How would I know? He’s only been with us six weeks.”

  I’m relieved when I see his eyes flutter open, and I offer a bright smile and give his little hand a squeeze. “Hey, Ryder.”

  He doesn’t respond, instead glancing around in understandable confusion.

  “Okay, have you got this Owen?” Andrea asks.

  I nod. “Yeah, no problem.” I know it’s way too busy for her to stay here with me when there’s really not much else she can do. One of the doctors will be here soon to give him a thorough examination.

  “So, is he okay?” the foster mother asks. “Can we go now?”

  “One of the doctors will need to see him before you can go anywhere, ma’am,” I tell her, doing my best to keep my tone even. “He’s been through a very serious trauma. Is there anything else you know about Ryder’s history from before he came to you? Any abuse? Fetal Alcohol Syndrome?”

  “If there was no one’s told me about it,” she says, sounding peeved.

  Fortunately, the resident on duty tonight, Dr. Miles, stops by the cubicle before I have a chance to say something completely unprofessional to this woman. As much sympathy as I have for her, because she’s clearly not been given the right support to deal with this kind of situation, her attitude is severely testing my patience.

  I give Dr. Miles a rundown of the situation and what limited information we have regarding Ryder’s history. He gives a brief nod of approval and then proceeds with an examination, checking all of Ryder’s responses, his heart and lungs, and his vitals, which seem to be doing much better now.

  “Okay. Considering there’s been no sign of fever, no rash, no other symptoms, I doubt this is a result of an infection. But we’ll take blood just be certain,” he says, still glancing Ryder up and down. “I think more likely it’s an undiagnosed seizure disorder, but it obviously needs further investigation.” He turns to the foster mother, offering a kind smile. “We’ll admit him to pediatric neurology so they can run some tests. I imagine they’ll want to keep him overnight. Possibly a few days.”

  “Are you kidding?” she demands, looking aghast. “I can’t stay here with him for a few days! I have other kids at home!”

  Dr. Miles looks taken aback for a moment, but recovers quickly. “You won’t need to stay the whole time if you’re not able to. The pediatrics team will be able to talk to you about appropriate visiting hours.”

  Looking a little more appeased, she nods.

  “Okay, Owen can you do the blood draw while I get him admitted?” he asks me.

  I nod and let go of Ryder’s hand so I can retrieve the necessary supplies for drawing blood. I seriously hate doing this on kids this young, especially a patient like Ryder who’s still completely disorientated and likely distressed. But it needs to be done…

  “Okay, buddy. My name’s Owen, I’m a nurse here.”

  “Hi, Owen,” he says in a tiny voice.

  I smile. “How are you feeling? Do you think you can sit up for me?”

  He nods and I help him to sit upright, adjusting the back of the bed so it supports him in that position. As I prepare everything for the blood draw, I do my best to distract him.

  “I see you have Spider-Man on your PJs—is he your favorite Avenger?”

  Ryder nods.

  “Why do you like him so much?”

  “Because he’s red.”

  “Ahh…you like red, huh? Like fire trucks? And Elmo?”

  He nods again. “I like Elmo.”

  “Okay, buddy, this is going to sting for a second. Can you be brave like Spider-Man?”

  Ryder nods and I insert the needle. It doesn’t take long for me to get what I need, and in a matter of moments I’m withdrawing the needle and covering the injection site wi
th a padded Band-Aid.

  * * *

  I feel like I’m on edge for the rest of my shift, and when I finally get home, all I want to do is crawl into bed with Blake and curl up in his arms.

  But what’s waiting for me when I walk in the door is even better. I can smell garlic and cheese and other wonderful scents coming from the kitchen, and I know my amazing husband has not only waited up for me but has made me my favorite meal: his broccoli pasta. Considering I usually hate broccoli, this pasta is like magic.

  When I walk into the kitchen, Blake immediately turns away from the stove and wraps his arms around me from behind. “You smell more hospitally than normal,” he murmurs, nuzzling at my neck.

  I let out a soft chuckle. “A kid peed on me right before I was about to punch out so I had to shower and change scrubs,” I explain. “I should really leave some clothes in my locker.”

  “No, the scrubs are sexy,” he says into my ear. “Without the getting-peed-on thing, obviously.”

  I chuckle and step away from him, just far enough that I can turn and reach up on my tip toes to brush my lips across his.

  Blake wraps his arms tight around me and kisses me deeper, delving his tongue past my lips and twining it with mine in that demanding yet tender way that I can’t imagine ever getting tired of.

  I let out a little whimper as we break apart, but it’s only so Blake can switch the stove off before prowling back toward me, his eyes full of heat and desire. He reaches for me, tugging my scrubs shirt over my head in one swift movement before slamming his lips back against mine.

  Blake’s hands slide down my back, finding their way into my pants and palming my ass. I groan against his lips, moving even closer against him to the point I’m practically humping his thigh.

  “Fuck, Blake…don’t tease me,” I whimper.

  He offers a sexy grin before pulling away from me. “Up,” he demands, slapping the counter.

  I don’t hesitate to comply, quickly jumping up onto the counter and holding my legs up so Blake can tug off my sneakers and remove my pants. Once I’m completely naked, he retrieves a bottle of lube from where we keep it in the drawer under the counter and makes quick work of slicking up my hole and his dick before pushing inside me. Hard and deep, exactly how I like it.