Next chapter will be the last, I resolved to finish this this year. Then work kicked my posterior. Wishing everyone good health, good food and good laughs.

The next chapter title is MOREs - Modular Operational Ration Enhancements - the military food packets.

As always, enjoy x

Saturday 23rd December 2017, 10.12am, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan

"Don't do it, Carolyn…"

Joss knew that look. She knew that look from the early '90s when she tried unsuccessfully to warn her cousin about that football player who was making touchdowns off the field with every girl who'd let him. She remembered that CeCe was a sucker for his deep brown eyes, the pathetic puppy dog look, the hurried half-explanation-half-apology, and his mere presence at her door. The apple didn't fall far from the tree because Reginald DuChamp the 2nd was at the front door of their West Village apartment and she couldn't say no to him. "Aunty J, I-"

She stopped him before he could even get started. "You smell like outside and you look hungry. Come in, Reggie."

The resemblance was uncanny. Reggie feeling-like-Da-Chump DuChamp Jr ate his sorrows away by wolfing down whatever she could give him. Joss started off gently because she knew the men in her family didn't have the best track record at handling their emotions. "One of these days you're gonna have to use your words, not just your feet." She had no idea how prophetic that thought would be, considering in about four years' time his tumultuous NFL career would begin as a 6th round draft pick Wide Receiver for the Jacksonville Jaguars.

Reggie downed a half pint glass of chocolate milkshake in one go as a delaying tactic. The truth was; he didn't want to talk about the Mazda CX-5 parked outside their house in Columbia, the Assistant Coach also known as his biological father who had his feet up on the coffee table, his mother's nervous giggling behind the living room door at a conversation he couldn't make out, his rush to get out of there, his drill sergeant Uncle Jason's extended medical leave for a nervous breakdown the family was lighting candles and praying for, or the grey, uncomfortable feeling of walking around a campus where no-one knew his name. He had no desire to voice all that. The food was good though. "No offence, Aunty J-"

She stopped with a palm raised in surrender and spoke to the little boy in him. The one who needed therapy. "I said one day, not today. I know it's been a rough time for you…and CeCe. I've been meaning to call her…"

He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "Where's Tay? And John?"

"One's sleeping in and the other's…out...somewhere." She looked him up and down and his despair made her stomach churn with concern.

He turned to humour before she could say anything. "I heard Mr Greg took off to London. Guess we ran him off, huh?"

She shouldn't have but she giggled. "Something like that." The awkward silence was broken by a phone call. "Carter,"

"Your wingman's wingman needs a wingman." The distorted voice was punctuated with the chewing of a crunchy corn snack. Shaw.

"Where and when, Sporty Spice?"

11.04am, Paul's house, Elmhurst, Queens

Paul would've ignored the +757 number on his phone if it wasn't for the pictures his nosy cousin Leanne sent of the 'good time they were having' along with her fourth text invitation to Christmas dinner in Norfolk. Even Miss Cleo and her parrot could see he wasn't going. According to Facebook, Gina was glowing in a hairnet and volunteer apron at a seasonal soup kitchen run by a handsome, young, bearded pastor in Savannah, Georgia. She was happier than he'd seen her in a long while, so long that it was just before the night Jeremy landed on their doorstep. He knew he couldn't fill the space she left behind with a dog, or games of Spades and Uno at his frat brother's house, or the familiar voices on TV from his favourite sitcoms, or the bottle of whiskey he got from a secret Santa at work. He didn't feel at all Merry this Christmas. He whistled. "Come on CoCo, let's go outside…" And then he sent a Merry Christmas text to the wrong ex-girlfriend on purpose, which he'd call a mistake just hours later.

12.45pm, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan

Round 6 of Leroy Smith vs Noctis took a swift nosedive when Taylor received a surprise video of The Dominguez family singing Feliz Navidad off-key. Bella's hair was purple and he couldn't keep his head straight. "What the-" Reggie grabbed his phone. "Still?"

"I can't help it…" Taylor uttered through his teeth.

"Where's Mr G. when you need him? Let it go, youngblood…everything has a season…look into the light…listen to Kendrick Lamar…"

Taylor laughed at his dollar store version of the old man's wisdom. Not that he didn't need it – badly. "You have the Superbowl."

Reggie was hit between the eyes. Despite the losses, the benching, and the lost scholarship, his cousin still believed in him. There was no sarcasm even though his feet hadn't touched a football field in months. He didn't understand what Taylor was holding onto but he understood why. It was the same thing keeping him going. "Gotta have a dream, right?"

One day Reginald DuChamp Jr's dream would come true. And like most dreams; it would have elements of a nightmare. An expensive divorce from a woman who never loved him for more than his pockets, two rich lawyers, a few hundred thousand dollars in fines for poor behaviour, clickbait blog headlines about an on-again-off-again relationship with a certain luminous-haired rapper, a penchant for strip clubs and fast cars, two designer dogs, more paternity scares and scams than he could count, and a five-bed-four-bath house in a gated community for his mother. After all, CeCe deserved it.

And when he was no longer the flavour of the month, week or day, instead of moving on to the Tennessee Titans (the only team that would have him after his early exit from the Las Vegas Raiders due to inconclusive doping test results), he simply left. Six years was enough for him to return to Columbia and start a life with the moderate sum of money he had left; $1,098,173 to be exact. CEO - Champs Car Wash and Valeting Services the sign read. "Daddy," Reagan, Rihanna and Romelle called him.

Christmas Eve 2017, Lionel's apartment, Lenox Hill, New York

Lionel Fusco used to think of himself as an unlucky man; a decade of losing his marriage, son and dignity to his career and 'tenure' in HR had him on the ropes. If his luck changed the day he got a surly new partner who wouldn't share her first name, then he hit the jackpot the day she swiped right on MollyMia. There was never a silent moment with Martina, Lee and the boys, how could there be with Rocco's snoring in front of the NatGeo's marathon "Lions versus" series. In that moment, with popcorn in his hair and old pizza in his mouth, he decided to marry her.

Five years later, with Lee home from Munich where he played in an Under-20 team in the DEL, they were still married, happy, and up to their eyes in medical debt. He swore it was worth it even if his blood pressure said something different.