Fandom: Chicago Fire
Title: Galway Christmas
P O V: Sylvie Brett
For The December "BFFP" "Christmas is just about my favorite time. Ever since I was a little kid, I always felt it was my own personal holiday. Some sexual content at the very end so if you are too young to know about sex the end.
Galway, Ireland 2024
"Christmas is just about my favorite time. Ever since I was a little kid, I always felt it was my own personal holiday."
"Aw, Matthew, that's so cute. I bet you thought the elves were your slaves too."
My husband, Matthew Casey, laughs, his face turning a dark plum color as he hangs his head in shame, hands covering his face. "I will never live this shit down. I don't even know why I am telling you this, Sylvie."
"Because I am your loving wife, and you trust me with your entire heart and soul."
"How drunk was I when we got married, Sylvie? I must have been hammered to think you would take the vow of keeping secrets seriously?"
"Pretty sure that's not even a vow, Matt."
"Yeah, I am sure it is Sylvie; maybe you were even drunker than I was if you can't even remember the vows we took."
"I beg to differ, Matthew. I remember every vow we took, and I know there wasn't one in there about keeping my spouse's embarrassing secrets. However, I will let you slide on this one, mister if you tell me your secret. It is Christmas Eve, so I'll be nice and not tell anyone. If you do something for me."
"Oh, and what is that Wifey dear?"
Grinning, I whisper in his ear. "If you are a good boy Mr. Claus, I might let you stuff my stockings after I lick your North Pole."
"Oh, my God, Sylvie, You are making me so anxious and so horny. Fine, I will tell you, but I swear if you tell anyone, you will never get laid ever again."
"Yeah, sure, Matt, like you could ever go without sex for more than a week."
"Didn't say I would not get laid."
Gasping, I hit his arm hard, my face flushing a scarlet burn. I know Matt is kidding, but the thought of my husband having sex with anyone except me makes me sick. "I'm kidding, honey; I would never stuff any other woman's stocking besides yours; you have the best chimney in town."
"You better never forget that."
"Oh, believe me, I won't, honey, and now to answer your question, my beautiful wife, I didn't think the elves were my slaves; I thought they were my brother's and sisters. I thought Christmas was my holiday because I use to get so many presents I thought it was a second birthday, and the elves were all special people like myself who got chosen by Santa to have a special birthday called Christmas."
"Oh my God, that is so adorable, Matty."
"I know I am a special guy." Ruffling his hair, I laugh. "Yes, dear, you are exceptional." The cheesy grin on Matt's face makes me laugh harder. He honestly thinks it's completely normal. "Did the elves have names?
"Yes, they did, in fact, miss in doubt."
"No Doubt one of my favorite groups."
"You're messed up, Sylvie."
"Says the one who thinks Christmas is his personal holiday and has brothers named Prances, Dancer, Dasher, Comic, and Blister."
"No, they were my cousins duh, my brothers were sugarplum, frizzy, drizzly, freckle cakes, McJingles, and Puffin Pops."
"Dear Lord Matt, how much sugar did you inhale as a child?"
"According to my Aunt, Sister, and therapist way too much."
"So you don't want to know my sister's names?"
"No, babe, I am good."
"Fine, but don't except any anniversary gifts from them. They will be highly disappointed in you, and they make the most awesomeness gifts."
"Sure, they do, Matt."
"Oh, Yee of little doubt."
"I thought we covered this. It's no doubt."
Laughter fills the air as we walk through downtown Galway. I cuddle closer to my husband, who wraps his arm across my shoulders, warming me up. "Happy Anniversary, by the way, my love." Stopping mid stroll, I turn to Matt as we stand in front of Freeman's Jewelry. All around us, the glow of Christmas sparkles. Lights strung from the buildings, mistletoe hung from doorways of shops, tinsel wrapped around trees.
Joyful Christmas music blasts from speakers as people rush in and out of shops. Laying my head on Matt's chest, I sigh, breathing in his aroma of spice and mint. Pulling me closer to him, Matt kisses the top of my head. "Happy fifth wedding anniversary Sylvie my Christmas Rose."
"Thank you husband, happy anniversary to you as well; it takes two to tango in wedded bliss."
"I do love to tango, especially under the sheets naked."
"Oh, Lord, you are definitely on Santa's naughty list this year."
"Nope, I made his number one this year on the good list. Santa told me I'd been a very good boy. I've done everything I vowed to do on my wedding day. Santa told me I'm on the good list! I have to be the best husband ever, and please my wife & judging from the orgasm you had last night, I would say all of Galway knows how well I pleased my wife." Matt seems to be taking this a little too personal, I am starting to wonder if he knows Christmas isn't actually his holiday alone.
Rolling my eyes, I laugh as I look up and feel Matt's lips bliss across mine lovingly. "Tired, dear?" I nod, snuggling to Matt closer. "Let's go back to your grandma's. I want nothing more than to cuddle with you by the fireplace. Sipping hot cocoa and making love."
"Damn, that sounds amazing."
"Oh, I am amazing, no doubt." I place a hand upon Matt's cheek, my thumb grazing the soft contour of Matt's mouth. Matt's hands slide over my bum squeezing it tight I moan softly into his mouth, our kiss becoming more intense, warmth filling my mouth.
"This city is so beautiful, Matt. Thank you for bringing me here to meet your grandparents and cousins."
"Of course, babe, you're my wife. I want to share all the good times with you and our boy; what do you say we hurry home to see our little boy."
"I say that's your best idea yet."
Matt's mom's parents live right off the next corner's alley, so we make quick timing, which is perfect for me since it's snowing and chilly. "Welcome back, loves. How was your walk?" Matt's Grandma Rosin smiles, coming over to take our jackets. " settle in the living room, loves; the wee ones are anxious to open their presents."
Hand in hand, Matt and I head to the living room where his aunt's Mary Jo, and Katherine Elizabeth, sit with their Husbands John and Luke, and their kids. Matt's grandpa Christopher is in the recliner sipping a Guinness; the beautiful Christmas tree glows and glitters in the corner, standing six foot a beautiful angel on top. "Mommy! Daddy! You're back! Can I please open my presents now?"
Our four-year-old son Cashel jumps up and down, giggling clapping. "I am so excited. I know Santa will bring me what I wanted. "of course you may open it, honey, just don't be too disappointed if you didn't get everything you asked for; Santa is very busy."
"Mommy, I already know he brought me everything I wanted. He gave me you and daddy as parents; that's the best gift any kid can ask for."
My heart swells with pride and joy as our son grins opening his chubby arms to us, Matt and I embrace him and hold each other right. "Mom, tell us the story about how you and daddy meet again. Sion wants to hear the story again."
"No, Mama, I want Grandpa to tell it!"
"Oh, sorry, Sion." Matt's cousin Cathel waves his hand in the air dramatically at his five-year-old son Sion whose hands are on his hips, his lips twisted in an angry pretzel twist as he glares at his dad—not amused at all by his dad's slip of the mind.
"Okay, gather around family, and let me tell you about how our family got started
"It was way back in 1954 I was a handsome little devil of all twenty-seven, a farm boy born in Ennis, County Clare, son of thee King William O'Brien, and beautiful queen Margaret Saoirse Murphy." "Tired of rural country life, I went on a wee adventure, I did, Yes Sir, I and two of my best mates Ciaran Casey and Matthew O'Donnell."
"Where did you go, Pop-pop?"
Cashel's eyes are wide as he sits on his knees staring up at Matt's granddad, who sits in his recliner, leaning frontwards over the group of grand-kids and great-grand kids which has grown as Matt's Sister Christine has come in from the back yard where she was smoking with their Mom Nancy. Her daughter Violet, who is thirteen, slides into her butt by her cousins Christopher's eyes are gleaming as he engages his audience in his tale of epic love.
"It was late December thee land was so cold, Jesus, that wind would cut you in half. Then quarters."
"We were determined to have ourselves a grand adventure we were, halfway through thee journey though our shite of a car broke down, leaving us stranded on thee dirt road."
"Oh, No, Pop-Pop, what did you do?"
Young Liam, the son of Casey's cousin William, claps his hands over his rosy checks in shock. His adorableness makes me melt. Only seven-years-old he is completely engrossed in this story, one the older kids have heard repeatedly over the years and are barely paying attention.
"What did I do?"
Liam nods." Are you sure you want to know, lad?"
"Yes! Yes!" Liam bounces on his knees, his hands clasped under his chin. "Ay, Pop-Pop, I do I do."
"Ay, we all do, please tell us Pop-Pop."
All the young kids are now begging eight-year-old Charity, Six-year-old Sorcha, seven-year-old Caoimhe. Five-year-old Tadgh, all on their knees."Are you sure you want to know? The older ones looked as if I just made them clean the jacks after taking a big old crap. Wipe them scowls off your faces, you bloody weans. Show some respect this is yer history, here."
"Aw, Mam, do we have to listen to this again? We've heard it every year!" thirteen-year-old Jace whines to his mom Matt's cousin Grannie who smacks the back of his head. "Ay, ya do now quit yer fussing."
"Ow!"
"Serves you right show some respect, sorry granddad."
"Ah, this generation is soft, I tell ya in my days of youth, we walked twenty-six miles to thee nearest town when our car broke down, and did we complain?"
"No!" All the grand-kids yell out, including Matt, who laughs, cuddling me closer. I lay my head down against his chest, loving the feeling of his hands stroking my hair. Luring me into a trance so deep, I can feel myself getting lost in the world of Christopher's story.
"It was colder than fuarungadh left out in thee wee hours of the morning. We were broke, hungry, horny, and knackered to our bones. All we wanted was a cold Guinness and some warm foods in our bellies, and maybe a beautiful lady to warm our bits."
"What did you do, Grandpa?"
"Well lass, glad you asked it was Christmas Eve, so thee town was visiting with late shoppers, hungry patron's, and drunk university students stuck aboard, so we did what any smart-ass lads would do."
All the young kids are moving closer to hear his story. The older ones have out down their phones and are at least attempting to look interested. Moving my hands down my hips, I connect mine into Matt's warm palms. It's hard to believe that we've been married for five years now we've faced so many obstacles it's a minor miracle we got married.
Matt was head over heels in love with his ex-wife Gabby for the longest time. I always felt as if I was competing for his attention and comparing myself to her. Matt could not commit to me fully for months, and I stood my ground, refusing to be second best. When Matt could finally say I love you and I knew he meant it, I felt as if I was the queen of the world. I didn't need alcohol or chocolate to feel high. Feeling his lips upon mine, hearing his sexy voice whispering what he wanted to do to me was the best high ever.
No drugs are needed.
We made love on Christmas Eve 2020, and I discovered I was pregnant in February of 2021. For a few weeks, we were at the top of the world, picking out names dreaming of the arrival of our little one. As afraid as I was to be a mother, I knew we would get through it together.
Till Hurricane Gabby came back with a little surprise, Matt's daughter, who she had given birth to in August of 2020. She was sick with Leukemia and needed a bone marrow transplant, and Matt was a match.
Watching their daughter become so sick and fighting for her life, bonded Matt and Gabby. I never wanted to be petty or jealous, so I gave Matt his space; after all, it was his daughter, and he loved her instantly. Terror and love were the only emotions Matt could feel for his child. He had little room for me or the little one I was carrying. I gave them space; maybe I gave them too much because I came home in June to find them in bed together. I was devastated and angry and ran out.
How could Matt cheat on me when it took me so long to trust him? I gave him my heart, my soul, my body. None of which I give easily, and he did exactly what I feared he would. When Gabby became available, he chooses her.
He would always choose her; that's the only thought which raced through my head as I sped through the street, trying to put as much distance between us. I saw Matt's eyes through the rear-view mirror as I raced away, regretful, and angry at himself.
What did Matt regret though that he got caught or hurt me and proved all my fears, right? I am not lovable or worthy of competing against the beautiful, feisty Gabriela Isabella Dawson. I will never be as smart, quick-witted, or sexy as Gabby. How can I be? I'm a small-town country girl who was naïve enough to fall for a city boy. Gabby is and always will be bolder, smarter, curvier, and she has a fire inside of her I can never process.
How many times do I have to have my heartbroken to finally learn Matt's my downfall, my muse, my sweetest desires, but some cravings are too sweet to be healthy for you? The body can't handle the overload of sugar, so it crashes. Maybe Matt merely couldn't take being with someone who would treat him as a complete person. Some guys like the abuse that a woman such as Gabby provides. Some men want to be controlled to have their balls whipped. I can never be that type of woman. I knew so many girls back home like that who snapped their fingers and had their men on their knees.
The same women who dieted to please their men, who counted every calorie, had to have the blondest hair, fakest prettiest smiles. Cheered the loudest on the cheer-leading team, who stayed home to bake and have babies. Sure these women had their men at their feet, and they got the prettiest roses because they demanded it. They got homecoming queens because they ruled fear into the rest of the class.
I will never be that type of woman. I was a good girl who prayed who held firm to my faith and played by the rules. I wondered what for though if God would only laugh at me. He must have been laughing too, or did he just simply not care and send cupid to do his bidding? Was cupid rolling on the clouds watching us humans make a shit show of love?
Why the fuck should I pray? If God didn't care. To this day, I remember that being my last thought before the SUV slammed into my car.
Five teenagers on an after-prom joy ride two blocks from their school. I got out of the car, dazed and in agony; labor pains had already started. I remember the fear clutching me like knives stabbing and slicing my heart. I was only six-and half-months. It was too early to be in labor. Adrenaline had taken over though clouding the fear; these teenagers needed help. Whiskey hit my nose as soon as I proved open the door of the driver's side. The teen, a boy barely older than sixteen, fell out stumbling but only scratched. He took off before I could assess him.
Not having time to waste on him, I went to the next victim, a girl who looked younger than the driver, barely any pulse, contusions across her face, neck, and chest. Blood pouring out of her time wasn't on her side. I had to act fast, and I could smell the gasoline leaking out, see the sparks. I didn't hear any sirens and couldn't find my phone. So I picked her up and carried her to the sidewalk. My stomach was contracting and squeezing, I felt dizzy, but I knew I had to save these kids.
There were three yet two girls screaming to be saved, crying out in fear. My heart broke, hearing their screams as their flesh burned, so young, so full of life. Thinking they were invincible. Out for a joy ride on one of the happiest nights of their lives, music blasting even as the car caught on fire, glass shattered on the road. That music still played on. I'll always hear that music in the back of my mind for as long as I live.
A young man lay on the ground ejected from the car; I knew it was too late for him, so I threw my jacket over him to protect his identity, saying a prayer to bless his soul, closing his eyes.
The two girls in the car were screaming themselves raw, trying to climb out of the vehicle. "I'm only seventeen; help me. I don't want to die!"
"Please save me! I am sorry, Jake didn't mean to harm anyone. He thought he was fine. We all did. Please don't let us burn!"
Their screams haunt me even now. Five years later. Smoke and flames had engulfed the car within the three minutes it took me to carry out their friend.
I could hear sirens in the distance, but I knew I didn't have that long. Their ETA was at least three minutes out. Using my shirt to cover my nose and mouth, I crawled through the driver's side door. The knowledge terrorized me that the longer it took for me to get to the hospital, the less likely the chances were that my child would live long enough to draw their first breath.
"I want to be a doctor. Please don't let me die. My name is Ashley Rivera, and I am only fifteen!"
"Hang on, Ashely, I'm coming. My name is Sylvie Brett. I'm a paramedic."
As scared as I was for myself, I kept repeating my oath in my mind. Serve and protect, do not judge, follow the command of God.
"My friend is Jo, Joanne Bethany Rodriguez please she's only seventeen. She wants to be a lawyer."
Every ounce of my strength went to pulling those two young ladies out of that car, as smoke filled my lungs, stung my eyes, dizziness washed over me. I felt my water break, and I felt the pains intensify as I pulled and slammed against metal twisted around human flesh, seat-belts designed to protect now, strangling these young ladies.
Shoving against the front seats which had been slammed back into their bodies upon the force of the impact. The hood was now crushing the front seats. The car exploded as I got the last girl out. Sending me spiraling into a world of blackness. One I didn't emerge from till four months later.
When I reemerged, the world was different. Gone were the summer days; fall had come in, bringing the chill and falling leaves. Gabby and Matt's daughter was healthy and an active crawling baby. My son was in the ICU fighting for his life three months old at the time October when he should have just been being born—attached to oxygen, heart monitors, and feeding tubes.
I was paralyzed on my left side after I suffered a seizure caused by the explosion. My son and I spent months learning how to fight for life. By our side was Matt every day. He showed his remorse for cheating and his gratitude to God for giving him a second chance.
The hurt didn't magically vanish betrayal leaves a deep wound, and it took a long time to trust Matt again, but I wasn't naïve; I knew I would need help physically and mentally. I wanted our son to know his father, so I prayed and prayed.
I didn't hear God talking to me or some crazy shit like that. I was paralyzed, not crazy. Instead, I saw the flames; I felt the smoke filling my lungs. I heard Ashley's screams, and I saw the young man lying on the cold street.
Just babies, that's what they were. Young men and women were going to a school dance, a tradition held every year for graduating seniors all over the USA.
The last chance to be young, carefree to make mistakes, to laugh with friends. Before life forces them into the world into jobs, most of them will hate, a last chance to be young before life makes them it's bitch.
Kent Jacobs seventeen years old, a Chicago-born and bred boy who loved to attend Cub games with his dad and younger brothers Mike and Jake. Who loved to bake and make his friends laugh, who dreamed of being a chef. The boy who was a Christmas miracle to his parents, the boy who was never supposed to live-born to a crack addicted mother, thrown into the trash by the teenage mother.
Firefighters found him half-frozen to death, rushed him to Chicago Med, and he was born addicted to crack, HIV positive with double pneumonia. Doctors didn't give him a shot in hell, but the nurses fell in love with him, one nurse in particular. Briana Jacobs told her husband about the baby, who refused to give up on life.
They adopted him on December 24th, 2003. Fight he did. He fought every day of his life against HIV, prejudice, and fear. He fought to stay healthy against the medications which fought HIV but made him so sick. He fought to keep up with his peers because the drugs stunned his growth and the addiction to crack at birth left him with mental development issues.
Kent survived against all odds and flushed, becoming valedictorian, captain of the basketball team, a leader in his boy scouts troop. He made friends quickly as he got older because he had a positive attitude and a friendly disposition.
Kent is everything I hope my son gets to grow up to be a man who sticks by his friends, who fights for what he believes in, who loves hard and laughs louder.
Except for one difference, I want my son to grow up, not to be forever seventeen.
Kent is my inspiration for fighting so hard so I could be an inspiration to my son. Kent wasn't the only one who passed away that night. Fifteen-year-old Amy Southern the passenger I pulled out first died from head trauma and blood loss.
Neither kid will ever get to take another test in life or make their beds; they'll never get to grow up forgive and forget the friend who hurt them, who ran away to leave them there to die. They'll never get to go to college or fall in love, start a career and raise a family.
Life fell in a matter of moments.
Betrayal hurts, yes, but I've learned to accept it because breaking means I am alive, and as long as I am alive, I can learn to forgive and forget.
Matt has spent every day of his life trying to make it up to me, and I can see it in his eyes. He is ashamed of his actions, but he regrets them, regrets hurting me, and throwing my trust away.
If your heart doesn't break, are you living?
It sounds cruel, but it's the truth. Loving someone who hurts you can mend your broken soul as you watch them learn and grow. Loving someone who has been broken can heal your own bleeding heart because you see the authentic person flaws and all, and kissing their wounds can make you see your own vulnerabilities and imperfections.
"Sylvie."
I snap back to attention to Matt's voice, stunned as his lips captivate my lips into a sweet, warm kiss. I see fields of green and summer sunshine, and I hear doves cry in happiness and see elves dancing with leprechauns behind a rainbows glow after a rainstorm has blown through.
I see flashes of Christopher kissing his love under the mistletoe as their friends drink pints and cheer. I hear the fiddles play, and the silver bells ring in glee.
I see life passing by as the year comes to a close. I hear our son laugh and clap. "Mommy's kissing Santa!" I look up and see Matt is wearing a Santa hat. I giggle, my lips tremble in-between his, and he pushes me back against the couch, not caring that his entire family is watching.
Cashel is still so young he believes any man wearing a Santa hat is Santa. "That's not Santa silly; that's your daddy."
"Why is daddy wearing a Santa hat?"
"Because…"
I shoot a look of death towards Jace, who grunts out, rolling his eyes. "Because your daddy is an elf who Santa chose specially to help him out."
Cashel's eyes grow wide in shock and wonder. His hands fly to his checks. "My daddy is Santa's special helper?"
"Yeah, didn't you ever hear the story about how your daddy thought Christmas was his personal Holiday?" Cashel shakes his head at his Aunt Christie, who grins wickedly. "Oh, really, your daddy never shared that with you?"
"No, he didn't!"
Cashel's closed fists slam against his sides in anger. "No, daddy didn't! How could you not tell me Christmas was our special holiday, daddy? If it's yours, then it's mine too, you're my daddy, which makes it our holiday! I have a holiday that's devoted to me, cool!"
My glare levels towards Christie now, who laughs, covering her mouth. "Oh, Lord." Nancy rolls her eyes sitting down between us on the couch, her legs in between Matt's body and mine stopping our Christmas Eve make-out.
"He is your child Matthew."
"Hey, everyone over here, I was talking!"
Christopher waves his hands, impatiently all of us laugh as we watch him looking like a forgotten child at Christmas.
"Sorry." We all laugh, turning our attention back to him. The Christmas tree glitters behind him, lights flickering on and off, reflecting a beauty and a timeless tradition of families gathered around the tree by the fireplace. Sharing stories and food as the kids expect the arrival of Santa.
"I forgot where I was uh, anyway I started dancing cause I was a wee ballasyer than me mates, and quick on me feet, we didn't have pounds lying around for pleasure when I was growing up, but Mam made sure we got in our Irish dance lessons."
"So right there on Grafton street in front of Carrickfergus bar, I started dancing, yes I did, and I caught the eyes, of thee most beautiful lass I ever lay eyes upon."
"She was a pretty Irish lass playing the fiddle in an Irish band, who was pissed at this County Clare lad coming in the wee hours of Christmas Eve to steal her audience just as they were getting wasted enough to throw down their hard-earned money."
"We both threw some craic on each other, and she made fun of my drunk tattoo. I told her that she had no tune; she asked me for a drink. I challenged her to a contest; she downed two whiskey shots and got on the table, playing her fiddle. I downed three shots of vodka and got on the table next to her. Throwing darts as I spun and hitting the bullseye every time."
"Pretty little Rosin thee sweetest of thee Galway Girls. I ever met. Her cheeks red as roses, her laughter dark as Vader, humor as quick as craic. Hands as fast as lighting, she played that fiddle straight to my heart."
"I asked her out on a date kissed her on the neck and then I took her by the hand and said, baby, I just want to dance with my pretty little Galway Girl."
"And did she dance Pop-Pop?"
"Why, of course, she did not. No self-respecting Irish lass would fall for a fool who tried to show her up; she shoved me off the table and said drink on fool."
Laughter fills the house as Rosin cheers. "Yer bet I did. I made the fool earn my respect."
"I met her again two weeks later, looking just as beautiful, in another bar in Galway, she made me buy her a drink, ah I never had such a chore, let me tell you. I begged for another date; she challenged me to sing on the stage. Rosin captivated me with her scent, the softness of her hands as they slapped the back of my head, that got to me. Lads, I warm ya a fool Yee be if a pretty woman challenges you to beat her and you refuse."
"I got right up on that stage, pushing past my fright, and sang her an original song as if my life depended on it."
"You wrote a song, grandpapa?"
"Ay, Liam, I did."
"Sing it for us!"
"I am, as a story. I wrote a song about our love. Your great-grandma was so impressed she rushed thee stage."
"Ah, I did, but I blame thee damn spirits for that. They were strong within me that night."
"Either way, woman, you rushed the stage and kissed me deeply and sucked my soul into your lips. We kissed and kissed as if there was no one else in the room."
"Two days later, we married in County Wexford."
"We did, and we've been blissfully wed for sixty-nine-years, nine children, and ten grandkids."
"Through heartache and religion troubles, and joy, we've sailed many ships."
"More stories, grandpa!"
"Ya want more, you say."
"Yes!"
"Okay young Cashel, shall we tell you how your father came to believe Christmas was his personal holiday?"
"yes!"
"Well, it starts with his Mam. Your grandma Nancy."
"Why, Dad, must we? It's history."
"Ahy, it is your history, which is Matt's history and his kids."
"Ah, I need a bloody shot."
"So we settled down in County Wexford, but in thee late sixties till thee, late nineties was a time of trouble between the republic of Ireland and thee north of Ireland."
"In true teenage rebellion fashion, Nancy, our oldest, defied our orders to have anything to do with a Northern lad."
"Nancy fell for a fool from Sligo named Gregory Casey. The fool came and asked me for permission, and of course, I said no, you couldn't marry my daughter."
"So what did they do? I will tell ya they ran off and got married. On Christmas Eve 1977, they had their daughter Christie nine months later. Then they ran off to Chicago when Christie was a year old."
"When was daddy born?"
"Good question, lad." Christopher touches Cashel's nose, making him giggle. "Your granddad was determined to prove to me he was a good man. He made the wedding ring out of dentist gold himself. He constructed their house on a hill of thee outskirts of Chicago."
"A year after the moved to the USA, your granddad switched religions to prove to me he was serious about your grandma."
"Why did it matter, grandpa?"
"Ah, because your granddad was a fifthly protestant, that is evil, thee only real religion is catholic. Every self-respecting Irish man knows that."
"So at twenty-four, good old Gregory pledged to be a god-fearing Catholic, and I finally accepted him as my son-in-law."
"My girl's beauty smote Gregory, and he called her his Christmas Rose because they met at Christmas time, the same as her mam and I."
"Christmas is a special time in our family, it created your daddy on Christmas Eve, and you can ask him how babies are created when you are older."
"Why not now? Daddy, how are babies created? I was a baby once. How did you and mom create me?"
"Gee, thanks, granddad."
"You are welcome, Matthew."
"Will discuss this later, son. For now, listen to your great old, I mean ancient old great grandpop."
"Wow, that's a lot of olds."
"Yes, well, he is ancient."
Nancy smacks Matt's head. "Boy, you ain't too old to be smacked, even if you ain't wrong, show some respect for the old man."
"Ah, too bloody hell with thee both of you. I need some spirits."
Christopher gets up, stomping out of the room. "Whose gonna finish the story?"
"I will, grandson. It's my story anyway; I tell it better."
"Yay!"
Cashel crawls into my lap, I hold him right, feeling Matt's arms wrap around my shoulders. Leaning back, I feel content sitting in the arms of my husband, surrounded by our family.
"The story is that after I had Christie, I didn't think I would ever be able to have kids. I had a few complications birthing her, so doctors told me I could never have kids."
"How did you have daddy then, grandma?"
"A miracle is how sweet boy. And not using protection, again you can ask your daddy what protection is later."
"Ah, Jesus, Mom."
"Watch your tongue, son, and we do not curse thy good lord's name in our house."
"I'm scared, mommy." Cashel cuddles closet to me. I kiss his head and stroke his cheeks—no need to be an afraid sweet boy. No one is angry. It's just your dad's way of messing with his mom."
"Oh, like how daddy tickles you with the roses when you are naked."
I gasp, burying my head into his head, hearing everyone laugh. "We really need to close the doors, Sylvie."
"No, Shit, Matthew."
"Am I right, Mommy?" "Yeah, you got it, buddy. Next time don't watch go to your room. That's a private time for mommy and daddy."
"You should close the door then mommy, I'm four, and I know that duh."
"Yeah, duh, daddy."
"I created your dad on Christmas Eve between the love I shared with his father, and it overjoyed me in shock and wonder. Ever since that year, I have loved Christmas, even when my marriage started falling apart. I had always wanted a son. I had my beautiful daughter, so a son was all I needed."
"Yeah, and wanted if you went by the number of gifts Matt got compared to me every Christmas." Christie teases him softly, rolling her eyes. "Jealousy ain't a good look on you, sis."
"Your face ain't a good look either, Matthew, but I got use to looking at your ugly mug."
"Anyway, as my marriage fell apart and things got terrible and scary throughout the year for us, I looked forward to every Christmas because it was a time of cheer and hope. I always looked back to the fonder times when Greg would hold me tight, kiss me with passion, and swear his love to me. Matt was a sensitive kid. He felt my pain and took on my fear. As the boy in the family, he felt it was his job to protect his sister and me. So every Christmas your daddy went above and beyond to write to Santa for peace in our house, he made me gingerbread houses, he decorated early so I didn't have to stress, and he blasted Christmas music to make me sing out loud and asked me to dance with him. Matt always made Christmas special ever since he was a wee toddler. So as he got older, I always told him it was his special day because he was my special Christmas miracle."
Looking at it through Nancy's eyes, I find a whole new meaning in why Matt feels Christmas is his holiday, and I find myself melting. Leaning against Matt's chest, I feel his lips graze my temple across my forehead.
"Kiss me, Matt. I want to whisper into your ear all that I want you to do to me when we get into bed."
"Damn, baby, see, I was right Christmas is my personal holiday. Jesus has sure blessed me, thank you, Jesus."
"Yeah, baby, you will be thanking Jesus all night long if you are good."
"Didn't you hear my Mam, I am a special boy, so I am always good."
"Oh, please, Matthew, don't get it twisted; I said you were my special boy. I didn't say you were an angel."
"What's the difference, Mom?"
"Sylvie, I am too old for this shit. Good luck with my son. He is your husband. Happy anniversary."
"Thanks, Nancy. Are you sure you don't want him back?"
"Nope, I am good."
Hours later, we are lying in bed moaning and kissing as if our lives are demanding on both of us, climaxing at the same moment. Sweat is pouring down my body as I feel my walls fighting to stay in control, hear waves wash over me as I feel Matt's junior member jerking and stiffing inside of my pulsating walls, which are an inferno.
"Oh, Jesus! Thank you, Jesus, oh Lord, baby …
"I know I am too… Jesus, oh.. waves of intense warmth wash over my entire body as my climax hits me hard and fast.
"DEAR SANTA, I KNOW JESUS GETS ALL THE CREDIT, I'M SORRY BIG GUY. I KNOW CHRISTMAS IS YOUR HOLIDAY. THAnK YOU FOR SHARING YOUR SPECIAL DAY WITH ME! I'VE BEEN NAUGHTY AND IT WAS WORTH IT, THANK YOU!"
OH, SANTA, HERE I COME."
"MATT, STOP PAYING ATTENTION TO SANTA; I'M THE ONE LETTING YOU INSIDE, NOT THE NORTH POLE."
My spasms clutch at his manhood, and I feel Matt's body stiffen. His hands grip my back as he thrust inside of me harder, causing me to scream out. He comes almost immediately, shooting deep into my throbbing center. I collapse onto his chest, and we cuddle for quite a while.
"Christmas is Galway will forever be one of my favorites. No wonder my grandparents won't leave this place. I was right Christmas is my favorite holiday, my own own holiday because I know I will never get any woman to love me better. You just showed me how much you love me. Wanna go again?"
"Oh, shut-up. Matthew. I'm exhausted; I'm going to sleep. Merry Christmas, baby."
"Yes, it is, baby, thank you." Matt nuzzles my neck with his lips pulling my body closer.
"Merry Christmas, Matt, and Thank you, Santa."