Chapter five
Blake
I wasn’t used to having someone else in my house. Even with Biscuit, the place was always quiet. Predictable. I liked it that way—wake up, work, eat, sleep, repeat. No surprises.
Then came Holly.
Now there were crumbs on the counter, flour on the stove, and the smell of something warm and sweet that didn’t belong to me. There were two mugs in the sink instead of one. I told myself it didn’t matter. She was just passing through. But the part of me that liked order was twitching anyway. I needed to know what I was dealing with. Who I was dealing with.
Standing by the window, watching fat flakes of snow drift past the glass, I repeated the lie I’d been telling myself since she’d arrived: she couldn’t stay.
Then I turned and saw her sitting at the kitchen table, still wearing one of my old shirts, sleeves hanging past her hands, feeding Biscuit crumbs like it was a full-time job.
She smiled at him—a tiny, unguarded thing—and I stopped believing my own lie all over again. I cleared my throat. “We need to talk, Holly.”
Her smile vanished. She straightened fast, like a soldier at attention. “I—I’m sorry if I made a mess—”
“You didn’t,” I said quickly. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I just need to know what’s going on. You were hiding in a condemned building. That doesn’t just happen for no reason.”
She went still.
I sat down across from her, careful to keep my voice low. “You said you were locked in the dark, but then you said you didn’t have anyone. I need to understand what that means.” Because it sounded like trafficking.
Her fingers tightened around the mug she was holding. “I just had a bad dream,” she whispered.
“You don’t have family missing you? Friends?”
She shook her head. “No.” But she wouldn’t look me in the eye. Amanda had lied. Lied to me for four years, until I’d caught her promising her boyfriend that once she had a ring on her finger she’d start sending money to him.
“Someone must be looking for you.”
“No one,” she said again. “I don’t have anyone.” Too quick. Too firm. Another lie.
I leaned back in my chair, watching her. “Look,” I said quietly. “I’m not trying to trap you. But if you’re in trouble, I can’t help unless I know what kind of trouble it is. You can tell me.”
Her knuckles went white around the mug. “I’m not in trouble.”
I exhaled slowly. “You’re a shitty liar, baby. But you have to understand something—I can’t protect you from shadows. If someone’s looking for you—”
“They’re not,” she interrupted.
I frowned. “You sure about that?”
Her head dropped. “Please,” she said softly. “Don’t ask me that. I just… I just want to stay here for a little while. I’ll find somewhere else after.”
“Why here?”
She blinked, startled. “What?”
“Why me?” I asked. “I could have taken you anywhere. Called someone. Taken you into a shelter. Why stay with a man you don’t know?”
Her mouth opened, then closed again. For a moment, I thought she’d answer. But she just shook her head, eyes wide, voice small. “Because you didn’t ask me to leave.”
I didn’t know whether to be angry or sorry. Maybe both. “Okay,” I said after a moment. “You can stay a little while. But you need to understand — if someone comes looking, I have to know what I’m up against.”
She nodded too fast, relief and fear tangled together. “No one’s coming,” she whispered.
I wanted to believe her. God help me, I did. But something about the way she said it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
I stood, because sitting too close was starting to feel dangerous. “I’ve got work tomorrow,” I said. “You’ll be safe here with Biscuit. Lock the door if you need to.”
She nodded again, biting her lip. “Thank you.”
I gave her a tight smile and walked out before I could start asking more questions.
Outside, the snow was coming down harder. The kind that muffles everything.
I told myself I was just being cautious. Just making sure she wasn’t lying about something that might get us both hurt.
But deep down, another thought was already gnawing its way through.
If she was lying—even a little—I wasn’t sure I wanted to know why.
Because the truth would mean she wasn’t the lost, broken girl I’d started to care about.
And I wasn’t ready to lose her yet.
After I’d finally dealt with the pay and Christmas bonuses in the small study/office that would have been a fourth bedroom if I ever needed it and palmed my phone, scrolling for Clem’s number. We’d been at school together, and both enlisted right after high school. I’d wanted the army engineers, and she didn’t care so long as she got away from home. I’d had to come home after five years when Dad got sick, but Clem had been doing something secretive. Probably Black Ops. Wouldn’t have surprised me. I knew she worked for a guy—ex-marine that owned some fancy nightclub in Tampa—but she’d know or could find out what I needed. I sent the text and waited, but it only took about thirty seconds for her to call me back, not even bothering with hello. “What’s up, Viking?”
I snorted. “Got a situation. Sensitive. I need to know if you can run a background and do a trace for me.”
“I can do better. You want the guy to disappear?”
Jesus. Clem never changed. “No. Not yet, and not a guy.”
“Text me the name.”
“Will do.” I hesitated. “It’s urgent, but all I have is a name and a first name of a possible douchebag.”
“Everything you do is urgent, Weston.”
I rolled my eyes and left it at that. “Thanks, Clem.”
I hung up and stared at the phone, texting her quickly. My hands were tight around it, like I was ready to crush the damn thing. For a second, I just stood there, breathing. The house was quiet. I could hear Biscuit’s claws click on the floor, and Holly’s voice, soft, like she was reading to him in the next room.
It made something in me settle. I didn’t want her to know I was making calls. I didn’t want her to worry. I doubt she even remembered she’d let her last name slip. If I could fix it without her even knowing, that was what I was going to do. I had to find out if this was gonna bite me on the ass because I knew I was developing feelings for her.
There was another time I’d done that for a woman.
I’d spent half the drive home rehearsing what I was going to say.Not the fancy part, the real part.
Amanda and I had been together over a year. Long enough for her toothbrush to live next to mine, for me to fall headlong and quickly.
I’d been waiting for the right time, but I’d finally stopped overthinking it. I’d bought the ring that morning. Small, simple, elegant—she wasn’t the flashy kind. At least, I thought she wasn’t.
It was early afternoon when I walked soundlessly into the apartment we were living in. I remember that detail because the sun was slanting through the blinds just right, catching the ring box in my pocket every time I moved. I could already see it: her hands over her mouth, her eyes wet, her saying yes.
The house was quiet except for her voice.
I smiled at first—I’d missed that sound. Then I stopped.
Her tone was different. Lower. Sharper. A kind of edge I hadn’t heard before. She was in the den, phone pressed to her ear, pacing slow. She hadn’t heard me come in.
“…as soon as he proposes,” she was saying, her voice bright with laughter. “We’ll make it official, and then you and I can get what we deserve.”
Silence. Then a man’s voice through the phone—low, amused. I couldn’t make out the words, but whatever he said made her laugh again.
“Of course,” she said. “As soon as there’s a ring on my finger, we’ll take him to the cleaners. He’s too trusting to see it coming.”
My heart didn’t break. Not right then. It just… stopped. I didn’t move. Didn’t say a thing. Just stood there listening to the woman I’d planned a life with talk about me like I was a mark in a con.
She walked past the doorway, still smiling, and froze when she saw me.
I didn’t yell. I didn’t throw anything. I didn’t ask why. I just took the ring box out of my pocket and set it on the counter between us. She could have it. I wanted nothing to do with it.
Her mouth opened—maybe to explain, maybe to lie—but I didn’t wait to find out. I walked back out the door with Biscuit at my heel and never looked back.
The reply from Clem was instant: “Give me a few hours. Don’t do anything stupid in the meantime.”
I didn’t bother answering. I wasn’t planning on being stupid. But if anyone came for Holly, I wasn’t promising I’d be smart about it, either. I shoved the phone in my pocket and went back out to the kitchen. Holly was at the table, hunched over a pad of paper. Biscuit lay with his chin on her foot, tail thumping every time she moved.
She looked up, startled, like she’d been caught doing something wrong. “I was just…” She trailed off, eyes dropping to her hands.
I kept my voice even. “Just what?”
A flush crept up her cheeks. “Making a list. Things you might need from the store. If I’m going to bake more…” She twisted the ribbon, knuckles white. “You’re probably low on sugar now.”
The urge to smile hit hard and fast. “You’re making a grocery list?”
She nodded, so small I almost missed it. “I thought it would be helpful. So I wasn’t wasting anything.”
I sat across from her and reached for the list. She didn’t pull it away. The handwriting was neat, careful, but the list was tiny. Sugar, eggs, butter, more chocolate chips. There was a note at the bottom: “Only if it’s not too expensive.”
God. I wanted to shake someone for teaching her to apologize for breathing.
“That’s a good list,” I said. “How about we do an online order?”
She bit her lip. I waited, because sometimes when you asked Holly a direct question she needed a second to process it. She looked down at the page again, like she was worried the list was too long. She shook her head, curls bouncing, and then said, “That’s okay. I don’t need anything special. I just… I thought maybe you’d want cookies for Christmas.”
The way she said it. Like she’d just confessed to robbing a bank.
I tried not to let the emotion show, but I could feel it in the back of my throat. “Holly, you can bake every day if you want. I’ll buy out the damn store.”
Her hands went tight on the napkin. “I don’t want to be expensive.”
“Trust me, you’re not.”
She looked away, hiding behind her hair, but I could see a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. “Maybe just more flour. And sprinkles? The colored kind, if it’s not too much.”
“I’ll put it on the list.” I reached over and wrote it down myself. I made sure my handwriting was big, easy to read. I didn’t want her thinking it was a secret or something she had to whisper about.
Biscuit parked himself under the table and nudged her bare ankle with his nose. He was always good at knowing when people needed comfort. I set my phone on the table and brought up the grocery app, easy as pie.
“Watch. This is how it works. You just type what you want, and it shows up.” I waited to see if she’d get nervous about it, but she leaned in, peering at the screen like it was magic.
“They bring it right to the house?” Her voice was awed, and I struggled to keep the surprise out of my voice. I thought everyone had heard of this? “Right to the door. No fuss.” I added everything she’d written, and then some extras just in case. I didn’t want her running out of sugar ever again.
She watched the numbers add up. I could see her counting, biting her lip, worried about the total.
“Don’t worry about the price,” I told her. “I got it covered. Always.”
She nodded, but I could see her fighting the urge to apologize again. I didn’t say anything else. Sometimes it was better just to let the words settle.
After we finished the order, I asked if she wanted to help with Biscuit’s walk. She hesitated, but when Biscuit danced in place, eager, she smiled and nodded.
I insisted she used the sweatpants which I had to say looked a little ridiculous and resolved when we got home my next order would be clothes for her.
We walked towards the park, and the snow had started to fall again. Heavy, soft flakes that muffled every sound. Holly wrapped her arms around herself, despite the layers and I shrugged off my coat, draping it over her shoulders before she could argue.
She looked up at me, startled. “But you’ll be cold.”
“It’s Maine,” I said. “I’ve been colder.”
She laughed then. Not loud, but real. She tugged the sleeves over her hands and watched Biscuit barrel through the snow like he’d just won the lottery.
“He’s happy,” she said softly.
“Yeah. He likes having you around.”
She didn’t answer. Just watched the dog, her eyes shiny in the cold. When Biscuit rolled on his back, snow flying everywhere. Holly half-laughed, hugging my coat tighter, and Biscuit came bounding back to us, snow stuck to his snout and his tongue lolling.
“He’s having fun,” she said, voice small but warm. Her cheeks were pink, curls escaping everywhere. It looked so damn good on her it hurt.
“Yeah,” I agreed, watching Biscuit shake himself right next to her, spraying us both. “He’s got no dignity. You’d think he’d learn.”
She smiled, then looked up at me, tentative. “He’s happy.” Like she needed to check again, in case I’d been joking the first time.
“He is,” I said. “You make him happy.”
Her breath caught. She stared down at the snow, scuffing at it with one boot, like maybe the ground would open up and swallow the compliment before she had to believe it.
“He’s easy to please,” she whispered.
“Maybe,” I said. “But so am I.” It was a lie, but I’d said it deliberately to judge her reaction. Every one of my Daddy instincts was screaming at me. Holly wasn’t necessarily submissive, but she was a pleaser. She wanted to give her whole self to making someone happy, and ridiculous as that sounded this soon, I wanted that someone to be me.
She glanced at me, startled. but then her face lit up. I kept my face blank, gentle. Didn’t move closer, didn’t crowd her. Just let her stand in it. Let her know she could take up space.
We walked another lap of the park. Biscuit charged ahead, looping back every now and then to nose at her hand or bump her leg. Holly kept her arms folded, but she didn’t look cold. She looked… alive. I couldn’t stop watching her. Every time she smiled, even a little, it got easier to breathe.
There were families in the park, too, but they kept their distance. I was used to that. Big guy, construction boots, not exactly the friendly neighbor type. Didn’t matter. The people who mattered were right here.
When we got back to the house, I made her cocoa again, and she took it with both hands. The sleeves of my coat swallowed her, and when she sat at the table she tucked her knees up and hid her face in the steam for a minute. Biscuit nudged her elbow, and she giggled—a real giggle, high and sweet.
I didn’t know what to do with that sound. I wanted to bottle it.
“You want anything else?” I asked, rummaging in the fridge. “I got leftover stew, but I can make you something fresh.”
She shook her head, curls bouncing. “Stew is good. Thank you.” She said it like it was a gift, like I was handing her the goddamn moon.
I heated up the bowl and set it in front of her. She looked at it for a second, then back at me. “You don’t have to…wait on me.”
I snorted. “You’re not trouble,” I said. “I like looking after you. Besides, you made me cookies.”
She ducked her head, but I saw the smile, small and shy.
While she ate, I sat across from her, pretending to scroll my phone, but really just watching her. Every bite she took made me want to go punch the assholes she was running from. I’d never seen someone so careful about eating, like she was waiting for me to slap it out of her hand. I hated that. I hated that she’d learned to be afraid of food.
It made me sick to my stomach. All those times she’d said “I’m sorry” or “I won’t be a bother” or “I don’t need much.” Like she was apologizing for being alive. Like she thought even eating dinner was some kind of sin.
I watched her chase stew around the bowl. She was trying so hard. Every time she paused, I wanted to tell her she was doing fine. That she didn’t have to finish. That she could have three bowls if she wanted. But I kept my mouth shut. Sometimes you needed the quiet more than the praise. Sometimes just having someone watch out for you was enough.
When she was done, I took her bowl and set it in the sink. She started to get up, hands braced like she owed me something, but I just shook my head.
“Sit.” I didn’t mean for it to come out so rough, but she sat so fast her curls bounced.
Biscuit licked the floor under the table, nosing for crumbs. Holly giggled, soft and quick, like she was embarrassed about it.
“You can watch TV if you want,” I said. “Or read. I’ve got some old books my mom used to keep. There’s a puzzle in the living room, I think. Or you can nap.” I shrugged. “Whatever you want.”
Her eyes went wide. “You don’t mind?”
“Why would I mind?”
She bit her lip. “I just… I don’t want to be in the way.”
“You’re not in the way.” I grabbed a towel and wiped the counter down, slow. “You’re a guest, Holly. My house, my rules.”
That made her go still. I could see the way she braced, like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“My rules are pretty simple,” I said. I set the towel down and leaned on the counter, arms crossed. “You eat when you’re hungry. You sleep when you’re tired. You ask if you need something. And you don’t apologize for breathing. Got it?”
She opened her mouth, probably to apologize, then snapped it shut. I almost smiled.
“Okay,” she whispered. In my head I heard her add the word Daddy to that.
Biscuit nudged her knee. I watched her pet him, slow and gentle, like she was memorizing the feel of fur against her fingertips.
I didn’t want to leave her alone, not even for a second. But I had calls to make, work to do, and if I hovered, she’d just shut down again. I got her set up on the couch with a blanket and the TV remote, then went back to the office and finished my paperwork.
