Chapter seven
Blake
I was in the kitchen wiping down the counter before turning in when I heard her behind me, so quiet I almost missed it. She was standing in the doorway, bare feet and that ridiculous yellow blanket wrapped all the way around her shoulders, trailing at the sides like wings. The bunny was clutched in her arms, tight enough I thought she’d strangle it.
She wouldn’t look at me directly. Just watched the floor, chewing on her bottom lip, hair half in her face.
I dried my hands, slow and deliberate.
“You need something?” I kept my voice even. Gentle.
She didn’t answer at first. I expected her to ask for cocoa, or maybe another blanket. But she just stood there, knees knocking together, shifting her weight like she was trying to root herself to the floor.
I waited. I was good at waiting.
She finally whispered it, so soft I almost didn’t catch it. “I…can’t sleep.”
I glanced at the clock. A little after eleven, but she looked like she’d run three marathons. Her eyes were already shiny. I wondered if she’d been crying again, or if she was about to.
“Nightmare?” I asked.
She shook her head. Then, after a long pause, she nodded. “I don’t… I don’t like being alone.”
I put the towel down and braced my hands against the edge of the counter. “You want me to sit with you? On the couch?”
She shook her head again, curls bouncing. I watched the way she fidgeted with the edge of the blanket, knuckles white.
“Bed,” she whispered. “If that’s okay. You don’t have to. I just… I don’t want to be alone.”
Ah, hell. I’d been doing my best. Telling myself the thoughts I was having were wrong. She was way too vulnerable and I wasn’t taking advantage. I straightened and crossed to her slow, careful. “You want me to come tuck you in?”
Her cheeks went bright red. The bunny nearly hit the floor, and she gripped it so hard.
“Just until I fall asleep,” she said, so quiet I barely heard her.
That did something to me I didn’t want to name.
“Okay, Holly. Let’s get you settled.”
She didn’t move, not at first. I put my hand out, palm up, so she could see I wasn’t going to grab or rush her. After a second, she let me guide her down the hall, small steps, head ducked. I could feel her shaking, just a little, even through the blanket.
The bedroom was warm and still. She hovered in the doorway, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to go in.
“It’s your room, Holly,” I said. “You can go first.”
She crept to the bed and crawled onto it, knees and elbows, blanket still wrapped tight. She curled up on the far side, bunny tucked under her chin. Her shoulders hunched like she was bracing for something.
I sat down on the edge, careful not to crowd her. The mattress dipped under my weight.
“You want the light on?” I asked.
She nodded vigorously and I wondered if she was scared of the dark, but too worried about the cost to ask if she could put the lamp on.
“These are low energy lights and if you tap the lamp once it comes on similar to a night light you don’t have to turn off unless you want to.” She peeked at me through her hair. I waited for her to say she wanted the light off, or that she’d changed her mind. Instead, she just sat there, curled up so tight she was nearly round, cheeks pink and eyes shiny. It was like she wanted to say something, but didn’t know if she was allowed. The blanket slipped a little down her shoulder.
“I can leave the lamp on,” I said, voice low. “Or I can stay, if that’s what you want.”
She looked up at me, not quite meeting my eyes. “Would you stay?” It was barely a whisper. “Just for a little.”
“Of course.” I settled on the edge of the bed, careful not to sit too close, but not so far she’d think I didn’t want to be there. I braced my hands on my knees, waiting to see what she’d do.
For a few minutes, nothing happened. She just lay there, breathing too fast, thumb pressed into the bunny’s side like she needed to ground herself. The quiet stretched. I could hear the wind outside, the faint rattle of snow hitting the window. She must have been exhausted, but she didn’t close her eyes.
When she finally spoke, it was like she had to force each word out. “You’re not mad?”
“No,” I said. “Not even a little. You want company, you get company.”
She nodded, and her curls tumbled over her cheek. I reached over and brushed them back, gentle, letting her see I wasn’t going to grab or startle her. She leaned into it—not much, but enough to tell me she wanted the touch. I let my hand rest there, just for a second. Her skin was warm. The blanket smelled like her soap and honey. She stared at my hand, then at my face.
For a long time, I thought that was it—that she wanted comfort, or maybe just a warm body in the room so the nightmares stayed gone. “Would you hold me?”
I nearly groaned as my cock jerked but I shuffled forward and lay down, pulling her close. She tucked herself against my chest like she’d been waiting for it her whole life. The blanket slipped from her shoulders, but she didn’t seem to notice. I wrapped my arms around her and just held on. She was so soft. So small. If I squeezed too hard, I’d break her.
I didn’t, but I still went slow, careful with every movement. Her breathing hitched. She pressed her face against my shirt like she was trying to disappear.
“Is it okay like this?” My voice came out rough, low.
She nodded, but I felt it more than saw it. Her curls tickled my chin. The bunny was squished between us and I grinned, one hand smoothing her hair back, the other resting at her hip. She fit there, perfect.
I could feel her shaking. Not fear. Just nerves. Or maybe something else.
“You want the blanket up?” I asked, because I needed to do something with my hands.
She nodded again. This time her voice was a ghost. “Please.”
I tugged the blanket up over her shoulders, tucking it carefully. Her fingers wouldn’t let go of the bunny. She clung to it like a lifeline. I let my hand rest on her shoulder and just breathed in the scent of honey from her bath.
God, I wanted to kiss the top of her head, but I didn’t.
She relaxed a little, but she was still so tense. I stroked her shoulder, slow, letting her feel every second of it. “You’re safe, Holly. That’s not going to change.”
She made a small sound. I felt it against my chest, not really a word. I held her tighter, not enough to scare, just enough so she knew I meant it.
“You tell me if you want space, all right? I’ll go.”
She shook her head so fast I thought she’d snap her neck. “Don’t go.”
That did something to me. I tried to breathe through it.
“Not going anywhere,” I promised. “You’re stuck with me, baby-girl.”
Baby-girl? What the fuck had I just called her?
I could feel it coming, even before her face tipped up. She was trembling, but not from fear. She looked at me like I was the only thing tethering her to the ground. Her eyes were huge, brown, wet at the corners. She got this determined look, breath hitching, and leaned in. Slow, careful, like she was afraid I’d flinch and leave her hanging.
I should have stopped her. I knew it even as her lips hovered, uncertain, inches from my own.
“Is it okay?” she whispered. I could smell the cocoa on her breath, sweet and tentative.
I froze. My heart slammed against my ribs. Every inch of my body wanted to crush her to me, but my brain screamed danger, not for me, but for her. She was so goddamn soft, so vulnerable, and I was a thirty-seven-year-old giant with hands too big and a temper to match. If I kissed her now, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop.
She must have seen something in my face. Her lips parted a little, and her chin wobbled. I could feel her confusion, the desperate ache to do it right, to be wanted.
She tried anyway. She leaned in and her mouth touched mine, barely a graze, so gentle it was like she didn’t believe she was allowed.
Fuck.
I jerked back. Not hard, but enough that her eyes shot open. She looked at me, panic rising, and immediately started to curl in on herself, arms around the bunny, blanket yanked up to her chin.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice already breaking. “I—I shouldn’t have. You don’t have to—I just thought—I’m sorry, I’ll be good, I won’t do it again, I’m sorry—”
My head spun. I wanted to grab her, tell her it was fine, that she hadn’t done anything wrong, but my mouth was stuck.
I got to my feet, hands up like I was warding off a fire. “Holly, it’s not that. You didn’t—you didn’t do anything wrong.” My voice was rougher than I meant it. How did I tell her I wanted nothing more than to feel her lips on mine?
She shook harder, curls hiding her face.
I backed up, not trusting myself. Not trusting that I wouldn’t make it worse. “I just—I need a minute, okay? I’m not angry. You’re not in trouble. I just…” I trailed off. Fuck. I’d handled explosives with steadier hands than this.
She nodded, tiny and quick, but wouldn’t look at me.
I left the room, closing the door softly behind me. I leaned against the wall, heart pounding, and scrubbed my hands over my face like that would erase the way I wanted her.
I could still feel the ghost of her lips on mine. The desperate hope in her eyes. The way she’d tried so hard to be good.
God, I was an idiot. I should have just held her, let her have what she wanted, but I was terrified of breaking her. Terrified of taking advantage. I wanted her, but I didn’t want to scare her, didn’t want her to think she had to give me anything. Swearing, I headed to the shower.
The water was hot. Almost scalding. I cranked the handle all the way over and braced my hands against the tiles, letting the spray hit my neck, my shoulders, the spot between my shoulder blades that always ached at the end of a long day. I needed to get my head on straight. I needed to forget how soft her mouth had been, how sweet she’d looked curled up in my arms, her knees tucked to her chest, blanket falling off her shoulder like she was waiting for me to fix her.
But I couldn’t.
I saw her every time I closed my eyes. That tiny, brave lean-in. The wobble in her chin. The way she’d tried to pull away so fast when I jerked back, like she’d just set the house on fire and didn’t know how to put it out.
I wrapped my hand around my cock. I didn’t mean to. It just happened. One second I was promising myself I’d keep things clean, keep things safe, be the man she needed. The next, I was hard as a goddamn rock, pressing my forehead to the tile, thinking about the way her lips had trembled against mine.
She’d let me hold her, trusted me, asked for me, and I’d left her hanging. Because I was afraid. Because I wanted her too much.
I stroked myself, slow at first, then harder. My hand was rough, callused, not what she deserved, but it was all I had. I imagined the way she’d fit in my arms every night, not just this once. The way she’d look at me if I told her she was a good girl, if I stroked her hair and kissed her forehead and tucked her in every single night. The way she’d smile when I called her baby-girl again, this time on purpose.
God, I wanted to see her smile. I wanted to make her laugh. I wanted to keep her safe and warm and never let her go.
I was so close already. It was fucking embarrassing. But I didn’t care. I braced one hand against the wall and fucked into my fist, gritting my teeth.
I thought about her in the kitchen, sleeves past her hands, flour on her cheek. I thought about her in bed, knees up, thumb in her mouth, bunny squished to her chest like a promise I’d made and she wanted to believe. I thought about the way she’d said please when she wanted the blanket up.
It was the please that did it. The way she’d trusted me, even when she was scared.
I bit back a groan as I came, hard, against the side of the shower. Didn’t matter. Water washed it away. I stared down at my hand, at the spray, waiting for my breath to come back.
I didn’t deserve her. I was too old, too fucked up, too rough. But for the first time in years, I wanted something more than I wanted my ordered life.
I wanted her.
Cas didn’t call unless she’d found something. I’d barely slept and like a coward run out before Holly was awake that morning.
“Tell me you’re sitting down,” she said, skipping the hello. “Got your background check,” she said. Her tone was wrong. The kind of voice she used when she didn’t want to hand me the knife I was about to stick between my ribs.
I wiped my hands on a rag. “Talk.”
“It’s the girl,” Cas said. “Your stray. Holly Turner.”
My shoulders stiffened. “What about her?”
“Her parents,” she said. “They’re alive.”
For a second I thought I’d heard wrong. “Alive?”
“Very much so,” Cas continued. “And not just alive—thriving. They run Clearwater Insurance.”
Everything inside me went still. The sound of the heater faded. The world tilted just slightly, enough that I had to reach for the edge of the workbench to steady myself.
“Their company is notorious for denying legitimate claims on technicalities. There’s a file on your father’s death—”
I didn’t need her to finish. I already knew.
Weston Construction.
My dad’s company.
My mom’s stroke.
All of it.
That was the same fucking name on the letterhead of the denial notice I’d kept in a drawer for years.
For a second, I couldn’t breathe.
“You sure?”
“One hundred percent.” Cas rustled some papers. “George and Marianne Turner. Clearwater Insurance Agency, founded nearly thirty years ago by Elspeth and Harold Turner, George’s mother and father. Expanded statewide five years back. I know I don’t need to tell you the company’s been under scrutiny a few times—sketchy claims denials, aggressive policies, your standard corporate slime. Nothing that sticks, but the reputation’s ugly if you know where to look.”
The air felt heavier with every word because I knew all about them.
Cas didn’t stop. “You might really want to sit down for the next part.”
“I’m already sitting.”
“Good. Because their daughter—Holly—is the legal owner. And her signature’s on a batch of paperwork linked to disputed insurance payouts from two years ago. The kind that ruin small businesses.”
My hand clenched around the rag until my knuckles popped, and for too long white noise seemed to fill my head.
Cas kept talking, gently, aware that every word was cutting me open. “Look, I can’t tell if Holly was directly involved or just a figurehead. The company was left to her by her grandmother. She’s not listed on payroll, but she was signing things. I don’t think she’s innocent in all this. Her fiancé—Vincent Hale—he’s deep into financial fraud, and he’s tied to the same firm Clearwater uses for legal representation. If she’s running from anyone, it’s probably him. But if she’s playing you—”
“Fiancé?” I choked out.
There was a long pause on the other end.
“Blake,” Cas said carefully, “you need to keep your distance. Whatever story she’s told you, there’s a good chance it’s bullshit. The girl’s name is all over this, and Hale’s the kind of man who uses people until they break. Be smart.”
The line went dead.
I sat there a long time, staring at nothing. The heater hummed back to life, loud and hollow. My hand found the old scar on my palm—the one from the day I’d slammed a hammer through a board after Mom’s denial letter came.
Clearwater Insurance.
Holly.
My mother.
The girl I’d carried out of the dark, the one who looked at me like I’d hung the goddamn stars, was the owner of the company that’d ruined my family. That had just about killed my mom.
I’d believed every word she’d said. And now I didn’t know if she was terrified of monsters—or if she’d just been hiding the fact that she was one.
For the first time in years, I felt something tear in my chest—not the kind of anger that burned hot, but the cold kind that crept slow and deep.
Because I hadn’t just let a liar into my house.
I’d let her into the one place inside of me no one had been in a long time.
And that— that was on me.
