Chapter nine
Blake
I’d stayed late at the site, longer than I needed to. The crew had left early and I’d wished them Happy Holidays, then sat in the truck for a good ten minutes staring at the wheel.
I wasn’t avoiding going home. I just didn’t know what the hell I was walking into.
Cas’s words were still sitting like shrapnel in my chest. Her parents own Clearwater Insurance. The same company that destroyed my mother’s life. The same kind of people I’d sworn I’d never let near me again.
And Holly—the girl who’d flinched at loud noises and clutched a ribbon like it was her lifeline—was their daughter.
Maybe she was innocent. Maybe she wasn’t.But I couldn’t stop replaying the look on her face last night when I pulled back from that almost-kiss like she’d been waiting for rejection her whole life and I’d finally given it to her.
By the time I drove home, it was already dark. Snow was starting again, light and cold and relentless. The house looked warm from the outside. Light in the kitchen window. Smoke rising from the chimney. And I knew that no matter what Holly had gotten herself into, I wanted to come home to a home that looked like this every night because Holly was in it.
Then I opened the door.
The smell hit me first—perfume. Expensive. The kind that clung to the air like it was marking territory. Biscuit launched himself at me whining. I looked around. Saw the cake, smelled something amazing in the slow-cooker the perfume couldn’t mask, and heart dropping, because I knew that perfume, I carried on to my room.
And there she was.
Amanda.
Sprawled out on my bed in a blood-red satin contraption that was supposed to be arousing.
“Surprise,” she said, her voice smooth as honey.
For a second, I just stared. “What the hell are you doing here?” I said finally.
Amanda laughed softly. “That’s not the welcome I was expecting.”
“I asked you a question.”
She tilted her head. “Don’t look so shocked. I wanted to surprise you. Thought maybe we could… reconnect.”
“Reconnect?” I repeated, the word coming out low and dangerous. “You’re a liar and a cheat, Amanda. You were fucking someone else at the same time you fucked me over. You made me into a joke. There’s nothing to reconnect.”
Her smile tightened. “I made a mistake.” She knelt up her hand outstretched. “I love you and—”
I scoffed “Yeah,” I said.
She sighed, feigning patience. “Look, I know things got messy, but people change. I’ve changed.” She stood, taking a few slow steps toward me. “You look good, Blake. You look… softer.”
That made me laugh, rough and humorless. “You don’t know me anymore. Get dressed and get your shit out of my house.” I took a step back and saw Holly’s door closed. She was probably hiding and I didn’t blame her.
Biscuit whined at Holly’s door, tail thumping, then pawed at the wood with a restless urgency that made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. Something was wrong. I called her name, sharp and quick, but there was nothing. No sound. I opened the door and looked inside, expecting her to be curled up in the blanket, bunny in her arms, maybe hiding her face in the pillow. But she wasn’t there. The bed was made, the blanket folded, and the bunny sat propped against the pillow like she’d left him on guard duty.
I turned, heart suddenly pounding, and nearly ran straight into Amanda.
She was halfway down the hall, silk robe pulled tight, hair up in a bun, her mouth twisting in a smile that wasn’t even trying to be nice. “Looking for your housekeeper?” Her tone was pure acid wrapped in honey.
“Where is she?” My voice came out rough, and I didn’t bother to hide it.
She shrugged, like it was nothing. “I sent her home. Told her we’d need privacy for the holidays, and it was best to leave early. She was very agreeable.” Amanda looked me up and down, then past me, into the empty room. “Honestly, Blake, you should be careful about the people you let in here. She looked like she was about to cry when she left. I hope she didn’t steal anything.”
It was like being punched in the gut.
I stared at the bunny on the pillow, then the folded blanket, the clothes she’d put away so carefully. Not even a trace of her scent left in the air, except maybe the faintest hint of honey from her bath last night, clinging to the edge of the sheet.
Amanda was talking but I barely heard her. I was already making a list in my head: she’d have gone out the back, maybe taken the path by the creek so no one would see her from the road. She’d be wearing that kitten sweater, maybe the jacket I bought, maybe not even that if Amanda made her feel small enough. No phone. No ID. No money. And nowhere to go.
She’d left the bunny behind.
I’d rejected her last night.
Amanda huffed a laugh. “Don’t pretend you cared about her. You always did like strays, but this one was pathetic, even for you.” She rolled her eyes, then softened her voice. “Come back to bed. Forget about her.”
I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I just stared at the empty room, the bunny, the blanket. The way she’d tried to take up as little space as possible, even when she was hurting. I saw the chocolate cake on the counter, the cookies, and took in the decorations. I knew Holly had done that. For me.
And I realized I’d made the biggest goddamn mistake of my life.
“You’ve got two minutes to get some clothes on or I’m throwing you out like that.” My voice was low, firm, and even Amanda knew she wasn’t going to change my mind. In another moment she’d gone, the door slamming behind her.
I took my coat so when I found her I could wrap her up in it. I just grabbed a flashlight, shoved my feet into boots, and let Biscuit pull me down the drive into the dark. The snow hit my face like knives, but I didn’t care. She was out here somewhere. Alone. Probably freezing. Maybe worse.
I walked the creek path first, calling her name, but my voice sounded dead in the night. Just the echo and the dog’s breath, panting clouds into the dark. The trail was already half-gone under fresh snow. No footprints. No sign she’d ever even been here.
Biscuit ran ahead, nose to the ground, tail up. He found the fence at the back of the property and whined, running circles like if he just kept looking, she’d appear. I let him lead, hoping he could do what I couldn’t.
We circled the block, then I went back for the truck. I checked every alley, every construction site, every place I could think of. Sometimes I’d see a shape in the headlights and my heart would lurch, but it was never her. Not even close.
Every time I stopped, I remembered the look on her face last night. The way she’d curled around that fucking bunny like she didn’t deserve to want anything. The way she’d tried so hard to be small, to be good, and I’d sent her away without even realizing it.
I tried the bus station. The gas station. The all-night diner on Main. Nothing. I asked the graveyard shift guy if he’d seen her, but he just shook his head. Didn’t even look up from his phone.
By midnight, the snow was coming down so hard I could barely see to drive. I kept moving.
The cops took the info I gave them but there were too many homeless for them to keep track of.
I just kept driving. I left Biscuit in the truck and went into a few places on foot. Calling. Hoping. I told myself I’d go home when my phone died, but when the screen finally went black I just kept going anyway.
By the time we got home, the sun was coming up. Pale, sickly light, leaking through the clouds. My hands were numb. My face burned from the wind. Biscuit went straight to his bed and curled up, looking as miserable as I felt.
The house still smelled like chocolate cake and Christmas. Like her. The bunny was still on the pillow.
I called Cas because I really didn’t know what else to do.
She was silent for a moment. “I can’t track her with no phone. Have you called the shelters?”
I immediately felt a fool. “No, but I called the cops.”
Cas was silent for another beat. “Not sure that was a good idea.”
“What else was I supposed to do?”
She sighed. “I know a couple of people. Give me a few minutes and I’ll try.”
I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at it for a long time. I knew I’d failed her. I’d promised she’d be safe here, and then I’d let her walk out into the cold alone. I pressed my hand to my face, hard, like maybe I could push the ache back down. Didn’t work.
I should have told her. I should have told her she was wanted. That she could have asked me for anything and I would have given it.
Instead, I let first my own insecurities then my suspicions tear everything apart.
Holly
I didn’t want to go with the priest at first. He was kind, but I was afraid he’d see straight through me, see how much of a mess I was inside. He found me sitting in the back row of his church, clutching the plastic bag, my hands numb from the cold and my brain all tangled up with shame. I could barely even look at him.
He didn’t ask questions, though. Just gave me a mug of sweet tea and let me sit there in the warmth until my hands stopped shaking. His office was small and smelled like old books and lemon furniture polish, and I stared at the floor the whole time he talked.
He made a few calls, speaking in that calm, measured voice priests always seem to have, and told me he’d found a bed for me at the shelter two streets over. “Just for the night,” he said. “They’ll need your name, dear, for their records. You can use mine for a reference.”
I almost gave a fake one. Almost. But lying felt like trying to breathe underwater. So I whispered, “Holly Turner,” and tried not to flinch at the sound of it.
He didn’t notice. He just wrote it down and pressed the page to his chest like a blessing.
That night, I lay in a narrow cot with the smell of detergent and dust around me. A woman snored softly in the next bed. Somewhere down the hall, a baby cried. I should’ve felt safe. I should’ve slept. But I kept seeing her—Amanda—perfect and composed, sitting in that doorway like she belonged there, like I’d been the mistake. Every word she’d said burned. Fiancée. Business trip. Forgotten key. It all fit too easily. Of course Blake hadn’t kissed me. Of course he’d been kind only because he felt sorry for me.
People like me didn’t get to keep people like him.
When dawn crept through the window, pale and thin, I gave up pretending to sleep. The volunteers were already moving quietly through the halls, setting out coffee and oatmeal.
I thanked them. Took none of it.
Outside, the air bit at my face. Frost clung to the curb, and a light snow had started again, soft, steady, almost beautiful. For a minute, I stood there the shelter door closing behind me, wondering where I’d go. Maybe another town. Maybe farther north. Somewhere Blake wouldn’t look for me. Somewhere Vincent would forget I existed.
But I didn’t make it to the end of the block.
A black car idled at the curb. The kind that didn’t belong in this neighborhood—sleek, tinted windows. The back window rolled down with a soft hum. And there he was.
Vincent Hale.
Not wild or frantic like someone who’d been chasing me. Just calm. Composed. Smiling the same smile that had once made me believe I could be free. “Good morning, darling.” His voice was silk and poison. “You’re up early.”
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.
He looked me over, his eyes cool and assessing. “You’ve been difficult to find. I told your parents you’d come to your senses eventually, but I admit—” He gestured lazily at the church behind me. “I didn’t expect you to start haunting parish halls.”
My throat closed. “How… how did you find me?”
He laughed softly. “You really should be more careful where you sign your name.”
The breath left me all at once. I remembered the clipboard. The neat lines. The pen trembling in my hand. Father Matthews. The shelter. I’d done this.
Vincent opened the car door and stepped out, snow crunching under his polished shoes. “Come now, Holly,” he said quietly. “You’ve made quite the mess, but we’ll sort it out. You know I always fix things for you.” I backed up a step. Then another. The curb was slick. My heel caught, and my shoulder hit the cold brick wall behind me.
He reached for me. “Don’t make a scene.”
His voice hadn’t changed, but there was something under it now like a warning. My heart hammered so hard it hurt. I wanted to scream. To run. To call Blake. But Blake didn’t want me. Blake had Amanda. Blake thought I was a liar.
So I just whispered, “Please don’t hurt me.”
Vincent’s smile widened. “Hurt you? Never, darling. I just want to take you home.” He stepped closer. The snow fell harder, muffling everything including the traffic, the city, the sound of my heart breaking.
The air was so cold it burned my nose. There was barely any light, just a thin line under the door. I could hear them upstairs, my mother’s voice rising and falling, then Vincent’s, low and calm, the way he always sounded when he was about to do something terrible.
I stared at the paper in front of me. My name was already on it, in a dozen places, but there was a new line, and Vincent had put a pen in my hand and guided my fingers over it, like I was a child who couldn’t even write her own name. “Just sign, Holly. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” His voice echoed, even in my dreams.
I’d said no. I didn’t know how I’d managed it, but I had. I’d said it once, and then a second time, and then my father had called me useless and my mother had grabbed my arm so hard I thought she’d snap it. They’d dragged me down the steps, the paper crumpled in Vincent’s fist, and the door slammed and the lock turned. I heard the sound of the bolt sliding home. That was it. Locked in again.
I didn’t cry. Not at first. I just sat on the cold floor, wishing I had Blake’s jacket wrapped around me, hands shaking so bad.
I stared at the paper and wondered if I’d ever get out. If I’d even be allowed to.
It was dark for so long I lost count. They didn’t bring food, either. Just water, and once, a protein bar, tossed through the door like I was a stray dog they didn’t want to touch. I ate it, but it made me feel sick.
The worst was the silence. That, and the things my brain kept saying.
You should have signed. You should have been grateful. This is what you deserve.
I tried to remember what it felt like to be safe. To have someone say you did good, even if you’d only managed to make cookies and not burn them. But no matter how hard I tried, the only memories that came were the ones I wanted most to forget. My mother’s hands in my hair, pulling too tight. My father’s voice, full of disappointment. Vincent, face so close I could barely breathe, whispering, “You belong to me, Holly. You always have.”
It was cold enough that my hands went numb after a while. I curled up in the corner, and tried to sleep, but there was no way to get comfortable. My back hurt, and my feet wouldn’t warm up, and every time I closed my eyes, I saw Amanda’s perfect smile and Blake’s look of horror when I’d tried to kiss him.
If I hadn’t been so stupid, I could have stayed. I could have decorated the tree, and baked more cookies, and maybe gotten a real smile out of him, just once, just for me.
