Page 24 of A Christmas For Holly

“No!” Holly sounded wrong… scared… what was he trying to hide?

I was itching to check the luggage—just so I could report back to Bailey and Kai that he was taking drugs or drinking to excess, but when a flustered Holly clambered into the loft and yanked at the suitcase I’d carried up, it became apparent he wasn’t worried about opening it in front of me.

“I can unpack my damn suitcase,” he snapped and then dropped his gaze as if that single act of defiance had drained him.

The hell?

He unzipped it and threw it open; a tumble of clothes had been shoved in haphazardly, and he reached in and pulled out a bundle of Harriers-blue tops and sweatshirts and shoved them into the nearest drawer. Sweat pants followed, and then he pushed underwear in another drawer. That was it—the sum contents of his suitcase. No spare shoes, no street clothes.

Holly then unzipped his duffel and threw it open, clothes tumbling to the bed in a wrinkled mess. He grabbed a bundle of Harriers tops and sweatshirts, and one by one, he shoved them into the laundry basket by the open bathroom door, followed by sweatpants, and muttered something as he added his underwear in there. And that was it—the entirety of what he’d brought with him—team gear and the bare minimum to get by.

“Happy?” he asked, but his tone had no anger or sarcasm. It was as if he was genuinely asking for my approval.

“Yeah,” I replied, unsure what else to say.

We stared at each other, the silence thick between us. Holly’s expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes, a hesitancy I wasn’t used to seeing from him.

I shifted, intending to slide past him, but we brushed against each other in the narrow space. His shoulder pressed into mine, and he leaned into the touch for a moment. It was instinctive, a need he hadn’t entirely hidden, and I didn’t move away. Instead, I wrapped an arm around his shoulders, feeling the tension in him soften, and he made this quiet, almost imperceptible sound—a soft noise that spoke of how starved he was for even the tiniest bit of comfort.

It unnerved me how he leaned into my hold as though he’d been waiting for someone to offer. I let him rest there for a beat, then patted his back, giving him a gentle nudge. “All right,” I said, stepping back. I climbed down the ladder from the loft, hearing him follow, his movements slow and unsteady.

In the larger downstairs bathroom, I noticed his toiletry bag, still unopened, sitting on the counter. A couple of prescription bottles caught my eye, but I didn’t stare, unsure I wanted to know what was in them. This was about helping Holly feel settled, not prying into what he wasn’t ready to share.

“I have some stuff for lunch if you want to stay,” he announced, breaking the silence. He tried for casual, but his voice had an edge as if he feared I’d already decided to leave.

I hesitated. “I need to get back,” I said, smoothing the cushions on the sofa as I moved through the room. I knew he’d heard it for what it was—a gentle rejection. But I couldn’t shake the feeling I wasn’t the one he needed right now, that being here was touching something raw in both of us. “Another time, okay?” Then, before I could overthink it, I turned back to him, holding out my hand. “Give me your phone.”

Holly blinked, confused, but he pulled his phone from his pocket and handed it over. I punched in my number, saved it,and then tapped his number into my notepad. I looked at him, the weight of the unspoken hanging between us.

“If you need anyone. Just head to the road, and you’ll probably get a signal. Anytime. Okay?”

His brows furrowed as though he was trying to process what I’d just done, and then his gaze softened.

“I get one bar,” he murmured.

“One bar is enough to call for someone.”

“Okay, I’ll call.”

I smiled and stepped back into the cold, closing the door softly behind me.

Holly was complicated.

Touch-starved

Needy. Sad.

And it broke my heart to see him so alone.

Chapter 11

Holly

Why didn’tI tell Lucas everything right then? Why did I lean on him as if I couldn’t stand on my own? I didn’t need touch, didn’t need anyone to hold me up. But when he’d stood close, his warmth and steady presence undid me. Just for a moment, I’d let myself lean in and fall apart.

He’d smelled like snow and Christmas—crisp pine with a trace of cinnamon—and it wrapped around me like the crackling fire back at the cabin. Solid, unshakable, he’d stood there, and I let myself imagine what it would feel like to truly let go. To fall and know he’d catch me, hold me steady, see the cracks in me, and still think I was worth it.

I wanted to believe it—God, I wanted to. But the weight in my chest pulled me back. Letting someone else carry me wasn’t the answer. Not now. Not for me.

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