Page 32 of A Christmas For Holly

Connor hesitated at one point, his words faltering, and Holly looked like he might let the silence sit. I nudged his foot under the table, catching his eye when he glanced my way. I gave him a slight nod, and Holly exhaled, his shoulders easing. He nodded back.

Reaching behind him, he pulled down a picture of him and Kai holding the Stanley Cup, their faces lit with unguarded joy. He gestured for Connor’s pen, before signing his familiar scrawl and his jersey number 59, his handwriting careful and deliberate.

“I remember this moment,” he said, handing the photo to Connor. “Best day of my life. Get Kai to sign it, too, and it might be worth something. You take it.”

Connor’s hands trembled as he clutched the frame to his chest. “I’ll never sell it, Mr. Hollister. Never.”

“Call me Holly,” he said, offering another smile. This one was soft, more natural, though tinged with a sadness he couldn’t hide from me.

“Will you visit the Diamonds, Mr. H—Holly? We’d love to see you skating with Coach Buchanan?”

He stiffened, his lips thin, all in a second before he hid it behind a smile. “Maybe not this visit,” he said, and I could see how hard it was for Connor to contain his disappointment. “But one day.”

Connor beamed, murmuring a heartfelt, “That would be so cool,” before stepping away, the photo still clutched in his hands. Holly watched him go, then finished the last sip of his coffee, carefully setting the cup down.

“I have to go,” he said, his voice low, avoiding my gaze as he stood.

“You don’t want to talk anymore?” I asked, keeping my tone light but leaving the invitation open.

“Not today,” he whispered, his voice thick with something he wasn’t saying. He paused, glancing at me before adding, “Just… I’m sorry. For everything. I hope one day you’ll forgive me.”

I touched his hand, but he yanked his back as if he couldn’t bear the touch.

“Holly, of course, I forgive you. The kiss—” I started.

He shook his head.

“I have to go,” he said, throwing some cash onto the table, his voice firm but quiet. With that, he walked out, leaving the ghost of his presence. I stared at the door until Connor broke my daydreaming when he arrived to clear the table, still with stars in his eyes.

“You’re so lucky to be friends with Mr. Hollister.” He beamed.

Friends? I wasn’t sure if we were friends. I cared about him in ways I couldn’t decipher. He cared that I was upset.

Hell, I knew that I wanted to be his friend.

I just wondered if he’d ever let me be that.

Or more.

Chapter 13

Holly

I hadto leave before my monster overtook all the calm I’d managed to achieve so far today. One mention of me going back on the ice and panic gripped me and I needed to go somewhere quiet to lose my shit.

Thankfully Lucas didn’t follow me, and I didn’t look back. The cold hit me immediately, sharp and biting against my skin. The sky was dark, thick with heavy clouds that would dump the promised snowstorm, and the air was so still I could hear my breathing.

Connor’s face stayed with me long after I left the café—his wide brown eyes lighting up as he talked about playing for Kai’s team and the future he was chasing. He had that spark—hope, drive, and maybe a little naivety—that I hadn’t felt in years.

Then there was Lucas, steady and quiet, watching me as if trying to figure me out. He didn’t throw my mistakes back at me, though he had every right to. Instead, he gave me space, nudged me forward when I faltered, and somehow believed there was something worth saving in me. The way he looked at me when I handed Connor that photo—like he saw something in me I couldn’t see anymore—was harder to face than anger ever would’ve been.

And Wesley, the man from the bookshop, with his easy smile and sharp wit, who hadn’t known my past or seen me as a fallen hockey captain. To him, I was just a guy in the mystery section, awkward and unsure.

It was overwhelming—Lucas’s quiet encouragement, Connor’s admiration, Wesley’s unassuming kindness. Each chipped away at the walls I’d built—barriers that only kept me stuck. It was easier to focus on regret and mistakes; they didn’t ask anything of me. But this? The hope, connection, and chance they seemed to offer scared me.

A part of me wanted to believe there was still something left to salvage, that maybe these tiny moments were building toward something. Something worth staying for.

I headed to the library for the taxi as Wesley had suggested, but there was no sign of a pink car, or anyone called Jeremiah. I waited for a while, taking in the strings of Christmas lights twinkling from shop windows, bright and cheery against the ominous sky, the kind of postcard-perfect scene you’d expect in a town like this. But even with all the lights and warmth spilling from the stores, the clouds hung low and heavy, a soft, muted gray that seemed to stretch endlessly. The light was dim but not dark, a pale, silvery cast that muted the world, turning everything colder, quieter.

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