Page 39 of A Christmas For Holly

Lucas leaned back, still eyeing the book. “Your last girlfriend was a model, right?”

I stiffened, wondering where this conversation was headed. “Yeah.”

“So, you’re what? Bi?”

I shifted uncomfortably, not liking where this was going. “Yeah. I mean, I was never unhappy with my girlfriends, nevereven looked for a guy, but, y’know…” I shrugged again.Since the wedding when I kissed you, I haven’t stopped thinking about it.I stiffened, the defensiveness rising before I could stop it. “Anyway, what does it matter what I am? I’m single. I don’t play hockey anymore. I can be whoever I want, and I don’t have to label it.”

Lucas raised his hands in a small gesture of surrender. “Absolutely. You don’t have to label anything. But sometimes, when you understand yourself, it makes the world a little easier to navigate.” He paused, glancing down for a second before meeting my eyes again. “I consider myself… well, not attracted to people in general, you know? I don’t crave relationships, and it takes the longest time to fall for someone, and when I do, it seems… yeah… Demisexual isn’t just a label for the world to put on me; it’s an understanding of who I am.”

His words hit me like a punch in the gut. My chest tightened, and I couldn’t stop the devastation that followed, so I dropped the book I hadn’t even been reading. “And I forced myself on you,” I blurted out, my voice shaking. “I’m so sorry. I can't… I can’t say sorry enough.”

The shame flooded back, the memory of that night at the wedding, the shit I’d said about Bailey and Kai, and then the way I’d shoved myself into his space, all of it crashing down on me. I could barely meet his eyes. How the hell could I have been so stupid?

“You didn’t force yourself on me.”

I hadn’t forced myself on him? Jesus, he must have been drinking as well. I’d been clumsy and panicky, and I’d shoved him against the counter and kissed him, and then accused him of… fuck!

The rest was hazy, but I remembered him pushing me away.

I remembered the self-hatred, regret, and overwhelming shame.

“I understand why you hate me,” I began, miserable.

“I don’t hate you.”

“You should.”

“No, I shouldn’t. So, your girlfriend Lizzie something?”

I blinked at the change in subject, expecting to have talked about how much I deserved his ire. “Lizzie Drew.”

“You broke up.”

“We did.” I finished my cookie and then swallowed some coffee, giving myself time to think. I waited for the familiar panic to expand inside me, but for some reason, maybe thanks to the meds, the coffee, the cookie, or even Lucas, I felt momentarily centered. “Hell, she left me, and I don’t blame her.” I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “Why would Lizzie stick around when the media decided I was the next target? No one wants to be vilified in the media for my failure as captain, and then I told her that I’d messed up by kissing you, that you might sell the story, and that I was bisexual and–”

“I wouldn’t tell anyone, you didn’t…” He was lost for words. “Shit, I’m sorry she didn’t stick around.”

“Don’t be, and she didn’t owe me anything.”

“Do you still talk to her?”

“It wasn’t real,” I blurted.

He frowned. “What?”

“Me and Lizzie. It wasn’t real. It was an arrangement for us both, a shield to hide behind so we both looked normal. Like, she wanted to be in the WAGs photos and her social media currency was growing, and she said we looked good together. But I didn’t love her, and she didn’t love me. We didn’t even have much sex.”

God, it had taken weeks of therapy to admit to that, and when Lucas leaned forward, his eyes locked on mine, I nearly scrambled away.

“I’m sorry.”

I froze, my chest tightening as the memories flooded back, all the things I’d done to make sure people respected me, to maintain the image I’d built. I never expected him to have empathy for me. “It’s okay,” I lied, the words slipping out, heavy and raw.

I’d hiddenme. All ofme. I never wanted anyone to know who I was, not ever. I’d spent years pretending, dodging questions, making sure no one saw the cracks. Yeah, I was bi. But that wasn’t something I’d ever planned on letting out into the world. Not with the team. Not with the media. Not with anyone.

The truth weighed heavy, and for the first time, saying it out loud felt like ripping off a bandage I wasn’t ready for.

Lucas didn’t flinch, but his eyes stayed on me as if trying to read something in my face. He peeled off his thick jumper, revealing a worn long-sleevedStar Warsshirt beneath. It had a goofy pun on it—May the Forks Be with You—with a cartoon fork holding a lightsaber. The shirt was faded, the fabric soft and stretched, and for a second, it made him look less intimidating, more… human. He must have been warm if he was taking off layers. I still felt as if I had ice in my veins.

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