Page 41 of A Christmas For Holly

Holly sighed, dragging his feet toward the kitchen. “Fine. Instant it is. You want one?”

He started to make the coffee.

“Seriously, are you not worried about your car?” I asked.

He shook his head, his voice flat. “No. I bought it when I thought I needed to. It’s insured. I was going to sell it when I got home anyway. Get a camper van, travel… go anywhere. Somewhere hot.” He was rambling, his words spilling out as though he were on autopilot.

I stepped before him, cutting him off before he spiraled any further. “Holly?”

He blinked, and it was as if he were shaking off the fog in his head, and then he took a sip of his coffee, wincing at the first bitter taste. A soft chuckle slipped out of him, though there wasn’t much humor behind it. “The car was shit in the snow, anyway. I… yeah…” His gaze drifted to the floor. “Have your coffee… I don’t know if you want cream or…”

His voice faded, and I couldn’t help but notice how slumped he was, as though the world’s weight was pressing down on him. It wasn’t just the car—it was everything. The man who had once seemed larger than life was shrinking right before me.

As he reached for the thermos to pour water, I saw him pull a small container from his pocket. He tipped a couple of tablets into his palm before swallowing them.

I frowned. “Is it steroids? Or pain meds? What are you hooked on, Holly? Codeine? Amphetamines?” The questions flew out of me before I could stop them, and I wasn’t sure if I was more angry or worried. “Are you in pain? We can get you help if you need it.”

He stared at his mug, avoiding my eyes. But something about how his hand trembled as he picked up the coffee made my gut twist.

“It’s for panic attacks.” Holly’s voice was quiet, almost ashamed. He glanced down at the small container, the tablets still rattling in his hand. “Anxiety,” he muttered, barely loud enough to hear. “I can live with pain. That’s hockey, you know? But this… my head… I can’t handle that.”

I froze, my chest tightening as I tried to process what he said. I’d expected anything but that. Steroids, maybe pain meds—but anxiety? Panic attacks? The guy who’d always seemed so sure of himself, so damn indestructible, was standing in front of me, admitting that his head was what he couldn’t handle. Not the physical pain—thathe could take.

No wonder he was always so panicked.

It wasn’t just because of the guilt over the kiss that he wouldn’t look at me—it was more than that. It was self-protection and fear.

I stared at him, trying to keep my expression neutral, but my mind raced. Holly wasn’t invincible. He wasn’t the man I’d built up in my head. And as much as I wanted to say something, to ask why he hadn’t told anyone… the words wouldn’t come.

“Why didn’t you ever…” I started, but my voice trailed off, lost somewhere in the mess of thoughts running through my brain.

I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t sure how to respond to this version of him, which wasn’t all bluster and confidence. The one who looked…fragile.

Instead, I stood there, nodding, unsure if I was comforting him or myself. “Okay,” I finally said, although it wasn’t. “Okay.” Watching as he pocked the meds, I asked, “Do you have enough of them?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I always have more than enough with me. I’ve been better, but coming to Wishing Tree to do what I needed to do… it’s triggering me. That’s what my therapist says—triggers. So millennial, right? Or Gen Z, or whatever… Jesus.” He let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “Hockey players don’t get triggered. We’re gladiators, impervious. We play with broken bones, we?—”

He cut himself off, his voice tight, and crossed to the sofa, sitting heavily. The weight of whatever he was carrying seemed to settle around him.

I took the coffee he’d made for me and followed him to the couch, sitting beside him. “Hockey players are people too,” I said, the words soft but true.

He let out a short, self-deprecating laugh, his eyes flicking over to me. “That’s also what my therapist says.”

I didn’t have much to say to that. He wasn’t wrong, but hearing him talk like this, how he struggled with something he probably felt he should’ve been stronger than, hit me harder than I expected. There was no bravado now, no cocky attitude—just the truth of a man who’d been trying to keep it all together for far too long. But how long? How deep did this go? Was it before the wedding? Before I met him? Before he became a hockey player? The questions tumbled around in my head, but I wasn’t sure which one to ask first or if I even had the right to ask.

“Holly,” I began carefully, “how long have you had this anxiety?

He glanced at me, then back down at his coffee, his fingers gripping the mug too tightly. “Longer than I’d like to admit,” he whispered.

Holly’s eyes were dark as he looked back up at me, clouded with exhaustion and something deeper—maybe pain. Fear. Vulnerability. I could see all the cracks in the walls he’d spent years building up, and now they were widening, and the wall wascrumbling. His usual fire had dimmed, replaced by something quieter, more fragile. The emotion in his gaze was raw, almost pleading, as he silently asked for help.

I wanted to reach out, pull him in, do something—anything—to take that weight off his shoulders, if only for a minute. The urge to close the space between us, to hug him, was overwhelming, and I felt this almost desperate need to let him know he didn’t have to keep fighting alone. But I didn’t move, my hands clenched at my sides. I wasn’t sure if he’d want that—if he’d let me. Still, the feeling stayed, pulling at me with every passing second.

“Before the wedding?” I pushed, feeling like I was tiptoeing into dangerous territory.

He let out a bitter laugh. “Way before the wedding. Coming here to see Kai marry Bailey was one of the breaking points; injury sidelined me, and the team gave me an ultimatum just before I left—they were looking to trade me if they could and, failing that, put me on waivers, which was more likely because I’d never pass psych tests for a new team.” He snorted a laugh.

“Were you taking the meds then? I mean, you were drinking, and they might have interacted and?—”

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