Page 76 of Holly Ever After

I rub my forehead, feeling the weight of regret settle on me. “It's complicated. Besides, it's not just about me and Holly. There's a lot going on.”

The doctor walks in before she can respond, effectively cutting off the conversation. I'm grateful for the interruption, but I can see the disappointment in her eyes. It's not just about her condition; it's about a life left unlived, words left unsaid.

After discussing my mother's situation with the doctor, I step out of the room. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out, half-expecting, half-hoping it's Holly. But it's a text from one of my employees about an issue at work. I deal with it quickly, my thoughts still on Holly, on that hug, and on the confusing tangle of emotions that has wrapped itself around my heart.

I find myself walking down the hospital corridor, my feet carrying me towards the exit. I need air, space to think. The chill hits me as I step outside, but it's a refreshing contrast to the stuffy hospital atmosphere.

For a brief moment, we became something more. Now, I'm not sure what we are. My thoughts drift back to the time we spent together. The way her eyes sparkled when she talked about her writing, the way her laughter filled the empty rooms, turning them into a home. I thought I was only helping her with a place to stay, but she filled the gaps in my own life, spaces I didn't even realize were empty.

I'm standing outside, leaning against the wall of the hospital, lost in thought when I spot Mark striding purposefully towards me. My heart tightens; given what he walked into earlier this morning, I half-expect him to punch me. And honestly, I'd deserve it.

He’s been more than just a friend. He's a brother in every sense except biology. He's been there through thick and thin, especially when it comes to my mother. We've shared the weight of each other's worlds without asking for anything in return. As teenagers, when we should've been out causing mayhem, he stayed with me on nights when my mother was too drunk to see straight. She's like a second mother to him, just as his mother is to me.

“About earlier—” I begin, but he cuts me off before I can get another word in.

“You were right. You're both adults. I have no right to interfere. But she's my sister, man. And she's one of the good ones. I won't stand by and let you use her.”

His words slice through me, because deep down, I know he's right. Whether it's the raw sincerity in his eyes or the simple, irrefutable logic of what he's saying, it hits home.

“That's not what it was.”

“Then if it's something more, don't string her along. And if it's not, then end it.”

His gaze holds mine, unflinching, and I know he means every word.

Leaning closer, his eyes narrow, dead serious. “Break her heart, and I don't care if you're my best friend, I will kill you.”

I breathe out a laugh, the tension between us easing just a bit. “I'd be disappointed if you didn't,” I reply, fully aware that he means every word he says. We've been friends for too long, shared too much for me to doubt him on this.

He puffs out his chest, inhaling deeply as he closes his eyes and counts backwards from ten.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Taking a minute to separate the fact that she’s my sister before I ask how the fuck all of this happened?”

I grimace. “You don’t want the details.”

He might really punch me now. “No, dickhead, I don’t want the details. You were obviously there when the blizzard hit, but what happens now?”

“Have you forgotten she’s your sister yet?” I ask cautiously.

“A little, depends on what you say.”

“I left things in disaster.”

“Ah,” he drawls, leaning against the wall with me. “You pulled a Sean.”

“I pulled a what?”

“A Sean,” he repeats. “You know, where you get scared and you bolt. You retreat into yourself, man. It's what you've always done.”

I wince at the accuracy of his observation, my own shortcomings reflected back at me through the eyes of someone who knows me better than almost anyone. It's a behavior pattern I've struggled to break, a cycle I've never managed to escape.

“Yeah, well, maybe you're right. But this is Holly we're talking about. And I—”

“You what?” he interrupts, pushing off the wall and taking a step toward me. “You’ve both hated each other for most of your lives? You—”

“I never hated her,” I cut him off sharply.

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