Page 63 of Sticks & Serpents

I needed to get to her.

I needed to see her.

Holly stepped outside, the rain drenching her almost instantly. She startled when she caught sight of me approaching, eyes widening in disbelief as if she hadn’t expected to see me here. The cold water poured down from my hair and clung to my shirt, but all I could focus on was her.

She stood there—wild hair cascading around her shoulders like a storm cloud, drenched and shimmering under the dim lights of the rink. Her hazel eyes glimmered with confusion and something deeper, something that mirrored the turmoil raging within me. It felt like an electric current pulsed between us, sparking recognition of all we had shared.

I stepped in front of her, blocking her path. The way she looked up at me made my heart race—a mixture of anger and vulnerability swirling together as she took a step back, instinctively trying to distance herself from whatever it was that hung heavy between us. But there was nowhere to go; the rain drummed against the pavement around us like an urgent heartbeat.

“Damien,” she breathed out my name like it was both a question and an accusation. The way it rolled off her tongue ignited something in me—a flicker of hope tangled with frustration.

“Why are you here?” I demanded, my voice gruff as I tried to suppress the flood of emotions threatening to spill over. It wasn’t just about wanting to protect her; it was about needing to understand what drew her back into this chaos we shared.

“I… had to drop off something” she stammered, glancing away for a moment as if grappling with what to say next. The water continued to pour down around us, soaking our clothes through completely while time hung suspended between us.

But all I could see was Holly—her delicate features framed by raindrops glistening like diamonds on her skin. She looked so beautiful and fragile beneath the weight of it all, yet there was fire in her gaze that both terrified and thrilled me.

I fought against the urge to reach out—to pull her closer—and instead stood firm, heart pounding as if daring fate to intervene.

“Damien, what are you doing here?” Holly’s voice came out quiet, wary.

I exhaled sharply, tilting my head slightly as I tried to gauge her reaction. “Skating.”

She scoffed, clearly unimpressed. “In a storm?”

My eyes dragged over her, taking in the way she shivered against the downpour. The rain plastered her hair to her face, and for a moment, I felt the familiar tug of protectiveness rise within me.

“You’re out in it too, little lamb,” I shot back, unable to hide the edge in my voice.

She frowned at me, pulling her jacket tighter around herself as if it could shield her from everything I represented—everything we were tangled up in together. But deep down, she couldn’t protect herself from this. Not from me. Not from us.

I moved closer, narrowing the distance between us even further.

“Why did you come back?” I asked, letting my curiosity seep through the frustration. My tone softened just enough to show her I wasn’t just looking to lash out; there was a genuine desire for understanding buried within me.

“I told you,” she replied defensively, eyes darting away like she could hide from the truth if she turned long enough. “I dropped off something for the planning committee.”

The words stung like ice against my skin, reminding me of how easily she slipped back into that world—a world where I didn’t exist outside of some dark shadow lurking behind closed doors.

“It’s pouring,” I pointed out again because it was hard to believe she’d willingly put herself through this.

Her jaw tightened as if my concern irritated her rather than warming her heart. “Maybe I like the rain.”

I stepped closer, letting the tension thicken between us. The rain dripped down my forehead, mixing with the anger boiling inside me. I lowered my voice; the words dripping with urgency. “Why didn’t you react?”

Her brows furrowed, confusion flashing across her face. “What?”

I could see the way she fought against the urge to back away, but she held her ground. My fingers itched to touch her, to break through the barrier she put up like a shield. But I couldn’t let that stop me.

“The hands, Holly. The fucking gift I left you. You should have run. You should be terrified.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, and I noticed how her hands shook—just slightly—but enough for me to feel the weight of it. But, she didn’t step back; she stood her ground.

“What do you want me to say?” she asked, defiance creeping into her tone despite the fear simmering just beneath the surface.

My breathing slowed as I focused on her. I needed to know what was going through her mind, why she was still here instead of running from me or calling for help.

“I want to know why you’re still here.”

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