10. Lucas

Chapter 10

Lucas

I brewed coffee in my tiny kitchen, the machine sputtering as it filled the silence. My apartment took up the top floor of an old house my family had owned for years, split into two for me and Callum. He used to live downstairs when it was him alone, but when he and his wife had their first baby, they needed more space, and when they moved out, the ground floor was rented out for the season. It was empty for now, but in a week, it’d be booked solid through March when the snow started to thaw and tourism eased.

Sometimes it’s too quiet here.

The coffee smelled rich and warm, and I was comfortable as I leaned against the counter, my thoughts drifting to yesterday. I couldn’t get Holly out of my mind from when he’d stumbled, and I caught him. I’d thought he looked vulnerable and broken and that maybe he needed me.

Or maybe I’d seen what I wanted to see.

I shook the thought off, taking my coffee to the bathroom and letting the shower steam clear my head. Today was a work day, and I was opening the shop alone. It was quiet this time of year, the calm before the Thanksgiving storm when we’d get our usual flood of visitors. Right now, most of our sales come from filling online orders, which was fine, but it left me with extra time to mull things over, including whether I should add more of Bailey’s art to the website. His latest work was inspired by snow, and he’d spent all summer creating pieces of jewelry with this beautiful, wintery feel—his work was perfect for the season, and I knew it would sell. But part of me held back, not wanting to push him too much when we sold out. He already had to think about the stock he needed for his place in the winter market, and he wasn’t a machine—case in point, he now had flu.

An hour later, I was at the shop, setting up, when Callum walked in, bundled up against the morning chill. He went straight past me to the small kitchen, returning with two coffees.

“We sold out of Bailey’s stuff on the website already,” I said, and he glanced to where Bailey’s display looked sparse next to painted ornaments and small prints.

“We need to clone our little brother with his insane talent,” Callum deadpanned.

The bell above the door chimed. A woman in a thick scarf stepped in, her cheeks flushed from the cold. Glancing around, her eyes lit up at the displays.

“Your store is so beautiful,” she said, heading to a shelf filled with Christmas decorations and Wishing Tree ornaments.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Callum said as I headed to help. “We love it.”

I smiled, guiding her through our local crafts, ornaments, and holiday pieces. She chose a handful of things: a few Wishing Tree items popular this time of year, a hand-painted candle holder, and one of Bailey’s remaining ornaments, a glass piece with snowy trees and a shimmering night sky. I rang her up, bagged her items, and she thanked me before returning to the snowy morning.

The door closed, and I stared at the display, wondering how to make the ornaments left seem as if we had a lot more. Without choosing to, my thoughts returned to Holly and yesterday’s weird chat. When I turned back to Callum, he watched me with a raised eyebrow.

“What’s wrong, freak?” he asked.

After checking that the store was empty, I shot him a middle finger. “Nothing.”

“You were standing in the same place for ten minutes, staring.”

“Bailey’s work is good.”

“You weren’t looking at Bailey’s stuff.”

“I was.”

He muttered something about idiot brothers, but I could tell he wouldn’t let the conversation drop. I sighed, thinking of Holly and the storm he’d left in his wake, the mess of feelings I couldn’t quite shake.

“Just… a lot on my mind,” I said, glancing out at the snow building up on the sidewalks, thinking of the kiss I couldn’t forget and the man who’d kissed me.

And the way he’d wanted a drink.

And the way I’d held him and helped him.

And…

This led me to head to Holly’s cabin after I negotiated a break with Callum, citing “important Bailey business” and saying I needed to check on Holly. It was incredible how mentioning our little brother’s name could easily sway Callum. I hadn’t even needed to get into details—just a casual nod to our cute, sweet little brother, and Callum was waving me off with a grin and offering to cover whatever hours I needed.

So now I was driving the winding road toward Holly’s place, snow crunching under my tires, the trees closing in on either side as the road narrowed. It was quiet up here, the sort of stillness that made you realize how far from everything you were. It felt strange to push myself into Holly’s space after everything that had happened, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed someone to check on him. And maybe I needed answers for myself, too.

As I approached the cabin, I could see the faint glow of light in one of the windows and smoke still curling from the chimney.

At least he’d figured out to keep the stove lit—that was something. I parked next to his car and headed up to the door, pausing momentarily before knocking. This was for Bailey and Kai, I reminded myself. Just a quick check-in—that was all. I wouldn’t stay long.

When Holly answered, I nearly lost my train of thought. He looked as if he’d rolled out of bed and hadn’t quite bothered to face the day yet. His hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions, and he was dressed in a worn Harriers T-shirt that looked like it had seen one too many winters, paired with a pair of soft gray pants. He was slumped, his shoulders rounded, a faint shadow under his eyes speaking of more than a few restless nights. He seemed smaller somehow, not the commanding presence I was used to seeing on the ice or in any room he walked into.

But his eyes—those sharp brown eyes I knew too well—were dull, tired, as though he’d spent days dragging himself through whatever storm he’d been hiding from everyone else. It was a stark contrast to the Holly I remembered from the wedding, all bravado and charm. This Holly looked as though he’d been hollowed out, as though he was barely holding himself together.

“Lucas?” His voice was rough, his brow creasing as he stared at me, clearly surprised. “What… what are you doing here?”

I reminded myself I was here for Bailey and Kai’s sake. “Just… checking in. Wanted to see how you were doing.”

“You did that yesterday.”

“Bailey is worried.”

Holly straightened, a bit of that familiar edge creeping into his posture. “I don’t know why.”

I didn’t have to say anything; I let my silence do the talking. He winced, glancing away for a second before sighing.

“Can I come in?”

“Huh?”

“Inside your house where it’s warm.”

“You want to come in?” he asked, shaking his head before widening the door and gesturing for me to go in, acting as if he already regretted saying yes.

I stepped inside and took in the cabin. Barely anything was unpacked. Holly’s luggage sat by the door, looking like they were dropped where he’d thrown them as he’d arrived. A duffel slouched open, clothes spilling out onto the floor, and a pair of shoes lay next to it, one on its side.

I hadn’t checked out the cabin properly yesterday. It was simple and a bit old-fashioned, but it was cozy enough, and now he had the stove lit. There was a small couch, a few chairs, and a coffee table with a lone water glass, condensation pooling at the base. The faint smell of wood smoke lingered, mixing with the cold draft from outside, but there were no signs of him settling in. Was he going to be living like this for three months?

It was the place of someone passing through, not someone who planned to stay. And somehow, it felt exactly like Holly—unmoored, as if he didn’t know where he belonged.

“I’ll get your luggage upstairs,” I announced and stuffed everything back in the backs, and before he could argue, I climbed the ladder stairs to the loft.

“I could have done that,” he protested from the bottom of the stairs.

“But you didn’t,” I muttered, stopping and staring at the large bed. “I can unpack for you if you like.”

“No!” Holly sounded wrong… scared… what was he trying to hide?

I was itching to check the luggage—just so I could report back to Bailey and Kai that he was taking drugs or drinking to excess, but when a flustered Holly clambered into the loft and yanked at the suitcase I’d carried up, it became apparent he wasn’t worried about opening it in front of me.

“I can unpack my damn suitcase,” he snapped and then dropped his gaze as if that single act of defiance had drained him.

The hell?

He unzipped it and threw it open; a tumble of clothes had been shoved in haphazardly, and he reached in and pulled out a bundle of Harriers-blue tops and sweatshirts and shoved them into the nearest drawer. Sweat pants followed, and then he pushed underwear in another drawer. That was it—the sum contents of his suitcase. No spare shoes, no street clothes.

Holly then unzipped his duffel and threw it open, clothes tumbling to the bed in a wrinkled mess. He grabbed a bundle of Harriers tops and sweatshirts, and one by one, he shoved them into the laundry basket by the open bathroom door, followed by sweatpants, and muttered something as he added his underwear in there. And that was it—the entirety of what he’d brought with him—team gear and the bare minimum to get by.

“Happy?” he asked, but his tone had no anger or sarcasm. It was as if he was genuinely asking for my approval.

“Yeah,” I replied, unsure what else to say.

We stared at each other, the silence thick between us. Holly’s expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes, a hesitancy I wasn’t used to seeing from him.

I shifted, intending to slide past him, but we brushed against each other in the narrow space. His shoulder pressed into mine, and he leaned into the touch for a moment. It was instinctive, a need he hadn’t entirely hidden, and I didn’t move away. Instead, I wrapped an arm around his shoulders, feeling the tension in him soften, and he made this quiet, almost imperceptible sound—a soft noise that spoke of how starved he was for even the tiniest bit of comfort.

It unnerved me how he leaned into my hold as though he’d been waiting for someone to offer. I let him rest there for a beat, then patted his back, giving him a gentle nudge. “All right,” I said, stepping back. I climbed down the ladder from the loft, hearing him follow, his movements slow and unsteady.

In the larger downstairs bathroom, I noticed his toiletry bag, still unopened, sitting on the counter. A couple of prescription bottles caught my eye, but I didn’t stare, unsure I wanted to know what was in them. This was about helping Holly feel settled, not prying into what he wasn’t ready to share.

“I have some stuff for lunch if you want to stay,” he announced, breaking the silence. He tried for casual, but his voice had an edge as if he feared I’d already decided to leave.

I hesitated. “I need to get back,” I said, smoothing the cushions on the sofa as I moved through the room. I knew he’d heard it for what it was—a gentle rejection. But I couldn’t shake the feeling I wasn’t the one he needed right now, that being here was touching something raw in both of us. “Another time, okay?” Then, before I could overthink it, I turned back to him, holding out my hand. “Give me your phone.”

Holly blinked, confused, but he pulled his phone from his pocket and handed it over. I punched in my number, saved it, and then tapped his number into my notepad. I looked at him, the weight of the unspoken hanging between us.

“If you need anyone. Just head to the road, and you’ll probably get a signal. Anytime. Okay?”

His brows furrowed as though he was trying to process what I’d just done, and then his gaze softened.

“I get one bar,” he murmured.

“One bar is enough to call for someone.”

“Okay, I’ll call.”

I smiled and stepped back into the cold, closing the door softly behind me.

Holly was complicated.

Touch-starved

Needy. Sad.

And it broke my heart to see him so alone.