5. Holly

Chapter 5

Holly

There was another email from Kai waiting in my inbox, one of at least a hundred he’d sent that I hadn’t replied to. Chatty, warm, persistent—just like him. This time, he was inviting me—again—to spend Christmas with him and Bailey in Wishing Tree.

“You’re sure this is what you want to do?” Oscar, my agent, asked, his frown deepening as he paced the room. “I can get you interviews, get you out in front of everything, spin it the right way, make it work to get you some media sympathy, maybe even land some endorsement deals.”

“I don’t want anything to do with hockey right now,” I said.

“Hockey is your life.”

“ Was my life.”

“But leaving everything behind?” he pushed. “You’re selling your house, firing me?—”

“I didn’t fire you, Osc,” I interrupted, keeping my tone as patient as I could manage. “It was a mutual parting. My career ended, and you know it. I tried to stay in that world, but it’s not for me anymore.”

Oscar sighed, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. He’d been one of the few solid, familiar faces during the last six months—three spent in inpatient treatment at the Phoenix Recovery Center and another three in outpatient. Now it was just me, my car, and a bank balance big enough for me to start over. I could do anything, be anyone, and yet, the idea of Christmas near Kai and Bailey lingered. It sounded good. And bad. I couldn’t bear the thought of forcing myself on them, but maybe a small town, a quiet cabin, and some space would help me figure things out.

“Did you get what I needed?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

Oscar handed me a slip of paper with an address on it. “Some guy rents out unrenovated cabins. I got you one, but fair warning—it’s rustic. There’s no hot tub, no sauna, and no amenities worth mentioning. Just birds, wild animals, and mountains. Are you sure this is what you need?”

“ Exactly what I need,” I said, though my voice wavered slightly. “I think.”

“Well, I organized a ton of food, and you’d better eat healthy or… I don’t know… I’ll drive up and?—”

“I’m good. I’ll eat, I promise, and thank you.”

“And you packed your meds.”

“Yes, Mom.”

“And you’ll let me know when you return to Albany?”

“Yep.”

“Kid?” Oscar said, tugging me to a stop before hugging me hard. He always called me that, although he was only fifteen years older than me, but I liked it. “It’s been a ride.”

“It sure has,” I said, trying not to let my voice crack.

The ride had been great at the start, but it was over. I was over. It was all done.

“Look after yourself,” Oscar murmured, then patted my back and released me.

I walked out to the car, and Oscar followed, leaning in through the open driver’s side window. “You don’t even have snow tires on this thing,” he said, gesturing at my shiny but impractical car.

I pointed to the clear blue Albany sky. “I’m only a few hours from Wishing Tree. I’ll sort it when I get there.”

“There’s nothing I can say to change your mind? Not as your agent, ex-agent, whatever, but as a friend?”

I forced a small smile, my chest tightening. “Have a good Christmas, Oscar. I’ll see you in the new year.”

I didn’t look back as I pulled away, the road ahead both daunting and strangely freeing. Kai had always made Christmas sound like magic in Wishing Tree.

I kind of needed some magic right now.

Wishing Tree was a picture-perfect winter scene as I drove in, the kind you see on Christmas cards—all twinkling lights and snow-covered rooftops. It had snowed on the way from Albany the higher into the mountains I drove, and it was cold enough for the snow to stick, making everything pretty. Plus, the streets were already decked out for Thanksgiving and the first hint of Christmas, with garlands strung between lampposts, wreaths on every door, and festive window displays in every shop. It was like stepping back in time, where the season’s magic hung in the air like the snowflakes just starting to fall again.

I kept my eyes straight ahead, gripping the steering wheel a little too tight, listening to the robotic voice of the GPS as it guided me through town. I didn’t want to look left or right or see the people who lived here, who might recognize me. I wasn’t ready to see Kai yet; hell, I didn’t want to think about the chance of seeing Kai or Bailey walking down the street, maybe arm in arm, smiling, happy. Or worse, maybe Lucas.

But what were the chances of that happening?

“Turn left in two hundred yards,” the voice instructed.

I followed it like a lifeline, keeping my focus on the road and away from the memories clawing at the edges of my mind.

As I drove through the snow-dusted streets of Wishing Tree, the bright blue paint of my Lamborghini Urus stood out like a sore thumb against the white landscape. Subtlety had never been my strong suit when I’d been playing—if I was loud enough, then no one saw the real me—but right now, I was questioning my life choices. Harriers Blue as a color choice had seemed like such a great idea back then; it was a way to show my loyalty and pride and that I was at the top of my game. But now? It felt like a neon sign screaming, “Hey, look at the guy who fucked up everything!”

I tapped my fingers on the leather as I drove past another family enjoying the snow. The kids’ eyes widened when they saw the car, and they whipped their heads around to follow it as I drove by.

“What the hell were you thinking, Holly?” I muttered, glancing at my reflection in the rearview mirror. My dark eyes stared back at me, full of doubt and regret.

I wasn’t incognito in this damn car. I’d sold my house back in the city and almost everything tying me to the life I’d been living. Yet, for some reason, I’d clung stubbornly to this flashy horror as if it were the last piece of my identity.

I bet Doc Susan would have a field day with my thought process.

I ran a hand through my hair, sighing as I navigated the narrow streets. “Should’ve sold you too,” I said aloud as if the car could hear me.

The truth was, I hadn’t bought it because I needed another car at the time. I hadn’t even bought it because I wanted it. I’d bought it because I’d had money to spend. I was the captain of the Harriers, the guy who’d led his team to a Stanley Cup. The dealer said I deserved the car because I lived the dream and needed to show the world.

But now? Driving this thing through Wishing Tree because there was only one way in and out to these damn cabins was like trying to blend in while wearing a crown and a cape. There was no escaping who I’d been or what I’d lost.

I shook my head, forcing my thoughts back to the road. The cabin road wasn’t far now; only a few more turns, and then two miles outside of town I’d be there, away from the stares, away from the past. Maybe then I could start figuring out who I was without all the trappings of my old life.

I glanced at the GPS, the screen flashing the final directions to the cabin. Maybe it was time to let go of this car, the same as I’d let go of everything else. But not today. Today, I needed to get to the cabin and figure out what I was doing here in small-town Vermont. One step at a time, right? I could worry about the rest later.

I slowed as I approached a stop sign, my foot on the brake, and that was when I saw him.

Lucas.

No.

Not yet.

He was crossing the street right in front of my car, a young girl holding his hand. They carried to-go cups and grinned at each other. I recognized the girl as Lucy, the niece of Kai, Bailey, and Lucas. I knew the entire family tree of blended Buchanan/Haynes adults and kids.

Please don’t look this way.

Fuck. He glanced at my car, a passing glance to check for traffic, but then he did a double take, staring past the chrome and sky-blue, his gaze locking onto mine. He frowned, his brows pulling together in confusion or maybe something worse. My heart skipped a beat, shame flooding through me so fast it left me breathless. I was hot with it, the flush creeping up my neck and into my cheeks, burning like a brand.

Please come to the car.

No! Please don’t come to the car.

But then the light changed, and with Lucas and his niece safely on the other side, I forced myself to drive on, my heart pounding, my thoughts a tangled mess. I could feel his gaze on me even as I left him behind, which made everything worse. I couldn’t stop thinking about his expression and how his eyes had narrowed as he tried to figure out what I was doing in his town.

I followed the GPS’s instructions on autopilot, barely noticing the rest of Wishing Tree as I drove through. I was frazzled when I reached the small clearing where the Kissing Pines Cabins were nestled among the trees. Mine was the last of three A-frame houses, each dusted with snow. I killed the engine and sat there momentarily, staring at the cabin before me. It was small and cozy, advertised as an escape from the real world, but with the caveat that it was still under renovation.

The cabin had one bedroom in a loft reached by a ladder-cum-staircase, a fireplace, a fully stocked refrigerator, and all the amenities I’d need for the next few months. I’d only gotten it because it was in the middle of renovations and was without a hot tub, sauna, or a completed kitchen. I’d told the owner it didn’t matter; I paid well above asking price, and my nearest neighbor, the next cabin down, was a quarter mile away, empty due to renovations, and out of sight and out of mind. The engine ticked as it cooled, and I couldn’t move. My thoughts were jumbled. I hadn’t expected to see Lucas and hadn’t prepared myself for the rush of emotions that came with it. Regret, shame, and longing hit me simultaneously, leaving me reeling.

I’d really fucked up.

I looked at the cabin again, trying to ground myself in the here and now. Whether I liked it or not, this was home for the next few months. Like Doc Susan said, in her best therapist tone, I needed to let go of the past, stop dwelling on what I couldn’t change, and figure out who I was outside of hockey and the person I used to be.

I needed to control the monster that stole my breath.

But first, I needed to get out of this damn car.

The inch or so of snow crunched under my boots as I made my way to the cabin, the silence of the surrounding woods wrapping around me like a blanket. It was peaceful here, precisely what I’d wanted. But as I stared at the cabin that would be my home for as long as I needed it to be, all I could feel was the weight of everything I’d left behind.

One day at a time, Paul. One day at a time.

I opened the door and stepped inside, the cabin’s warmth welcoming me like an old friend. I closed the door behind me, leaning against it momentarily, letting the quiet wrap around me as I dropped my luggage and duffle near the entrance.

The cabin was as cozy as the pictures showed, maybe even more so. Its A-frame structure gave it a sense of intimacy, like a cocoon of wood and warmth tucked away in the middle of nowhere.

The open floor plan was simple but welcoming. It featured a small living area centered around a stone fireplace, a kitchen with space where cupboards would be, a small snow-covered patio sans hot tub, and I could see the ladder to a loft, so the bedroom was that way. There was a bathroom down here, with a bath, shower, and a toilet, all pristine and new. The walls were paneled in dark wood, giving the place a rustic charm that would’ve been perfect if I could feel anything close to peace.

I made my way into the kitchen, opening the fridge to find it packed. The freezer was full, stocked with all the food ordered in advance. Oscar suggested meals I wouldn’t have to think too hard about preparing. I wasn’t planning on staying the entire three months, but he was adamant I looked after myself and had what I needed in case my week or so here turned into more.

Leaving my suitcase at the door, my duffle next to it, I explored my new home, climbing the narrow ladder stairs to the loft, each step heavier than the last. The bedroom was simple: nightstands stood sentinel on each side of a massive bed with soft and inviting white covers, two closets, and a small half-bath. One window overlooked snow-dusted trees, the branches swaying gently in the wind; the other gave a view of the front yard and my ridiculous Lamborghini parked as a beacon of sapphire stupidity.

The drapes were thick enough to block out the sunlight during the day.

That’s good.

I can’t bear the reminder that the world outside is still turning, still moving forward while I’m stuck in my head. How can everything go on? How could everyone else keep living their lives while I’m just… frozen?

Fuck. Where had that come from?

I sat on the edge of the bed as a familiar unwanted anxiety began to creep up on me. Fucking shit was always there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for the perfect moment to take over. I loathed how it ran my life, made every decision and thought a battle I had to fight.

I’m supposed to be done with this.

I couldn’t stop it; it was overpowering, consuming whatever calm I’d managed to cling to.

I laid on the bed, and then the monster had me curling into a ball, pulling my knees to my chest as thoughts started to spiral, intrusive and unrelenting. Kai didn’t know I’d booked this cabin, but what if Lucas told Kai I was here, and Kai said I was too much work and trouble? What if Kai thought I was a lost cause? After he’d helped me into Phoenix with the NHLPA, I’d refused to speak to him, cutting him off because I couldn’t face how he’d had to rescue me. Then, I’d left it too long to apologize for not calling, and everything became awkward. Now, I’d dumped myself right in his town and life. What the hell was I thinking?

I grabbed my phone, but it did not connect until I headed downstairs and walked around outside in the snow. Then, I thumbed to Kai’s name to send a message.

HOLLY: I’m in town. Can we meet?

I backspaced.

HOLLY: I’m in town if you want to meet. No pressure.

I backspaced again.

HOLLY: I’m in town, but it’s okay if you don’t want to see me.

I sent it before I could second guess, stared at the phone, and waited for a reply. The single bar had vanished, and I sighed. Had my message even been sent? I’d refused to talk to Kai these last few months and didn’t want him to visit me at the center, but he understood why. He didn’t hate me. We emailed.

I was being stupid.

We were okay.

Tears burned, and my chest tightened until it felt like I couldn’t breathe. The panic was choking me, drowning me in a sea of self-doubt and regret. I headed straight back up to the bed, laying there in silence, but the panic didn’t ease. I rolled to one side and pulled out the medication from my pocket. I tried to poke them from the blister pack, spilling a few pills onto the floor before I managed to get one into my mouth.

Lorazepam. The little pill was supposed to take the edge off, to make everything softer, quieter. I tried to swallow it dry, but it stuck, choking me, and I went straight into the tiny half-bath and scooped water from the tap, then stumbled back to the bed, closing my eyes as I waited for the familiar wave of calm to kick in. It didn’t work right away—these things never did. But eventually, the tightness in my chest began to ease, the jagged edges of my thoughts smoothing out into something more manageable.

I stumbled downstairs, the cold seeping into my bones. Why was it so cold? I needed to get some heat in the cabin. I pulled over the instructions in the folder next to the stove, then crouched down, shoving in some paper and kindling and then a log, flicking the lighter repeatedly, but nothing happened. The damn thing refused to catch. I tossed in more kindling, wedging it between the logs as if I knew what I was doing—still nothing. I pulled out my phone, figuring Google would have the answer. But of course—no signal.

“Yeah, right,” I muttered. I remembered the owner mentioning limited signal and selling it as a feature. Peace, they said. Which, at the time, sounded great. Past me had clearly thought I’d enjoy the break from the shit on social media. Now? Not so much. “No fucking help,” I muttered as I tossed the phone to the sofa.

“Come on,” I muttered, frustration bubbling up. I shoved another log into the stove, figuring something would catch if I forced enough wood in there. But the flame sputtered out the second I flicked the lighter near the kindling.

I sat back on my heels, staring at the cold, unlit logs, feeling stupid. This should be easy. It was just a fire, for God’s sake. People have been making them forever. But no matter how many times I tried, the wood sat there, stubborn and uncooperative, mocking me.

I gave the lighter one last flick, half expecting a miracle. But, of course, nothing happened.

“Figures,” I muttered, slumping back against the wall, glancing out of the frosty window and eying my car. I should head back into town.

Was I ready for that?

For people?

The world was still out there, still packed with problems I couldn’t solve, but at least the medication was doing its job, pulling me back from the brink and making me dozy. I imagined a cozy fire and sank to the sofa, staring at the burner and wrapping two blankets around me. They were thick and warm. I curled on my side and closed my eyes, letting the darkness take over, allowing the last remnants of the panic to drift away.

“I can fix myself,” I whispered to the empty room, my voice barely more than a breath, and curled tighter.

I have to do this. Otherwise, what’s the point?

The words were a fragile promise to myself. I didn’t know if I believed them, not really. But I didn’t have a choice. I had to keep trying. Just like I would the stove.

I’ll do the fire later.

I was here at Wishing Tree to find peace, mend bridges with my best friend, get to know his husband better, and apologize to Lucas.

I can do all this and then find somewhere warmer to spend Christmas.

Eventually, the soft hum of the medication took full effect, and the tension drained from my body, although fuck, I was cold.

My thoughts quietened, and the anxiety retreated to where it could do no more harm, at least for now. As I lay in the cabin’s quiet, I allowed myself to hope, for a moment, that maybe I could find some peace here. Perhaps I could figure out what I was supposed to do with my life.

I closed my eyes, letting sleep pull me under. It was mid-afternoon now, but I wasn’t ready to face the rest of the day. Tomorrow was another chance to make things right. And I needed to believe that, although it felt like the hardest thing in the world.

“I can do this,” I whispered again, my voice fading into the stillness. I was unsure who I was trying to convince. “I have to.”

I shivered, curling tighter into myself, sinking deeper, as the meds numbed the edges of everything sharp and painful. In this hazy, fuzzy space, I could finally breathe. Safe. Or at least safer than I’d felt in days. But in the quiet blur, Lucas was right there, fixed in my thoughts.

He looked exactly as he had after the kiss—shocked, as if I’d pulled the ground out from under him. I remember his blue eyes widening as if he couldn’t believe I’d dared to do it. His lips had curved into a smile, slightly parted, damp from the kiss I’d stolen… the vision of him haunted me. And just when I thought I might drift deeper, slip under, and forget, he was there again. In my dream, I tugged him close, pulling him into that kiss, craving that warmth, something I couldn’t name.

But this time, in my dream but feeling too real, he pushed me back, his face twisting in disgust. I cringed, feeling the echo of rejection like a punch to the gut, all because I’d been so nasty.

So fucked up.

“Shit… I’m sorry,” I mumbled, the words escaping me, although I knew he couldn’t hear them.