7. Holly

Chapter 7

Holly

I woke to the warmth of a fire, the crackling of flames burning low in the stove filling the cabin. Had I managed to light it? I didn’t recall getting it done, but my meds made the world fluffy sometimes, so who knew? I’d had the weirdest dream—my guilty conscience conjuring up Lucas of all people, and yeah, he’d called me a stupid idiot, but he’d been kind to me.

At least, I think so.

The heat from the fire was doing its job a little too well, and I blinked, trying to clear the fog from my mind. The lingering effects of the anti-anxiety meds made everything feel as if I was moving through treacle.

I tried to stand, fighting to get all but one of the blankets off me. My body protested, my legs weak and unsteady. I stumbled, catching myself on the arm of the couch before I could hit the floor.

Come on, Holly, I told myself, taking a deep breath. You’ll be okay. Just take it slow.

Using the furniture for support, I went to the small kitchen. Every step felt like a monumental effort, my legs heavy from the medication. My head throbbed, and I had to pause momentarily, leaning against the counter, waiting for the dizziness to pass.

I opened a cupboard, staring at the plates inside. I needed a drink, something to clear my head, but all I could think was how far away everything seemed and how hard it was to focus.

Where the hell are the cups? I thought, frustration bubbling up. I closed the cupboard door, turning to look around the kitchen, but nothing made sense. My vision blurred as I stepped back, my foot catching on the edge of the blanket that had somehow wrapped around my legs.

It’s okay, Holly, I thought to myself, gripping the counter as hard as possible. You’ll be okay. Just... you’re going to be fine.

But then my knees buckled, and I felt myself falling. I braced for the impact, my heart pounding, but as I started to go down, someone caught me. The momentum dragged us both backward, and the next thing I knew, we were both on the floor, tangled in the dropped blanket, my head spinning as I tried to make sense of what had happened.

“What the hell—” I started, blinking through the haze.

“Easy, Hollister. It’s just me,” came a familiar and steady voice—the one person I wanted to avoid—the man of my dreams.

What? No? He was the man from my dreams.

The person I owed an apology to.

For a moment, I did nothing but stare at Lucas, processing that he was here, that he’d caught me, that I hadn’t hit the ground as hard as I thought I would.

“What?” I managed, my voice rough.

“You okay?” he asked, his tone softer now.

I tried to nod, but the motion made my head swim. “I… I’m fine. Just…” I closed my eyes, taking a slow breath. “I need a drink… It’s still messing with me.”

He was angry, of course he was; he remembered that I’d forced a kiss on him and spat all that poison about suing him or whatever the hell I’d done. Despite that, he offered me a hand to keep me steady.

“I just… needed a drink,” I muttered, glancing over at the counter that now seemed a million miles away. “I thought I could handle it.”

“Well, you can’t. Sit down.” Lucas said, and there was no gentleness in his voice. He helped me sit on the stool, leaning against the counter, and for a moment, he stared at me, the warmth of the fire still wrapping around us. The only sound was the crackling of the fire.

I wanted to argue, to tell him I was fine, but the truth was, I wasn’t. I was exhausted, my body still fighting to catch up with my mind. And as much as I hated to admit it, I was grateful he was here, that I wasn’t alone.

“Thanks,” I said, unsure if I was thanking him for catching me or just being there. Maybe both.

“Whatever,” Lucas replied, helping me to my feet again, steadying me firmly.

I let him guide me back to the living area. The fire cast a warm glow over the room, and as I sat back down on the sofa, I felt my chest tighten.

Not again.

“I’ll be okay,” I said, more to myself than Lucas. “I just… need a little more time.”

“Until your next binge?” Lucas asked, sounding tired, sad, and maybe a little judgmental.

I blinked at him. “My, what now?” Maybe the meds were messing with my head.

“Whatever you’re drinking. Vodka?”

Shame gripped me. I didn’t want Lucas to know I was on meds. I didn’t want anyone to know, especially not him. I was an athlete—strong, invincible, or at least that was how I’d always been seen. That was how I wanted to be seen. It mattered what people thought of me more than I liked to admit. Doc Susan had suggested ways to combat the shame I carried with me. The simple explanation was right there, but I couldn’t bring myself to give it. Admitting I was on anxiety meds felt like admitting I’d failed somehow, as though I couldn’t keep it together, as if I wasn’t the person I’d spent my whole life pretending to be.

I hadn’t even told Kai the whole story.

If it were just meds, if it were just a simple explanation, why wasn’t I giving it to him? Why couldn’t I say, Yeah, Lucas, I’m on anxiety meds. No big deal. But it didn’t feel simple because he’d seen me at my worst on two separate occasions now, and I couldn’t stand it.

So, I kept my mouth shut even as I felt the weight of his concern pressing down on me. He didn’t need to know. No one needed to know. This was my burden, and I’d deal with it alone, just like I always had.

Why did that bother me?

Lucas held me prisoner under his steady sapphire gaze as if he were trying to work me out.

“Kai and Bailey will be pleased to know you made it alive, asshole,” he finally offered. “Next time, don’t scare the shit out of your friends, and answer your damn phone.”

“I don’t have a signal, and I wanted a few days on my own?—”

Only he was gone; he slammed the door behind him and vanished in a swirl of snow.

I wanted to move, maybe get to bed, but I was tired.

So damn tired.