9. Holly

Chapter 9

Holly

I woke to a new day and a dying fire, the embers glowing in the burner. The warmth was fading, but it was still enough to be comfortable. I stretched, feeling the kinks in my muscles ease, and for the first time in a while, I didn’t feel like I was going to fall apart. I was so thirsty it felt as if my throat was lined with sandpaper, but that was a small thing.

Pushing the blanket off, I got to my feet. This time, I wasn’t wobbly or unsteady. I felt stronger and more in control. I stretched again, savoring the feeling of stability, but then the memories of yesterday hit me, flooding me with hot shame. Lucas had found me—had seen me like that. Weak, shivering, entirely out of it.

I groaned, rubbing my face as if I could scrub away the embarrassment. But I couldn’t dwell on it. Not now. I needed to get my head straight, starting with finding my phone to call Kai if I could get a signal, but when I picked it up, it was dead. Great.

Sighing, I grabbed some clothes and headed to the bathroom to shower, where it belatedly occurred to me that there might not be hot water or that maybe I should have turned a switch somewhere. Thankfully, there was, and the steam wrapping around me like a cocoon cleared my mind. I let it wash away the remnants of yesterday, focusing on the simple act of getting clean, of pulling myself together. Was the water connected to the stove? Why didn’t I know this? The guy I rented from had emailed me a PDF welcome pack he said his granddaughter had made, but I’d never thought to look for an email, and now I couldn’t download anything with the literal shitty one bar I could get if I walked far enough. Fuck’s sake.

After dressing, I stared out the front window at my car and the road beyond. The sky was leaden with the promise of more snow, and I couldn’t help but feel the heavy sky matched the weight in my chest.

I needed to talk to Kai, reassure him that I was okay, and maybe check last night’s game scores. The Harriers had been playing a strong Railers team, and to be honest, although I checked all the scores and watched the highlight reels from every Harriers game, I imagined they’d lost.

My cell phone had a five percent charge but was plugged into the wall, where there was no hope of a signal. I unplugged it, put on boots and my coat, and shuffled outside to find somewhere I’d have at least one bar of signal. Then, hunched in my freezing car, I hovered over his name in my contacts and hit call.

It rang twice before someone answered, but it wasn’t Kai.

“Holly!” Bailey’s voice came through, sounding tired but familiar. My stomach twisted.

“Hi, Bailey,” I greeted, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “Is um… is Kai there?”

“He’s sleeping,” Bailey replied, and I could hear the rustle of sheets in the background. “Flu’s hit him hard.”

“Can I get you anything? Are you ill? Can I help?”

“I’m not feeling a hundred percent, but we’re all good.”

I nodded, although he couldn’t see me. “Okay, then.”

“I’ll let him know you’re here when he next surfaces, but his temp is a hundred and three, and he’s in his comatose period of the illness.”

“Did you get the doctor out? Does he need to go to the hospital?—”

“He’s fine, we’re fine.”

“He can call me if he wants, but there’re no bars up at the cabin, just one if you take your phone to the road. The man who owns the cabin was worried because it wasn’t finished, but I told him I was okay and that it wouldn’t matter if I didn’t have a dishwasher, and it might be fun doing dishes and…” I ran out of breath and couldn’t pick up my thoughts.

“Is everything okay, Holly?” Bailey’s voice came through, soft and steady, carrying a concern I couldn’t quite understand.

I gripped the phone, pressing it to my ear, feeling the shame coil tighter in my stomach. After what I’d said to Lucas at the wedding, I’d assumed he’d have told Bailey everything by now—the fact I’d forced a kiss on him, then accused him of pushing me and then threatened him. I’d been bracing myself for weeks, waiting for the moment when Bailey or Kai would cut me off and tell me exactly what they thought of me.

But no, they’d come to rescue me and get me into the Player Assistance Program. They’d cleaned my house, emptied the fridge, and said they’d stay as long as I needed.

My breakdown was a private pain that I had to deal with on my own—I’d sent them away.

Still, they’d seen the worst of me, yet here Bailey was, asking if I was okay as if nothing had happened.

“Yeah,” I mumbled, forcing the words out. “I’m… I’m fine.”

There was a beat of silence on the line, and I waited for him to ask the questions I didn’t have answers for. “That’s good, Holly.”

It didn’t make sense. Bailey’s kindness made the shame rise even higher, stinging like salt in a wound. I wanted to yell out an apology, to say something, anything to make it right, but the words just stuck in my throat. Instead, I held the phone to my ear, listening to his steady breathing, feeling more like a fraud with every passing second.

“Kai will be happy you’re here.”

His words made my chest tighten, and for a second, I almost told him everything. But I swallowed it down, forcing a smile into my voice. “I know, Bailey. Thanks.”

“It’s cold here,” I continued after a moment because the weather was always a good thing to throw into an awkward conversation.

“Yeah, more snow on the way, so stay warm, okay?” I could feel Bailey’s concern down the line. “I’ll let Kai know you called when he wakes up.”

“Thanks,” I said, my voice quieter now. “I appreciate it.”

“And as soon as we’re better, you’ll visit, right? Or we can come to you.” I hated he felt he had to ask—but why wouldn’t he? I’d spent five months ignoring calls and messages, and Kai had to have told him what I’d done, and now Bailey must think I was a fucking awful friend.

“Either. I’d love that,” I reassured him.

We said our goodbyes, and I ended the call, staring at the phone, the bars vanishing. I didn’t even ask about the hockey scores or try to download an update, and somehow, after getting my fill of talking to another human, I was done.

I lasted an hour inside the house thinking about last night’s game, pacing the small space between the kitchen and sofa, and tripping over bags I still hadn’t unpacked before I gave in.

The cold bit through my layers as I bundled up again, my scarf pulled tight around my neck, and my hat tugged low over my ears. The cabin was warm enough inside, but out here, it was still the kind of cold that made your breath hang heavy in the air and seep through to your bones if you stood still for too long. My boots crunched in the snow as I walked down the path, holding my phone up in search of a bar of signal. Just one. That was all I needed.

Eventually, a single bar appeared, flickering faintly in the corner of the screen, and I stopped, exhaling a puff of mist into the freezing air. I pulled up the scores, knowing how it would go but needing to see it anyway. Harriers versus Railers. Final score: 6–1. A blowout. Predictable.

I didn’t have the resources to download the highlights, but I didn’t need to. I could imagine how it had played out. A weak defensive zone, turnovers leading to odd-man rushes, and a power play that might as well have been a penalty kill with how it’d been going this season. The team was struggling, and it wasn’t only the losses—it was everything. The rebuild the new management had promised in the summer had brought hope, sure, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

I’d seen something in the new group, though. Jonah Merritt, the new captain—a six-foot-four Canadian center from Seattle—had the kind of quiet leadership to hold a team together. His linemates, the Redmond twins, two fresh faces reunited after spending time apart in Florida and Dallas, were quick and intelligent, bringing speed and grit to the offense. There was camaraderie there, something I hadn’t seen in years since I’d begun to destroy them. They were starting to act like a team again, but building chemistry took time. And patience. And more than a couple of trades and a shiny press release.

A sudden movement caught my eye, and I saw a small bird land on a branch above me. A chickadee, black-capped and tiny, its feathers puffed up against the cold. As it shifted, snow loosened from the branch and drifted softly to the ground, catching the light as it fell. It was peaceful, almost hypnotic, the way it scattered into the air before settling into the untouched white below.

I watched it, tilting my head. “After what I did to them, it’s what the team needs, you know,” I said, my voice breaking the stillness. “Time. Trust. A chance to grow together.”

The bird blinked at me, its tiny head jerking to one side as if considering my words. I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head at myself. “Am I really talking to a bird?” Then I muttered. “I’m talking to a bird, for fuck’s sake.”

It just stayed there, watching me as I kept going.

“They’ve got something good starting,” I continued. “Merritt’s got the right instincts, the forwards on his wing have speed, and the back end’s young, but there’s promise. It won’t happen overnight, and they have a lot to put right. I know that. I just… I wish they could see it. And I wish the fans could give them a break.”

I pressed a gloved hand to my chest, feeling the thrum of my heartbeat beneath the layers. “I know what I did to them. I had my shot and missed.”

It stared at me as though it understood, and for a moment, we stared at each other, the world around us holding still. Then reality settled back in, and I realized I hadn’t moved in ages. My fingers had started to numb where they gripped the phone, the cold seeping into every part of me. I tried to find the email from the owner, but the attachment was huge, and my phone didn’t even begin to download it.

Jesus.

“All right, that’s enough freezing my ass off for one day,” I muttered, breaking the moment. I gave my new feathered friend a slight nod, as if we’d come to some understanding, and turned back toward the cabin. My boots crunched in the snow as I headed inside, leaving nature and her silence behind.

“Talking to a damn bird,” I muttered to myself. “Idiot.”