Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

BETRAYAL, PARTY OF TWO

Jack

A fter a round of Frosty ales at Rudy’s, we tuck Tabitha into a Sober Sleigh and walk up the hill to town. It’s started snowing again, fat flakes drifting down in the cold air. Holly laughs and brushes them off my beard.

“I feel sorry for her,” she says more to herself than to me.

“Who? Tabitha?”

“Yeah.”

I consider this. She’s a likable enough person, but I don’t actually like her. “She’s the DA, though. Couldn’t she shut Anderson down if she wanted to? Why doesn’t she rein him in—just because they’re dating?”

Holly shrugs. “Maybe. Probably. Anderson can be charming, when he wants to be. And he’s a pro at making a girl doubt herself.” She makes a tsking sound. “I should know.”

I’m even more confused. “Because you worked with him, you mean?”

She stops in her tracks, right in front of the candle shop. “No, because I was engaged to him until he screwed my boss in a closet.”

Now I stop. We’re blocking the door, and an apologetic mom with three little ones in tow and a big bag full of candles hovers in the doorway, trying to get out of the shop without running into us.

“Sorry,” we blurt in unison and move a few feet away.

Once we’re clear of the entrance, I reach for Holly’s arm and turn her to face me. “You were engaged? To Anderson?”

She stares unblinkingly at me. “Yeah.”

“You didn’t think to tell me?” Anger flares in my gut. I don’t know if I’m pissed because it could have impacted my case or because I feel like a fool. The former is less pathetic, so I roll with that. “There’s no ethical rule about letting your client know you used to bone opposing counsel?”

Her eyes go wide and her face tightens. “I beg your pardon?”

I know I crossed a line, I know I should apologize. But I don’t. “You heard me.”

“No, Jack. There’s no ethical rule about that. And you’re right, I should have told you. To be honest, this whole town knows. Every single resident heard the story of how I opened the closet looking for swizzle sticks during the office Christmas in July party and found the man I planned to marry undressing our boss.”

Her voice is steady but the faintest tremor runs through her body as she speaks. Tears fill her blue eyes but don’t spill over. She’s keeping it together through sheer force of will.

She goes on, “So I guess I just assumed the whole world knew, including you. But now you do know. And it clearly didn’t impact my ability to represent you. So, you can … you can … go deck your own halls!”

She wrenches her arm away and sprints up the hill, kicking up new snow in her wake. Regret lands like a punch to the gut before she’s taken three steps, but I can’t undo the damage. All I can do is watch her race away from me. As she goes, I’m struck by two thoughts. One, she was really holding back during that 5K—she’s fast. And two, I believe I’ve just been told to go eff myself in the most festive way imaginable.

Holly

B y the time I storm into the cottage and gather my laptop and a change of clothes, my anger is spent and all that’s left is my humiliated hurt. I can’t believe I was falling for Jack—strike that, I fell for him—and he could be so callous about the most painful event in my past. I feel like a fool. Like a sucker. Like I never even knew him.

I run out of the guest cottage straight to the inn. I’m almost to the back door when I realize I’m running into my mom’s arms—but they aren’t there. That’s when the tears start afresh, and I fling the door open and plop myself down at the kitchen table. Noelle must have heard the door slam because she flies into the room, takes one look at me, and backs out, calling for my sisters.

By the time she returns with Merry and Ivy in tow, my head is cradled in my arms on the table and I’m fully sobbing. Ivy pulls out the chair next to me and rubs my arm.

“Shhh. Holls, what happened?”

I raise my head and tell them the whole pathetic story, pausing only to wipe away the snot that leaks from my nose like a faucet.

Noelle takes one look at me, draws her shoulders back, and starts barking orders like a general. “Holly, you march yourself into my bathroom and take a long, hot shower. Merry and Ivy, get yourselves dressed for a night out and find something for your sister to wear.”

“Um, okay. Where are we going?” Merry asks meekly.

Noelle gives her the stink-eye. “Tonight’s the Jingle and Mingle at the Social Club. Now get moving.”

“Yes, ma’am!” They scurry off.

Noelle wraps her arms around my shoulders. “Honey, I’m so sorry. Nobody should ever make you feel that way. And I know you know better than to let them, but you trusted Jack. That’s why this hurts. After a night out with your sisters and a good night’s sleep, you’ll be ready to talk to him about it. Trust me on this.”

I do trust her. Mom would have made hot chocolate and told me to listen to my heart, then helped me analyze every word Jack said until we uncovered the true source of his anger. But Noelle’s not my mom. She’s my friend, and her practical approach is exactly what I need right now. I stand up and hug her.

“Thanks, Noelle.”

She strokes my sweaty hair. “Of course. And you’ll sleep in our room tonight. Your dad can spend the night on the couch at the guest house.”

“Oh, no, Noelle. Don’t do that.”

She gives me a knowing grin. “Jack’s going to need a shoulder to cry on, too. And your dad has the broadest shoulders in town.”

I laugh weakly and shuffle down the hall toward the bathroom she shares with my dad. As I push the door open, my phone dings in the pocket of my fleece. Curious whether it’s Jack texting some lame apology, I take it out and check the display.

No, the background search I did on Clean Books, Healthy Minds is ready. I hit the download button and the documents populate on my phone. I turn on the water to get hot and lean against the glass-walled shower, scrolling through the documents while I wait. When I get to the article titled “Son of Acclaimed Author Scuffles with Book Activist James Woodlock at Funeral” I almost drop my phone on the tile.

Jack Bell is Jackie Samuel’s son? Jackie Samuel was a pen name for Veronica Bell, mother of two boys, Jack and Samuel, whose names she used for her pseudonym. Jack and James Woodlock got into a fight at his mother’s funeral? And I’m the one who withheld information? I’m the one who should have opened up?

Of all the tinsel-wrapped nerve. I put my phone on the counter, rip off my clothes, and step into the hot shower. The water pounds against my shoulders as the truth washes over me: I shared my most painful memory but he kept this massive secret. The feeling builds until I think I might explode from the sheer force of the betrayal. I tip back my head and let out a scream that would scare Krampus himself.