He nods, snow melting on his lashes. “You don’t have to. Just let me try to make it right.”
The wind eases for a heartbeat, like the storm itself is listening. I reach for him before I can stop myself, fingertips brushing his hand.
“Come inside,” I say. “We’ll start there.”
He exhales—a sound like relief and devastation all at once.
Together, we walk toward the house, the lone lantern burning through the snow—small, stubborn, and still alive.
9
Lila
We tumble inside and Holt slams the door with his shoulder. The storm drops to a muffled roar, the quiet so sudden it buzzes in my ears. The dogs are already there, tails wagging, noses cold against my hands.
Holt shrugs off his coat, eyes fixed on me. The air between us hums — leftover adrenaline, leftovereverything.
He takes in the tree glowing in one corner, string lights along the mantel, tinsel catching the firelight.
“It looks like Christmas threw up in here,” he grunts, but his mouth twitches, like he can’t help it.
“It’s called festive,” I shoot back.
He puts the lanterns on the counter and lights the other three. Softwhoomphafterwhoomphuntil the room glows gold. He positions them around the cabin and shadows leap over the walls—over him, over me.
He turns, face half lit, and says, “Better.”
I nod, throat too tight for words.
The dogs wind around our legs, whining for attention. He crouches to scratch behind their ears. They can’t get enough of him, pressing in close.
“They missed you,” I say.
His gaze lifts to mine. “That makes two of us.”
The silence hums between us, alive with everything we haven’t said.
I turn toward the fire, pretending to straighten the garland that doesn’t need fixing. “Whydidyou leave me, Holt? The real reason.”
He exhales, the sound low, scraped raw. For a second I think he won’t answer. Then?—
“You were eighteen,” he says. “Barely. And you looked at me like I hung the stars. I knew I wasn’t the man you thought I was. Not even close.”
I turn to him, stomach tightening.
He keeps going, eyes fixed on the fire. “I told myself walking away was the right thing. You were bright and fierce and—Christ, Lila, you deserved someone who’d take you to college parties and fancy restaurants, not drag you into the dark with him.”
The words land like blows, quiet but heavy.
“I didn’t wantsafe,” I say. “I wanted you.”
He looks at me then, and it’s like being hit with the full weight of everything he’s been holding back.
“I know,” he says. “And that’s what scared me most. Because I knew once I touched you, I wouldn’t stop. I’d want too much. And I didn’t trust myself not to ruin you.”
The admission hangs there — half confession, half plea.
I don’t move. The fire cracks behind me, the tree lights blink softly, and for a long time neither of us speaks.
