“Questionable decision-making is a theme for me lately.” My voice is sharper than I intend, but I don’t soften it.
I can’t.
Not after breakfast. Not after he crushed the trust I put in him after he held my hand in the dark and gave me what no one else has given me—what I never knew quite how desperately I needed.
His jaw flexes, his eyes dropping to the snow for a moment. When he meets my gaze again, there’s no smirk, no cocky edge. Just the kind of pain you don’t admit to. “I’m sorry.”
The words hang in the air, visible like the puffs of breath we both exhale in the cold. I don’t say anything, just lift an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.
He shifts, sliding off the snowmobile with a grace that feels too practiced. Standing, he’s suddenly bigger, and broader, the bulk of his winter jacket making him look even more solid. He holds his ground, though, keeping the snowmobile between us like he knows he’s not welcome to come closer.
“You’ve got five minutes,” I say, crossing my arms tighter. “Clock’s ticking.”
He nods, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. “I deserve that.” His voice is steady, but it’s threaded with something jagged and raw.
“And more. I fucked up, Holly. I handled everything wrong. You walked into that dining room, and I panicked. I—I didn’t know how to keep it together.”
I look away, staring at the snowmobile—it’s safer. “You handled it exactly the way I should have expected. You were right on brand, soldier boy.”
“That’s not fair.”
I snap my gaze back to him, heat rising in my chest. “Fair? You want to talk about fair? You humiliated me.” My voice cracks, and I bite my lip so hard it stings. “My father had a front-row seat to—I trusted you.” My voice catches on tears, but I force myself to face him. “You went way too far today."
"I was still reeling from the night before—then trying to sell the whole hate thing?—
"By destroying me?" The words crack between us like lightning. "I have lines, too, Chance. That’s not just one of them. That's a fucking wall."
He takes a step toward me. I take one back.
“You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve any of it.” His words come out low, almost broken. “And I hate that I’m the one who did it.”
"Good." But my back hits the actual wall, and suddenly he's right there, all heat and intensity and regret.
"It’ll never happen again, Holly.” He fists his hands at his sides, like he’s physically restraining himself from touching me. "Ever."
“Then why did you?” The question escapes before I can stop it, quieter than I intend.
It’s too vulnerable, too open.
I hate myself for asking it, but I need to know.
“Because you scare the hell out of me,” he says, the words spilling out fast and raw. His breath fogs in the air, but his gaze stays locked on mine, unflinching. “You always have. But it’s different now—Jesus.”
He drags a hand through his hair, a frustrated sound rumbling low in his throat. “Those are the same words Nick used when he admitted he was falling for Charlie. He was honest and I’m—I—lying about this is killing me.”
“It’s almost over. You just have to?—”
“I know,” he interrupts. “But then I have to tell him the truth.”
My breath catches. “The truth?”
“That I’m in love with you.”
The words land like a punch to the chest, sharp and unexpected. My lungs refuse to work, the cold air sticking in my throat as I try to process. He said it. He actually said it.
Every part of me screams to push him away, to throw up every wall I have left. Because if I don’t, if I let him in and he screws up again—I’ll shatter.
“Chance—” My voice is barely a whisper, and I hate how unsteady it sounds.
