Maria came once. Cried. Said she wanted to bring Jewel but didn’t want her to see Aunt Holly like this. A piece of my heart fractured. The thing about addiction was…it was a greedy monster. It took and took until there was nothing left but shame and skin. You thought you were numbing the pain, but you were really feeding it. One pill, one drink, one lie at a time. And the cruelest part? It didn’t just eat you alive. It ate everyone who dared to love you, too.
One Tuesday, I was sitting by a window in the common room. An aide came over to let me know I had visitors, and I turned to see Hannah in her leather jacket and Mom in her red-soled heels making their way to me.
Hannah didn’t bother sitting down. Mom stared at me in a way I was sure she meant to be intimidating.
“We’re keeping Willow’s Harbor afloat,” Hannah said. “Barely. But it’syourdream, Holly. You started this. There are women and kids depending on you. Onyourname. On what you built.”
Mom folded her arms, voice softer but no less sharp. “We heard you weren’t cooperating in therapy. So, you can sit hereand feel sorry for yourself, or you can get back to work. You wanted to give people a second chance. Start by giving yourself one.”
I stared at them, still shaking from withdrawal, still trying to believe I was worth the air I was breathing.
Hannah leaned forward, eyes fierce. “You survived hell. Now prove it meant something.”
I stared at them, jaw nearly on the floor. Mom slid a piece of paper over to me. Numbers. From Willow’s Harbor. How many had been saved. How many had been given a new life. How many had a future now…because of us. I glanced from it to them. The pain was still there. It probably always would be. A love like that was not the kind you forget. But it could be the kind that kept you going on the bad days. If you let it.
I looked up at them. “Ok.”
Mom frowned. “Ok?”
Hannah must have seen the look in my eyes change and she put a hand on mom’s shoulder. “Good.”
That night, and every night after, before I nodded off to sleep, I whispered the only words that ever made sense anymore.Got to get home.
When they finally released me, the air outside felt different. Lighter somehow.
I threw myself into school the way I used to throw myself into running from the past, from pain. Full throttle, teeth gritted, head held high. Late nights, lots of coffee, and notepads full of ideas that felt like redemption. I was behind, so I worked twice as hard.
I learned to lean. On Dalton when the nights got too loud. On Maria when the guilt crept in like smoke. On Mom and Hannah when I forgot why I started this in the first place. It turned out failure wasn’t weakness. It wasn’t shoring up your defense andclosing yourself off when things got tough. Sometimes opening up the gates, letting people in…that was the real strength.
Willow’s Harbor grew beyond my wildest dreams. Women came in shaking and left with jobs, apartments, laughter. Kids started school for the first time without fear in their eyes. The men of the Steel Saints had became a unit. Deadly, precise. They weren’t just a motorcycle club anymore. They were protectors. Silas sneered when he thought I wasn’t looking. Said we were going soft. But a hard look from Hannah or August always silenced him. I didn’t let it bother me.
I gave my first speech at a conference, palms sweating, heart hammering, and looked out over a sea of faces that reminded me what survival looked like when it turned into purpose. Someone asked how I was supposed to help others when I could barely help myself. Others around them squashed him, admonished him for the harsh question, but I took it in stride. I smiled and told him, “One day at a time. That’s all you can do.”
I still went to meetings. I still counted days.
And I still thought of him. Every time I passed the Harbor sign, every time a new mom walked through our doors, every time I caught a sunrise and remembered what it meant to make it through the night.
I used to think moving on meant forgetting.
Now I knew better.
You honor the ones you lose by living the life you promised them you would.
Chapter Thirty-Two
? Jackson ?
I lost whole pieces of time. Woke up once with the sun burning through a hole in the fuselage, again with night already full of stars. Each blackout was longer than the last until the dark felt permanent.
Then hands clawed at the wreckage. Someone shouting in a language I didn’t know. Metal screamed, and I was dragged out into air that smelled of smoke, dust, and goat hide. I blinked, fighting to stay conscious. To adjust to the wave of pain the sudden movement cost me. Faces closed in, only frightened, dark eyes visible underneath thick head coverings. Children hovered behind them, staring like I was a ghost they didn’t believe in. I wanted to tell them to go. To let me rot here with the others. But my tongue was thick and swollen, my mouth full of blood.
A boy crept close, tugged at my boot and tugged again when it didn’t come free. It wasn’t my bad leg but shit still hurt. Instinct moved before thought.
“Hey…don’t do that.”
The sound came out dry and broken but it was enough to startle him. The boy bolted. Someone shouted before pulling him closer, and the dark rushed back in.
When I woke again, I was somewhere small. Smoke-stained beams above me, dirt packed tight under my back. A single blanket over me—coarse wool, smelling of animals and sweat.My leg was wrapped in sticks and rope, already swelling around the binding. My ribs hurt to breathe; every inhale scraped. My entire body screamed, each thump of my heart sending a wave of pain that ended with a pulsing in my head.
