Holly clung like a lifeline, face pressed into that familiar shoulder, and let herself fall apart completely because there was nowhere safer to break than in the arms of the woman who had rebuilt her a hundred times already.
“But it’s not okay Mamá,” she sobbed, the full weight of exactly what she’d done finally settling on her. “I’ve ruined everything!”
“Sí mija,”Marisol croons, having never been the type to sugarcoat. “You did a pretty good job of it, too.”
There was a beat where Holly felt her mom’s hand on her back slow down, and when she finally pulled back, cheeks wet, eyes swollen, her mom kissed her forehead like a blessing, and then smiled gently.
“He loves you,mi amor,”she said, like it was gospel. “He’ll help you put it all back together again. Love isn’t supposed to feel like a war you fight alone.”
Outside, LA kept glittering like nothing mattered. Like people didn’t fall apart on their childhood couches in their mothers’ arms. But in this small warm living room, Holly realized she didn’t want to fight alone anymore. She just needed to figure out how to let Nate stand by her side.
68
REWRITING THE REPLAY
Nate
“Turns out ‘enforcer’ actually isn’t my whole personality.”
The building wasn’t impressive, which somehow made it worse.
It wasn’t some rookie penthouse bought on ego and signing bonus adrenaline. It was practical. Brick. Secure entry. A place parents approved of and agents recommended. Nate stood awkwardly on the sidewalk for ages, brooding as if he was bracing for contact.
He’d thrown himself into hits that made arenas gasp. Skated into fights without hesitation. This felt like stepping into a replay he didn’t control. The buzzer panel was scratched from years of tenants. He pressed the number he’d been given and waited, breath fogging in the cold Boston air. The intercom crackled to life.
“Yeah?”
The voice was thinner than he remembered. Not weaker. Just edged.
“It’s Eriksson.”
Silence. Then…
“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” Alexei said flatly.
“I know.”
A moment later, the lock buzzed.
Nate took the stairs, rejecting the ease of the elevator. Each step felt like a slow march toward a hit he couldn’t dodge, and when he finally got to the door, he was looking for it opened before he could knock.
Alexei Voskoboynikov looked like a kid who’d learned something the hard way.
The bruising around his eye had faded into yellowed shadows, but the orbital fracture had left its mark. There was a faint indentation at the brow. A line of tenderness that would probably ache in cold weather for the rest of his life. His posture was careful, like his equilibrium still didn’t fully trust that Nate wasn’t going to take another swing.
“What the hell’re you doing here?” Alexei asked.
Nate took a breath, attempting to keep himself steady. This was harder than anything he’d ever had to do, except maybe for watching Holly leave the rehearsal space like there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to help her.
“I came to apologize,” Nate said.
Alexei let out a short, incredulous breath that bordered on a laugh. “Two months later? Nice.”
“You weren’t in a place to hear it before.”
“I wasn’t in a place to remember my ownnamebefore.”
Nate held his ground and let the comment sting. It was the least he could fucking do.
