Chapter 30
LUCAS
The text comes through while I’m sitting on my couch, eating macaroni and cheese, trying not to think about how stupidly in love I am with Holiday.
My phone buzzes, and her name lights up the screen. It’s almost like she knew she was on my mind.
Holiday
Dominic was at my house and joined me and my parents for dinner. Afterward, we had words. I’m so pissed I can’t see straight.
Every muscle in my body goes rigid. That French bastard was at her house? With her parents? My hand tightens around the phone.
Lucas
Are you okay?
The three dots appear, disappear, and appear again. Each second feels like an hour.
Holiday
I’m fine. I pushed him off the porch.
That’s my girl. Always has been.
Lucas
You what?
Holiday
Long story. Can you come over? We need to talk.
The last three words make me feel like I’ve missed a step in the dark. Nothing good comes from a we need to talk conversation. But she needs me, and that’s the only thing that matters.
Lucas
On my way.
I grab my keys, and head for the door, then stop with my hand on the knob. If I pull into her driveway, her parents will know I’m there. They’ll see my truck, invite me in for small talk and hot chocolate, while Holiday wants to discuss something. She needs privacy.
A memory surfaces. Me at seventeen, sneaking through the woods to climb up to her window because we couldn’t get enough of each other. Back when everything was simple and we believed love could conquer all. That was before the world proved us wrong.
I slide my phone into my pocket and head to the garage. The old golf cart sits in the corner, buried under Christmas decorations that never made it into the yard. I haven’t touched it since earlier this year.
The engine sputters, then catches on the second try.
I navigate out of the garage and turn down the back road that leads through the woods.
The headlights barely cut through the darkness.
The trail is overgrown now, branches scraping against the cart’s sides like fingers trying to pull me back.
But the path is still there, still connecting my property to hers like a scratch that never quite healed over.
The December wind freezes me through my jacket, and my hands are already going numb on the steering wheel, but I don’t care. All I can think about is Dominic being at her house and putting his hands on her. That’s the only reason she would’ve pushed him, if he touched her.
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache.
What did he say to her? What did he do? The questions loop through my head as I wind through the trees, following the trail from memory more than sight. Branches slap against my arms, but I don’t slow down.
The cart finally breaks through the tree line behind her house, and I kill the engine, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. The Patterson house glows with warm light, Christmas decorations twinkling in every window like something out of a catalog. It looks peaceful.
I approach the side of the house where Holiday’s bedroom window is located.
I look up at the second floor, my breath coming out in clouds.
The white lattice is still there, painted fresh and looking sturdy.
Mr. Patterson keeps it maintained, probably not realizing he’s preserving the very thing that helped his daughter sneak out for years.
I test my weight, since I weigh so much more than I did in my teens, and the wood creaks but holds. My hands are freezing, and the frost makes everything slippery, but muscle memory takes over.
The curtains are drawn but light glows behind them. I tap gently on the glass at first, then a little harder when she doesn’t respond. My heart is hammering against my ribs.
The curtain pulls back and Holiday’s face appears. Her eyes are red and swollen, her hair falling out of its bun in messy waves, and she looks absolutely exhausted. When she sees me clinging to the side of her house like some kind of deranged Romeo, her mouth drops open.
She shoves the window up and cold air rushes inside. I climb through less gracefully than I used to in my teenage years, nearly knocking over a lamp on her desk.
“Lucas, what are you—” She’s staring at me like I’ve lost my mind, and maybe I have.
I shove my hands in my pockets. “Surprise.”
Something shifts in her expression, and surprise melts into appreciation. Her chin trembles. “Blast from the past.”
“Remember when I used to sneak into your room?” I close the distance between us in two steps, framing her face with my frozen hands. Her skin is warm, and I can feel her pulse racing under my thumbs. “Are you okay? Tell me what happened.”
She reaches past me to close the window, shutting out the cold, then sinks onto the edge of her bed like her legs won’t hold her anymore.
The room smells exactly as I remember. Vanilla and clean laundry with a hint of her perfume.
I glance around, and it’s like walking into a time capsule.
She has the same purple comforter on her bed, the same posters on the walls, and the same desk in the corner where she used to do homework while I distracted her.
“He showed up for dinner,” she says, her voice low. “Just appeared in my parents’ kitchen like he belonged there. Charmed them. Ate my mom’s lasagna. Told stories about Paris. They have no idea who he really is.”
Rage builds in my chest, and it spreads through my veins like poison. “What did he say to you?”
“After dinner, we spoke privately on the porch.” She’s twisting her fingers together and won’t meet my eyes.
“He tried to convince me to come back to Paris with him. Said he made mistakes, that he wanted to start over, that he’d give me everything I deserve.
When I refused—” Her voice cracks. “He grabbed me and tried to pull me close to him, so I pushed him. He fell off the porch onto his ass.”
This makes me grin. “I’m proud of you.”
Proud because she stood up for herself, and that she’s stronger than he ever gave her credit. I can’t believe he had the audacity to put his hands on her like he had any right to touch her.
My voice comes out rougher than I intended. “He’s lucky that’s all you did. If I’d been there—”
“Lucas.” She looks up at me, finally, and there are tears streaming down her face. “There’s more. Things I need to tell you. Things about my past with Dominic that you don’t know.”
The fear in her voice makes my stomach turn. I sit beside her on the bed, and the old springs creak under my weight. I take her hand in mine, and her fingers are ice cold. She’s trembling like leaves in the autumn wind.
“Okay,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “But I want you to know, no matter what you tell me, it changes nothing. I don’t care about your past.”
“I know. But I don’t want you to be blindsided if Dominic decides to retaliate against me.” She takes a shaky breath, then another, like she’s trying to gather her courage. “When Dominic and I were together in Paris, he liked to record us. Our intimate moments.”
The words come out rushed, like she needs to get them out before she loses her nerve.
“I consented to it at first because I trusted him. I thought it was just for us, something private. But now—” She stops, swallows hard. “Now, I’m not sure how many there are. Or if I even knew about all of them.”
My jaw tightens so hard, I hear my teeth grind together. I force myself to breathe through my nose, to stay calm, to let her finish. But inside, I’m already planning how to find Dominic Laurent and break every bone in his smug French body.
“And there was one night—” Her voice breaks completely, and she has to stop. She’s shaking now, her entire body trembling. I squeeze her hand, trying to calm her.
“Take your time,” I say, even though waiting is killing me.
She nods, wipes her eyes with her free hand, then tries again. “There was one night with his best friend. We fooled around, and apparently, Dominic recorded that, too, and…” She can’t continue, and I’m thankful because I don’t want to know.
White-hot anger explodes through my chest like a bomb detonating. My free hand clenches into a fist so tight that my nails press into my palm, hard enough to leave marks. I want to find Dominic Laurent and fuck him up.
But Holiday is sitting beside me, shaking and terrified and waiting for my reaction, so I force myself to breathe. In through my nose, out through my mouth. Again. Again. The rage doesn’t disappear, but I push it down and lock it away for later.
“Tonight, when I refused to return to Paris…” Her voice is barely a whisper now.
“He threatened to release the videos. All of them. If I don’t stop seeing you, he’ll make them public.
He’ll show everyone. My parents, the town, everyone in the culinary world.
He will destroy my reputation and make me look like a whore.
My parents will never look at me the same way.
I’m so scared that you—” She chokes on a sob.
“That you will walk away from me over this.”
I have to physically restrain myself from standing up, putting my fist through her wall, and getting in my truck and driving straight to the Merryville Inn to find that bastard. The thought of her with him and those videos being posted on the internet for everyone to look at makes me see red.
“Lucas.” Her voice is so small, so unlike the confident woman who pushed Dominic off the porch. “Say something. Please.”
I turn to face her, taking her other hand in mine so I’m holding both of them. “Look at me, Holiday.”
She does, her eyes swimming with unshed tears, shame, and fear.
“None of that changes anything,” I tell her. “Not one single thing.”
“But—”