Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Blake
Headlights swept the cab as Duke’s truck caught up behind us, his horn giving a short warning blast. My phone buzzed against the console. I tapped the speaker button.“Yeah?”
Rafe’s voice came through, low and urgent.
“I’ve got my college buddy Tony on the line.
Might have snowed them about my brother-in-law, but they're not going to let this go easily.
" The unspoken they're not going to let her go easily was eerily loud and I cursed.
I'd been so focused on Holly, I hadn't given a thought to what came next.
“Miss Turner, I'm Agent Carlton,” Tony introduced himself. “We've had your business under investigation for some time, I'm afraid.”
Holly’s head snapped up. “My business? What do you mean my business? I don't own a business.”
Tony hesitated, and I heard the paper shuffle on his end. “Then I should probably tell you it looks like your parents weren’t entirely honest. You are the legal owner of Clearwater Insurance. It was left to you in your grandmother's will and is being managed by your parents and your lawyer.”
She blinked fast, confusion warring with disbelief. “That's impossible. Why didn't I know?”
“Widescale fraud from what we can see,” Tony said gently.
“The business—your grandmother’s company—was transferred into your name when she died.
Your parents have been using your legal ownership to funnel money, file insurance claims, and shield assets.
On paper, you’re the sole proprietor of two subsidiaries, including one that’s been moving seven-figure payouts. ”
For a heartbeat, there was nothing but the sound of the engine and the rush of wind outside. Then Holly’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “They used me. They used my name.”
Her face went pale, and I could see the terror bloom behind her eyes as she turned toward me. “Blake, they’ll think it’s me. They’ll say I knew. You don’t understand—they always make everything my fault.”
I reached across the console, closing my hand around hers before the panic could spiral. “Hey. Look at me.” She did, barely, tears trembling at the edges. “No one’s blaming you. Tony, tell her.”
Tony’s voice softened. “Ms. Turner, you’re not under investigation.
You’re the victim here. The accounts were opened when you were still a minor.
We already have them under investigation for insurance fraud, and we have the lawyer they've been using who's being extremely talkative. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
Holly pressed both hands to her face, voice breaking through her fingers. “I didn’t even know Nana left me anything. She told me once that I’d always have a home, but I just assumed that meant she didn't think Mom or Dad would ever make me leave.”
" We’re freezing the accounts right now. I'll be in touch.” He rang off.
I felt her trembling beside me. She lowered her hands and stared at the dashboard like it was the only thing holding her upright. “All this time,” she said quietly, “I thought I was just a burden they tolerated. And really, I was the one paying their bills.”
Her voice cracked on the last word, and that was enough to undo me. I reached over and brushed my thumb across her knuckles. “You were never a burden, Holly. You were the damn foundation they stood on — they just never told you.”
She laughed once, raw and shaky. “Is that why Vincent wanted to marry me?”
I hesitated, but she wasn't an idiot, and I didn't think the question needed answered.
Rafe’s voice came back over the line. “Tony’s filing the warrants. He says to get her somewhere safe for the night. They’ll pick up the Turners and Vincent as soon as they have them.”
“Copy that,” I said, and ended the call. I reached out and took her hand in mine.
Holly
The world outside the truck window blurred into streaks of white and gray, the hum of the tires steady beneath us.
I kept Banjo tucked in my lap, half hidden under Blake’s jacket, and tried not to cry again.
Biscuit pushed his nose between the seats and licked my hand, his quiet way of reminding me I wasn’t alone.
I didn’t know what to say—or even where to look.
The cab smelled faintly of pine cleaner and leather, like him.
Safe. Too safe.Every time I blinked, I saw my father’s calm, disappointed stare; my mother’s perfect smile stretched tight around her teeth; Vincent’s eyes, cold and flat.
They’d all talked about love, about home, about family, and I’d believed every lie because I’d been trained to.
“Breathe, sweetheart,” Blake said softly, his hand steady on the wheel. “It’s over now.”
I nodded, though my chest still felt tight and hollow, like there wasn’t enough room inside me for relief.
Headlights glowed behind us—the second truck, his crew. I hadn’t met them before tonight, but I’d seen them in the doorway earlier, solid shadows who looked like they could take down a building without slowing their stride. They followed us all the way back, a silent wall of protection.
When we finally pulled into Blake’s drive, the men climbed out, snow crunching beneath their boots. The cold air hit my face, sharp and real, and for the first time I realized I was free.
Rafe, the one with kind eyes and a beard like a lumberjack’s, offered me a warm smile. “Blake says you’re a baker,” he said. “My wife’s gonna lose her mind when she hears that. She’s been trying to make cinnamon rolls that don’t collapse for years.”
I blinked, startled. “Oh. I—I’m not really—”
He chuckled. “She’ll have you in the Saturday brunch group before you can run for it.”
Tyler, tall and cocky in a flannel shirt, laughed quietly. “Don’t let him kid you,” he said. “It’s not a group—it’s a cult. They trade recipes and drink enough mimosas to float the Saint John.”
Rafe swatted him on the shoulder, and the easy teasing between them pulled a small, unexpected laugh from my throat. It sounded strange at first, thin and shaky, but it was laughter all the same—and it didn’t feel wrong.
Duke, the quiet one, nodded toward Banjo where he peeked out from under my arm. “That the bunny that saved the day?” he asked.
“Sort of,” I said, ducking my head.
"What's his name?" I gaped because this huge man with tattoos wanted to know what I called my bunny. "Banjo," I whispered.
He smiled, slow and genuine. “Then you keep him close. My Gemma’s got a bear. She says he keeps nightmares away.” He grunted. "I tell her that's my job, but it doesn't hurt to have a back-up."
Something in my chest loosened at that. I smiled back at him, uncertain, but real.
Blake opened the truck door for Biscuit, who jumped down and stretched before trotting straight to me. I dropped to my knees in the snow, still clutching Banjo, and buried my face in Biscuit’s fur. He pressed closer with a soft whine, warm and solid, and the last of my trembling eased.
Rafe leaned against his truck and grinned. “Told you, man. Even the dog’s got better taste than us.”
The others laughed quietly, but Blake didn’t join in. He just watched me, his expression steady and patient, like he wasn’t sure whether to move or stay still in case he scared me away.
For the first time in years, no one was telling me what to say, what to wear, or how to act. I didn’t have to apologize for breathing, for existing, for being too much or not enough. I could just… be.
When the crew finally said their goodbyes and promised to stop by soon, Blake saw them out, closing the door behind them with a quiet click. The house felt still again and warm, safe, strange in its peace.
I traced Banjo’s soft ear with my thumb and whispered, “You came for me.”
Blake’s eyes flicked to mine, and something unreadable crossed his face before he looked away. “Yeah,” he said roughly. “Guess I did.”
"What about them?"
He knew who I meant. "They're not anyone you have to worry about ever again. You heard the agent. It's taken care of."
I believed him. Biscuit thumped his tail again, and the three of us—the dog, the bunny, and me and I followed him toward the kitchen.
We ate takeout pizza.
We ate in silence at first, cross-legged on the floor like kids at a sleepover. Biscuit hovered hopefully until Blake gave him a piece of crust.
After a while, I realized he was watching me again. Not staring exactly, just looking, quiet and thoughtful.
What if he regretted bringing me home?
He leaned back against the couch, one arm draped over his knee. “You’ve been through hell, Holly. I know that. And I think I owe you an explanation.”
My smile faltered. “For what?”
He hesitated, then looked down at the pizza box like it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the room. “When you tried to kiss me.”
My stomach flipped. I looked down, cheeks burning. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking—”
“Stop,” he said gently. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
I glanced up at him, confused.
He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I didn’t stop you because I didn’t want you to kiss me. I stopped you because I was afraid you felt like you owed me something. That if I didn’t pull away, you’d think I expected it.”
I blinked hard, swallowing the knot in my throat. How could I tell him I wanted to be attractive like Amanda? That I wanted him to look at me with desire not just with kindness?
"I didn't work it out until after, but with Amanda everything was transactional. She did something for me expecting triple in return. It took me so long to realize you're not like that I screwed everything up."
For a long moment, neither of us said anything. The only sounds were Biscuit’s soft breathing and the faint hum of the refrigerator.
Blake leaned forward then, elbows on his knees, and looked straight at me. “Holly,” he said, steady and calm, “from now on, you spend every night in my arms.”
I froze.
He didn’t rush to explain it away, just let the words settle between us, heavy and sure.
“Not because you owe me,” he added quietly.
“But because I can’t stand the idea of you ever being in someone else's arms, or waking up alone and scared again. You need sleep. You need to feel safe. And I need to know you’re all right. ”
But that still wasn’t what I wanted, or not just. And I didn't know how to explain. I could feel my face flushing, but he didn’t let me look away.
“Every night,” he repeated, his voice low and gentle.
“You sleep right here, with me. No more hiding. No more being alone.” He paused, and I could see him thinking through every word, like he was afraid I’d misunderstand.
“If you need space, you ask. If you want me to hold you, you say so. But it’s not optional, Holly. I want you with me. I need it.”
I blinked at him, not sure I’d heard right. “You really want me to?”
He nodded once. “Every night.”
The world tilted a little. Not in a crazy way, just in that way where something finally clicks into place. I didn’t move at first. I didn’t want to cry again. But when he reached out, slow and careful, I leaned toward him until my head found his shoulder.
He didn’t say anything, just wrapped an arm around me, his warmth soaking through the hoodie. His heartbeat was slow, steady, like an anchor.
Biscuit sighed from the rug, curled up at our feet.
I hadn’t realized until that moment how loud my head had been for months with the noise, the worry, the constant fear. Now it was quiet and I closed my eyes. “Okay.”
He brushed a hand through my hair, his voice low enough that I almost didn’t hear it. “Good girl.”