Chapter 35
Holly
My own heartbeat thunders in my ears, drowning out Charlie’s voice beside me. She’s gripping my arm, her mouth moving, but I can’t hear anything beyond the frantic drumming of my own pulse and the echo of his words.
I love you, Holly.
Let me come home.
My dress suddenly feels suffocating, tight across my chest. I need air. I need space. I need… to get away from this.
“Holly!” Charlie’s voice finally penetrates the haze, sharp with concern. “Hey, talk to me!”
I shake my head. “I… I can’t…” The words are a choked whisper. I wrench my arm free from her grip. The need to escape is overwhelming.
I push back my chair, the legs scraping harshly on the polished floor. Ignoring Charlie’s startled call, I plunge into the crowd.
My focus narrows to a single point: the arched doorway leading out of the main ballroom. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere I can think.
I stumble into a blessedly quiet hallway. The noise level drops instantly, muffled by thick carpet and ornate wood paneling. The air is cooler here, smelling faintly of lemon polish.
I lean back against the wall, trying to calm my breath.
Let me come home.
I love you.
I was a coward.
The words whirl in my head, and I try to make sense of them. He rejected the trade. He’s staying in Chicago. He… he bought the block? And saved Sugar Rush?
The insanity of it leaves me lightheaded. And then the rest… the public confession, the raw vulnerability… laid bare for everyone. For me.
Anger surges, hot and sudden, burning away the shock. How dare he? How dare he walk away, break my heart, shatter Tabby’s trust, and then stand up there and… and do that? Like some romantic hero in a cheesy movie. Like words and money could just erase the hurt he caused…
“Holly.”
The voice comes from the end of the hallway. I flinch, my head snapping up.
Denton is standing in the hallway, backlit by the glow of the ballroom. He looks… wrecked. His tie is slightly askew, his usually impeccable hair disheveled. His eyes are fixed on me, intense and searching. He takes a tentative step forward, then stops.
“Don’t,” I snap, the word cracking like a whip. I push myself off the wall, standing tall despite my trembling knees. “Don’t you come near me right now.”
He flinches as if struck, freezing mid-step. His hands clench at his sides. “Holly, please. Just… let me talk to you.”
“Talk?” My laugh is as sharp as shattered glass. “What could you possibly say, Denton? What magic words do you have left after that… that performance?” I gesture wildly back towards the ballroom.
“Was that part of your strategy? The grand finale? Expect the girl to swoon into your arms?” The fury fuels me, sharpening my voice. “Did you think a public declaration would just… erase everything? Make it all better?”
He winces, his jaw tightening. “No. God, no, Holly. That’s not… I did it because…”
He takes another step, slower this time, his gaze never leaving mine. “Because I was wrong. So fucking wrong.”
“Wrong?” I echo, the anger simmering dangerously. “Is that what you call it? Walking out? Leaving me standing there like an idiot, believing you?”
My voice rises, trembling with the force of my emotion. “It was cruel, Denton. It was cowardly. It was…” I choke on the words, the memory of that icy numbness I felt after he left, the hollow ache of packing up my dream. “It broke me.”
He closes his eyes for a second, a muscle jumping in his jaw. When he opens them again, they are bright with unshed tears. “I know,” he whispers. “I know it did. And I will spend the rest of my life trying to make that up to you. If you let me.”
He takes another step, closing the distance between us. I can smell the faint, clean scent of his cologne. “I was scared, Holly. Scared of needing you that much. Scared of what would happen if… if I let myself love you completely, and then…”
He swallows hard, unable to say the words. “I thought running was the right thing to do. I convinced myself it was.”
He runs a hand through his hair, making it even more disheveled. “But it was stupid and hurtful.”
His gaze bores into mine, intense, pleading. “Seeing the hurt in your eyes… I realized the biggest risk wasn’t loving you. It was losing you. Forever.”
He takes the final step, stopping just an arm’s length away. He doesn’t touch me. He just stands there, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyes holding mine captive.
“I’m not asking you to forget what I did. I’m asking for a chance. A chance to prove that I’m not that coward anymore. That I can be the man you deserve.”
His voice drops to a husky whisper, thick with emotion. “I love you, Holly James. Not because it’s easy, or safe, but because you make me feel alive. You and Tabby… you’re my home. The only home I want.”
My anger doesn’t vanish, but it splinters under the weight of his words, the raw honesty in his eyes, the sheer, trembling vulnerability he’s showing me.
My tears trace hot paths down my cheeks. I look at him – at the faint scar near his eyebrow from a hockey stick to the head, at the desperate hope warring with fear in his stormy eyes, at the way his hands hang slightly open at his sides, waiting.
“Why?” My voice is thick with tears, barely a whisper. “Why should I believe you this time? What’s different?” It’s a plea. A need to understand.
He doesn’t hesitate. “Because I’m choosing the risk of loving you, every single day. I’m choosing to fight for it. For us. Because it’s the only thing that matters.”
He takes a shaky breath. “I’m not promising it won’t be hard. Or that I won’t screw up again. But I’m promising you my whole heart, Holly. My loyalty. For as long as you’ll have me. That’s what’s different. I’m all in.”
He reaches out then, slowly, tentatively. His hand hovers in the space between us, palm up. An invitation.
I stare at his hand. At the faint calluses from his hockey stick, the strong lines of his fingers.
I think of those hands carefully rolling cookie dough with Tabby, gently wiping flour from her cheek.
I think of the way they felt on my body, warm and possessive. The way they felt laced through mine.
The sliver of hope I’d tried to crush flares, bright and insistent, burning through my anger and fear. It’s terrifying. Risking my heart again, after he shattered it so completely. But the alternative… the cold, numb emptiness of a life without him, without Tabby… that feels like a death sentence.
I look up from his hand to his eyes. They look calmer and clearer now. Full of a love so deep, so raw, it steals my breath. I see the change there. The man who built walls realizing they were a prison, and choosing to tear them down.
Slowly, I place my trembling hand in his.
His fingers close around mine instantly, warm and strong, anchoring me. A shuddering breath escapes him. He pulls me gently towards him, his other hand coming up to cradle my cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear. His touch is achingly familiar, yet entirely new. A promise. A beginning.
“Holly?” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion, his forehead resting against mine.
“Take me home, Denton,” I whisper back.
He doesn’t speak. He just nods, a quick, decisive movement, his eyes blazing with a fierce light.
I shoot off a quick text to Charlie, letting her know what I’m doing. I have no idea what she’ll think when she reads it, but I can’t think about that right now.
Taking my hand again firmly in his, Denton turns, leading me down the quiet hallway towards the elevators.
The ride down to the parking garage is charged with electricity. Our reflections shimmer in the polished steel doors – him tall and intense in his tux, me in my green velvet, tear-streaked and holding his hand like a lifeline.
He doesn’t let go of my hand. His thumb traces slow circles on the back of my knuckles, a silent reassurance, a constant point of contact.
“Tabby…” I start. “Where is she?”
“With my mom,” he says. He glances at me quickly. “They went to her house after… after I walked off stage. Mom texted.” He hesitates. “Tabby heard the speech and seemed confused but she’s okay.”
My heart clenches. “What did she say?”
A small smile touches his lips. “According to Mom she said, ‘Daddy fixed Holly’s bakery.’”
We find his car in the garage and Denton drives through the snowy Chicago streets. The frantic energy of the gala, the shock of his declaration, begins to recede, replaced by a quieter, more profound sense of… peace.
When we get to the apartment, it’s exactly as I remember it. Sleek lines, minimalist furniture, cool tones.
The ‘Holly Tree’ still stands in the corner, its twinkling lights casting a warm, festive glow over the otherwise austere space.
Tabby’s gingerbread castle sits proudly on the dining room table, slightly lopsided.
And the scent… beneath the clean lemon polish, there’s a faint, lingering trace of vanilla and cinnamon.
Denton shrugs out of his tuxedo jacket, tossing it carelessly over the back of the sofa – a gesture so unlike his usual tidiness it speaks volumes.
He loosens his tie, pulling it off completely and dropping it on top of the jacket.
He turns to face me, still standing just inside the doorway, feeling suddenly awkward in the extravagant dress.
I have a brief moment of panic. So much has happened tonight. Should I really trust him?
“Holly…” he begins, but I shake my head.
“Don’t,” I say softly. Not angrily this time, but needing… more clarity.
I walk to the tree, to the tangible proof of the life we’d started to build together. I touch a branch, feeling the spiky needles beneath my fingers. “It’s a lot to take in,” I murmur. “All of it. The speech… the trust… the bakery… the things you said…”
He moves closer, stopping a few feet away. “I meant every word,” he says. “Every single one.”
I turn to face him. “I know you did,” I whisper. “That’s what’s terrifying.”
He takes a step closer. “Why?”