Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Holden waited in the wings, half-hidden by the curtain. The gym buzzed like a barn before a thunderhead, kids shifting, whispering lines, the mic giving off sharp bursts every time someone tested it. None of it held his attention.
Because she did.
Megan had just finished fussing with Timothy’s coat when she straightened and spotted him. The way she hesitated for half a blink before walking his way told him more than words could. Scared but holding steady through it anyway.
“You alright?” Holden asked.
Her breath came too shallow for the self-assured nod she gave. “It’s happening.”
“Sure is.”
She scanned the stage, the kids, the crowd gathering past the curtain. Her hand wavered at her side before she tucked it tight against her skirt.
“You sure about telling it?” he asked.
“No.” Her voice thinned. “But I’m doing it anyway.”
He felt something pull hard in his chest. Pride, mostly. A little fear too, but not for himself. She stood in a room full of folks who might not appreciate the truth half as much as they claimed. Still, she meant to carry it out there.
He touched her elbow, light pressure, waiting for her to step back. She didn’t. That tiny bit of closeness hit him like a spark catching dry tinder.
“This part,” he murmured, “you don’t carry alone.”
Her eyes lifted to his. Whatever she meant to say tangled in her throat.
He leaned in without thinking, just enough that they shared the same breath. Not touching, but close enough that the space between them felt sacred. If she tipped her chin up another inch, he’d have no chance of holding himself back.
He shouldn’t move. Neither should she. They knew it. Kids clustered everywhere. Noise rising. The whole world about to shift.
But she didn’t move away.
“Holden…” Barely a sound.
He searched her face, reading the flicker in her eyes, the way her lips rounded. Want. He felt it match something in him.
“I can’t promise a thing,” he said. “You know that.”
“I know.”
“But I’m here.” His hand slid down, catching her wrist, thumb brushing once against warm skin. “Here for this. For you.”
She drew a sharp breath that shook just once. “And after?”
He didn’t have an answer that wouldn’t break her. He held her gaze anyway. “We take what we get. Minute to minute.”
One of the parent volunteers shouted, “Places!”
The noise snapped the moment clean in half.
Megan jerked a little at the sound, as if waking from a spell. She stepped back quickly, eyes darting toward the stage. The line of kids scrambled into position, Jenna clutching her script like a lifeline.
Megan swallowed. “I’m scared.”
“I know.” Holden gave her hand one last press, letting go slowly. “Be brave anyway.”
The house lights dropped.
Holden moved back into the wings.
Megan walked to her seat.
The curtain rose.
Warm stage light spilled into the shadows where he stood, throwing the kids into sharp relief.
That was when he felt it. The Christmas card in Holden’s coat pocket felt odd.
He couldn’t name in what way. It sat against his chest the same as it had for four days, worn edges familiar through the fabric. But something changed.
A pulse he couldn’t hear. A warmth he couldn’t quite feel. Present in a way it hadn’t been before.
He pressed his palm against his coat. The gym ran hot, the heater working overtime. Probably just his imagination.
Stage lights came up, gold and warm. Jenna stepped forward with her script held in both her trembling hands.
“In December 1870, a terrible blizzard trapped the town of Evergreen Springs,” she read.
Holden stood stage left in the wings where he could see everything.
The children moving into position. Timothy clutched his fake beard with both hands.
Zahara lifted her arms in theatrical despair.
The townspeople huddled together, faces drawn with make-believe fear that looked surprisingly real under the lights.
From here, he spotted Megan in the front row. Spine straight, hands folded in her lap. Eliza sat on one side, Tessa on the other, both close enough to touch if she needed them.
She’d done it. Put his name in that script. Printed it on programs. Given it to children to speak out loud after a hundred and fifty-five years of silence.
The card seemed to shift. A tugging he felt in his bones.
He dropped his hand from his coat. Shoved both hands in his pockets, then pulled them out again. Gripped the edge of the stage wall beside him instead.
Stay present. Witness this. Don’t think about what might happen.
Jenna said, “Then brave Holden Reed stepped forward when no one else would.”
The audience murmured. Holden stiffened. Noise like that could turn mean in a hurry. He had heard enough saloon crowds turn on a dime to know the sound of folks bracing for trouble.
He caught the name Reed traveling through the rows, parents turning toward each other, confusion sharpening into questions. Programs rustled. Whispers built.
Three rows back, Hillary Paige’s voice carried with perfect clarity. “Oh, this is delicious. She actually went through with it.”
Holden gritted his teeth. That spiteful woman.
But Ethan didn’t falter. The boy looked straight at the audience, at all those confused, uncertain faces, and delivered his line without wavering.
“I’ll ride out for supplies. I’ll save everyone!”
Holden’s throat constricted. His name. Spoken with honor. After a hundred and fifty-five years of being forgotten, erased, replaced by a lie, spoken by a child who believed it.
The card pulsed once.
Definite. No mistake.
Holden tightened his grip on the plywood. The gym was hot. His nerves zinged. The card sat quiet for four days straight. No reason it would wake now, during this, when he needed to be present more than he had ever needed anything.
The blizzard scene unfolded. Kids waved white fabric for snow. The fan whirred, sending paper flakes tumbling across the stage. Lighting shifted to cobalt blue. Wind sound effects crackled through the speakers, tinny but effective enough.
For a heartbeat, he was back in 1870, riding through killing cold with ice forming on his beard and his horse stumbling beneath him. The certain knowledge that he might not make it matched against the equally certain knowledge that he must try.
He pulled in air. Grounded himself. This gym. This pageant. These children telling his story the way it should’ve been told from the start.
The audience quieted. Not just listening but leaning forward, captivated by the performance. A grandmother in the third row pressed a tissue to her eyes. Two rows back, a father rested his hand on his son’s shoulder, both of them watching Ethan struggle across the stage against invisible wind.
Holden figured they must be Ethan’s kin.
Even Hillary Paige stopped whispering. Her attention fixed on the stage, calculation giving way to something that looked almost like genuine interest.
He still didn’t like her.
Jenna’s voice rose over the wind effects. “For two days and two nights, Holden Reed rode through the blinding blizzard. His hands froze to the reins. His horse stumbled with exhaustion. But he refused to turn back. He would save the town or die trying.”
The bleakness of that ride came rushing back to him, the sheer hopelessness. The desperate prayers he’d sent up to a God he wasn’t sure existed.
The stage went dark except for a single spotlight on Ethan and Einstein. The boy stood center stage, chest heaving, from exertion or nerves, or acting chops—impossible to tell. But he held his ground. Einstein stood perfectly still beside him, ears forward, professional to his core.
The moment stretched. The gym held its breath.
The card warmed in his pocket.
Holden pressed harder against the stage flat. Splinters bit into his palm.
Not yet. Just let me see this through.
The stage lights came up warm and golden. Wind sounds faded. Soft orchestral music swelled through the speakers, something hopeful, triumphant.
Ethan staggered across the stage and raised one small fist to the sky. “The Fort! The Fort! I made it!”
The townspeople children rushed forward with genuine enthusiasm, surrounding him in grateful embraces that looked less choreographed than real. Maybe they got caught up in it too, the story becoming real in the telling.
Holden shuddered, the cold of his memory fighting against the increasing heat in his chest.
“Within two days, wagons arrived from the fort,” Jenna narrated. “Food. Medicine. Supplies to last the winter. The town of Evergreen Springs was saved!”
Holden glanced toward Megan. She sat forward now, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. Eliza leaned over to whisper something; Megan nodded and smiled, small but genuine.
Relief crashed through him. Maybe this would be all right. Maybe truth didn’t have to cost her everything. Maybe—
The card pulsed three times in rapid succession.
Heat spread through his coat, his shirt, straight into his ribs. Definite now. Undeniable.
Holden grabbed the stage with both hands. Held on.
No. Not now. Not yet.
On stage, the finale scene assembled. All the children gathered, townspeople and pioneers united, standing together while Jenna prepared for the closing narration.
The blistering heat climbed into his chest. Up his spine. Around his shoulders.
Holden locked his knees and dug his heels into the floor. He faced down blizzards that killed grown men, outlaws who wanted him dead, and a hundred miles of hostile territory with winter coming on. He could stand here for five more minutes—just five minutes to hear the end.
The card didn’t care. Warmth wrapped around his throat like a hand closing.
Stay.He threw the word at the magic like a command, as if he had any authority over forces that could pull a man through time. I’m staying right here.
On stage, Jenna lifted her script. The gym went quiet, waiting.
“Evergreen Springs forgot his name for far too long. Today we tell it true, so his courage won’t be lost again.”
The card blazed hot.