Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Hollie
Every girl has that thing that does it for them. For some, it’s watching men do press-ups at the gym. For others, it’s watching firefighters wield gigantic hoses or watching football players tackle one another into the ground.
I hadn’t quite appreciated that, for me, it’s watching grown men swing axes through the air. But it’s hot. Seriously hot. So hot, I’m surprised I’m not gushing slick everywhere.
Clay Jackson isn’t even topless. He’s wearing several layers of clothing, and yet the way he grunts, the way his muscles flex, the way he handles the axe – I think I may actually melt into a puddle right here and now.
The tree is big, and the trunk is surprisingly thick, and yet it takes him probably a dozen hits with the axe before the thing is wavering.
“Stand back,” he calls.
Then he’s walking up to the tree, pushing against the trunk, and with an almighty groan the tree topples and lands in the snow. Everybody gives an appreciative clap, and then his pack mates are stepping forward, and together they’re lifting the tree onto their shoulders.
I have to admit that that is also insanely hot. I’ve unlocked a new kink, and when I’m safely back in Rockview, I’ll probably be searching for videos of men chopping down trees as my nighttime entertainment for the rest of the year.
The men throw the tree into the back of their truck, and then we’re all climbing back inside and driving to the house.
“How did you find that?” Mrs. J asks me from the front seat.
I’m very glad she can’t see my face – or, for that matter, read all the dirty thoughts in my head.
“That was fun,” I squeak.
And I swear Annie senses something funny going on with me, because she narrows her eyes my way.
“I love all these family traditions,” I add.
“Yes,” Mrs. J says. “Although I wish the boys would use the chainsaw and the correct safety equipment. It gives me a slight heart attack every year when they do it this way.”
I know what she means. I think I was on the verge of a heart attack myself. But I just murmur my agreement and avoid my best friend’s gaze, choosing to stare out the window instead.
When we arrive back at the house, the men are already carrying the tree up the steps and inside.
Mrs. J has a pot filled with sand waiting for the tree, and the men position it down inside and spend the next few moments ensuring it’s not only secure but straight.
Nash, in particular, seems to think it’s important that the tree looks its best.
Then we all stand back and admire it, shooing Kenny away as he attempts to nibble on a branch.
“Right,” Mrs. J says. “Now that’s done, you kids can get busy decorating it.”
“Aren’t you helping too?” I ask.
“Oh no,” she says. “We’re making the snacks.”
And with that, Mr. and Mrs. Jackson disappear off to the kitchen.
“I really hope,” Annie says with an eye roll, “that making snacks isn’t a euphemism for something else.”
“Please do not be disgusting,” her brother says.
“What?” Annie says innocently. “I think it’s nice that our parents still have a sex life.”
Clay glares at his little sister, grabbing a load of tinsel from the box on the floor and walking right round to the other side of the tree.
I pick out some pretty baubles from the box, letting Dolly steal a plastic ball-shaped one from my hands and take it away for a chew, and begin to hang them on the lower branches of the tree.
Decorating the tree like this was a tradition that me and my mom had too.
We’d put on our pajamas and a load of Christmas music, crack open some store-bought mulled wine and a box of cookies, and decorate the tree while dancing around, singing as well.
It was one of my favorite moments of Christmas. Just me and my mom, having fun. And as lovely as it is to be here with Annie and her family in this beautiful place, as welcome as they’ve made me feel, I can’t help the ache that starts to develop in my chest.
I guess it was inevitable that the sadness would hit me at some point. I just didn’t expect it to come on so quickly. Or so violently.
I hang the last bauble in my hand and then go tap my best friend on her shoulder.
“I’m just going up to my room for a bit,” I tell her.
“Are you okay?” Annie says. “Has the hangover returned?”
“No,” I say. “It’s not that. It’s just…” I trail off.
But I don’t need to say the words. My best friend knows me well enough.
“I just need a moment or two to myself.”
“Absolutely.” Annie wraps me in a hug. “I understand. But if you want company or you want to talk or you just want to–”
“It’s fine, Annie,” I tell her. “I just need a moment or two by myself.”
I walk out of the giant family living room, passing the kitchen where I can hear Mr. and Mrs. Jackson laughing loudly, creep up the stairs, and into the bedroom that’s mine for the next few days.
I shut the door behind me and slump down onto the bed, snuggling under the covers and pulling them right up to my chin.
I close my eyes. I know my mom wouldn’t want me to be sad.
In fact, her last coherent words to me were to be happy, to enjoy my life.
And I’m trying my best. I really am. But it’s so hard sometimes.
Especially when I want to talk to her. Especially when I want to laugh with her.
Especially when I just want to send her silly memes of hot men chopping down trees.
I close my eyes. What I hate most is it’s becoming harder and harder to remember her face. It was something that was always so familiar, and now, the more I try to reach for it in my mind, the more blurry and distorted it becomes.
“I miss you, Mom,” I whisper. “But I’m going to try. I’m going to try to be happy.”
I don’t know how long I lie in bed, but the room is dark when there’s a knock on the door. I expect it’s Annie, come to check up on me.
“Come in,” I say.
When the door opens, I’m surprised to find it’s not my best friend, but my best friend’s mom. She shuts the door behind her and tiptoes across the room, coming to sit on the bed as I sit up.
“You okay, honey?” she asks. “You doing all right?”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t mean to be rude or–”
“Nonsense.” She shakes her head. “You take all the time you need. I just wanted to check on how you were doing, that’s all.”
“I’m doing okay,” I tell her. “It’s just hard sometimes.”
“Of course it is,” she says. “But you know, lying around on your own in the dark probably makes it seem a whole lot worse.”
I nod. I know she’s right.
“I don’t know if Annie ever told you, but we lost a child. Before we had Clay.”
“I’m so sorry,” I tell her.
“So I know what it’s like, Hollie. I know how overwhelming the grief can be.
It swallows you up until you feel like you’re drowning in it.
And no matter how hard you fight, no matter how hard you struggle, there are times when you find yourself sinking – sinking to the bottom.
But the thing is,” she continues, “you’ve got to keep fighting it.
You’ve got to keep struggling. You’ve got to keep swimming against it.
Find the thing that brings you joy and cling to it like a life raft. So what is that, Hollie?”
“The things that bring me joy?”
“Yes. Home-baked cookies? Dancing on bars?”
“You heard about that, huh?”
“Clay’s a good boy. He always tells his mom,” she says with a grin. “So, is that what it is?”
I shake my head. “Animals – animals always cheer me up.” Looking after the animals in the veterinary clinic has been the thing that’s kept me surviving over the last few months.
Cuddles with kittens or playtime with doggies stops all the sadness, like a plug in a leaky dam.
“I’d really like to go see the horses again. ”
“Horses are one thing we can definitely do. Come on then.”
She takes me downstairs, and we find my best friend sitting cross-legged in front of the Christmas tree, piles of presents, wrapping paper, and Sellotape scattered all around her. The tree’s all decorated and lit up now, and in the dark room it looks so pretty, for a moment, I just stand and stare.
“Don’t worry,” I say, leaning into Mrs. J’s arm. “The horses can wait. Annie’s clearly in the middle of something.”
“Clearly,” Mrs. J says, but she doesn’t let go of my hand, pulling me toward the kitchen instead. “Don’t worry, we’ll find someone else to take you out to the horses.”
Mr. J has an apron tied around his middle and is supervising several simmering pots on the stove.
“Where’s one of those boys when you need them?” Mrs. J says, her hand still clasped to mine as she pulls me outside of the house now and down the porch steps.
We find them out the front, loading round hay bales onto their truck. If I thought the wood chopping was hot, I realize throwing giant bales of hay is just as hot. I need to come back in the summer when all these men will almost definitely be topless while they undertake these tasks.
“Clay!” Mrs. J calls. “Can I steal Nash for a moment?”
Her son lowers the hay bale he has clasped in his hands and peers over toward us. His eyes flick from his mom to me, then back again, and he gives a short, sharp nod. Nash throws another hay bale into the truck, wipes his sleeve over his brow, and comes striding over to us.
“How can I help?” he asks us both.
“I think the horses need grooming,” Mrs. J says. “Hollie’s willing to help. But maybe you could show her how we do it round here?”
She gives me a little push toward Nash, making it clear that I’m not going to get a chance to back out from this.
“Let’s go then,” Nash says.
He’s striding to the barn in the next moment, and I have no choice but to trot along beside him.
“She likes you,” Nash tells me as I drag the brush down Cloud’s long, soft neck.
“I like her too,” I say. “She has such a lovely nature.”
“Not always,” Nash says. “This one can be a bit feisty, but I think you’re a calming influence on her. Or …” he trails off, adjusting his glasses as he does.
“Or?” I say.
He looks at me. “This one has a penchant for sugar cubes. Definitely has a sweet tooth. And your scent, well…”
“Oh,” I say, trying my best to suppress the smile that comment brings. “Some people find my scent a little too sweet,” I say. Sickly is the word I remember one of the guys I dated describing it.
Nash snorts. “It’s just the right amount of sweet, in my opinion. And I have a reputation for being particularly picky about these things.”
“You do?” I say.
“Yeah. They say I’m a perfectionist.” He shrugs, continuing to pick out Cloud’s hooves.
And I wonder what has happened to my brain, because this is not the same as cutting trees, or swinging axes, or throwing hay bales – and yet this is just as hot.
Or maybe, I have to admit, it’s not the actions. It’s the Alphas themselves.
I’ve avoided Alphas because the ones I met back in Rockview – the ones I went on a couple of dates with when I first presented as an Omega – were rude, obnoxious, and incredibly pushy. It was clear that all they wanted was to get inside my panties as quickly as possible.
And me, a young Omega, a complete hormonal mess, didn’t want that at all.
After all, my mom had been left high and dry herself by an Alpha – young, single, in her early twenties.
As much as I love my mom, as much as I loved my childhood, I knew it had been incredibly hard on her, supporting the two of us with no one to lean on, no one to help.
And I definitely didn’t want to end up the same way.
The thing is, the Betas I’ve dated didn’t turn out to be much better. A lot of them were giant jerks too, which is one of the reasons I’ve been off men for the last year and a bit. That, and I was too busy caring for my mom.
“Perfection, huh?” I say to him. “That’s a high standard to maintain.”
“I always say,” he tells me, his eyes flicking up to meet mine, “that if a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well.”
And why does that send a shiver down my spine? Why do I think there’s hidden meaning in those words?
“Especially when it comes to my girls,” he says, patting Cloud’s rump.
And I’m definitely losing my mind, because that sends another shiver down my spine. A man who cares for his animals has always sent my pulse spiraling. It’s lucky most of the other vets at the clinic are women or married – otherwise I’d have fallen in love with them all.
“I understand what you mean,” I tell him. “I always want to do my best for my patients as well.”
Mrs. J is right. My spirits lift as I continue to groom Cloud, lost in the repetition of it, in the smell of the horse and the scent of the Alpha and in his deep voice as he asks me questions about my job, about my life in Rockview – and lastly, about my mom.
I didn’t think I’d want to talk about her, not after the attack of the sadness. But actually, I find it helps. I guess I haven’t talked about her with anyone for months now.
“She was young when she had me,” I explain.
“And I think, although that made it hard for her, it was really special for me. She had a great imagination, lots of energy. She was always swapping jobs, trying her hand at this, trying her hand at that. She never gave up trying to make a better life for herself or for me.”
“She sounds like an incredible woman, Hollie,” Nash says. “And I think she must have been to have brought up a remarkable woman like you.”
I smile into the horse’s coat. “She always said I was the best thing she ever did. Her greatest creation. Her proudest moment.”
He nods. “That’s the biggest compliment.”
“It is,” I say. “I wish I could be more like her.”
He stops what he’s doing and looks over at me again. “The two of you sound remarkably alike,” he says. “I’m surprised you’d say that.”
“Oh no, she was wonderful,” I say. “And I’m… well.” I make a face. “I vomited on Clay’s boots last night and I almost broke his neck out there in the snow.”
“Yes,” Nash says with a smile. “It was brilliant. Clay could do with a bit more chaos in his life.”
I rest my hand on my hip. “Are you saying I’m chaotic, Nash?”
“Absolutely. Absolutely chaotic.” He grins. “Chaotic perfection.”