Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Chance
The snow crunches under my skis, every glide pounding the same thought into my skull: I can’t outrun this.
No matter how fast, how far, I’ll never escape the single biggest screw-up of my life.
Six months of marriage.
Six months of pretending to be someone I’m not.
A lifetime of regret neatly gift-wrapped in shame.
I grip my poles tighter, trying to ground myself in the bite of cold metal against my palms.
The line to the top of the mountain shuffles forward. A steady drip-drip-drip from the lift frame overhead beats down on me as we work our way through the line, each icy drop landing on my face and neck another little "fuck you" from the universe.
My shoulders bunch under my jacket, muscles coiled tight enough to snap.
“Man, your dad zinged you good,” Nick says eyeing me warily.
Yup, that was the other “fuck you” of the day.
Thanks for reminding me, fucker.
My father's words echo in my head, his dead-eyed stare burning through me all over again. The cold wind whips through the lift line, but it's got nothing on the glacier that's been parked in my chest since brunch. Each breath feels like swallowing shards of ice.
"Not now," I snap, my jaw clenched so tight it aches.
The tension radiates down my neck, digging between my shoulder blades like claws.
My pulse pounds in my temples, a steady drumbeat of shame and anger.
I couldn't see Holly's face when my father dropped that bomb, but I didn't need to. The way she froze beside me, that catch in her breath, how she shifted away—I haven't stopped feeling it since.
I hurt her. And I can't undo it. The knowledge sits like acid in my gut.
Just gnawing away.
A snowball streaks past my face, followed by high-pitched squealing of a couple of kids locked in mortal combat—snowball style.
"Hey!" I bark, my voice carrying that drill sergeant edge that usually has recruits snapping to attention. My hands curl into fists, knuckles cracking. "Take it somewhere else."
They ignore me completely.
Fucking great.
A muscle ticks in my jaw.
Another projectile flies by, spraying ice crystals across my face. My fingernails bite into my palms.
Deep breaths.
They're just kids.
"Might want to dial it back there, Captain America." Charlie's voice floats over my shoulder. "Your murder face is showing."
"Pretty sure that's his regular face today," Eve adds.
Great. Just who I need crawling up my ass right now.
Only I turn to find not just Charlie and Eve, but Holly too. The sister trifecta, come to witness my rapid unraveling.
My heart slams against my ribs.
Holly's studying the snow like it holds the secrets to corporate domination.
Avoiding my gaze.
And from the looks of it, stone cold sober.
The flush on her cheeks isn't from champagne this time—it's from the cold. Or anger. Probably both.
My father has that effect on people. The bastard's always known exactly where to stick the knife.
But she also drifts closer, like there's some magnetic force between us. The same one I've been fighting since I spotted her on her knees at baggage claim.
Only now I'm supposed to play the role of dickhead brother's best friend, so I can't do one damn thing about it.
Can't reach for her.
Can't explain.
Can't fix this.
"Seriously though," Charlie continues, "are you having a stroke? Because your eye is doing that twitchy thing."
"My eye is not—" I catch my reflection in a nearby window.
Son of a bitch.
It’s twitching like an emergency broadcast of my inner chaos to the world.
"Don't worry about the parents." Eve's tone carries that scary confidence that usually means someone's about to get crushed to dust. "I've got just the thing to dial them down a notch."
"Dial them down?" Nick's eyebrows shoot up. "Should we be scared?"
"Probably." She grins, but there's steel underneath. "But plausible deniability and all that."
More shuffling in line. More fucking dripping. More of Holly refusing to meet my eyes, scouring the ground at our feet.
Probably looking for my balls.
Listen, I’ll take all the help I can get.
"The last time you 'handled' something," Charlie interjects, "Dad's golf cart ended up in the lake."
Eve shrugs, all false innocence. "Total accident. Could have happened to anyone."
"You took out the brake line," Charlie says with a hard roll of her eyes.
"Accidentally."
They rattle on about bullshit while I'm pinned between the wary stare of my best friend and the silent hurt of the woman who's starting to matter way too much.
Hurt I can’t even acknowledge. Because we have a deal, and I'm not adding breaking it to my growing list of failures.
I want to tell her how young and stupid I was, how that mistake is why I know firsthand about staying true to yourself no matter what our parents think—something I sure as shit didn't do.
So many words burn mercilessly in my throat, choking me.
How do I explain being such a coward, so fucking weak, that I married someone I didn't love just to impress my old man?
No, really. How do I—seven years older than Holly, but clearly no wiser—explain how out of the five of us, I’m the one who caved to the pressure? I’m the one who danced.
The only one.
Nick, Eve, Charlie… they blazed their paths. They didn’t make a big fuss about it. Just held onto the confidence knowing they deserved to find their own way on their own terms.
How do I make that make sense for a woman who’s spent her whole life on the complete opposite end of the spectrum, spending every moment railing against the very idea of falling in line?
Drip.
The lift creaks overhead as we get closer, the sound grating on my last nerve. Each metallic squeal sends another spike through my temples.
Holly's shoulder brushes mine, and my blood surges. Nothing more than a brush of our jackets, and my cock swells in my pants.
The same way it did as I watched her volley verbally like a goddamn queen this morning with that champagne flute perched daintily between her fingers.
While I sat there and pretended I didn't give a fuck that they ignored her. Literally walled her out of the conversation entirely.
That’s the job, right? What better way to look like I hate her than pretending to be one of them.
Drip.
Holly's perfume drifts up, not as subtle as vanilla but not as sweet as birthday cake. Something uniquely her that makes my mouth water and my hands itch to grab her.
To pull her close.
To—
"You know," Eve says carefully, "if you need to talk about?—"
"I don't." The words come out sharper than intended, edged with the desperation clawing at my insides.
Charlie whistles low. "Wow. Definitely having a stroke."
Drip.
"I'm fine." Another lie. Sure, my failed marriage was more a lie by omission, but a lie nonetheless.
"Next!" The lift operator's voice yanks me out of the bullshit stew I'm drowning in.
Almost there.
Just need to make it to the Shred Shack with Nick.
Like old times. When things were simple. When I didn't feel like I was being torn apart from the inside out.
"Hey, mister?" A high-pitched voice pipes up. One of the snowball terrorists points above our heads with a grin. "Mistletoe!"
Son. Of. A. Bitch.
Holly gasps next to me and fuck if I know what it means. She wants me to? She’ll slice off my balls if I try?
Drip.
"You gotta kiss her!" The kid bounces on his feet, clearly thrilled with his role as mistletoe enforcer.
Not that either matters. We hate each other. That’s the deal.
Only I’m doing a bang up job at turning our ruse into real fucking hate.
"You want to live long enough to see adulthood?" I growl, my voice rough with barely contained violence. "Shut it."
His friend chimes in. "You chicken?"
"Nope, I just don't take orders from a kid who hasn't even gotten his big kid ha?—"
"Chance!" Nick snaps, exasperation heavy in his voice.
Drip.
"What?" I spread my arms wide, spoiling for a fight. Desperation and anger mix in my blood like gasoline and lit matches.
"It's not like you want me kissing her ,” I say, jabbing a finger in Holly’s direction, but doing every damn thing to not actually look at her. “You're under the damn thing too. You want a piece of this?"
Nick, about done with my shit, leans in with a dose of pissed-off of his own. "If it keeps your lips off my sister, pucker up buttercup," he says, tossing the challenge out and calling my bluff with all the confidence he'll win.
Well, if my day is fucked, so is his.
"Fine."
Before reason can save me from myself, insanity grabs the wheel with an enthusiastic— I've got you, bro!
Grabbing the front of his jacket the same way Holly had me by the dog tags yesterday—I ignore the shock launching his eyebrows to his hairline and plant one on him, quick and hard.
When I pull back, his expression lands somewhere between horror and hysterical laughter. He wipes his mouth with the back of his glove.
"Well," Eve drawls into the stunned silence. "I've gotta say, seems like a waste. Guy-on-guy action should be way hotter than whatever that was."
Charlie makes a gagging sound. "Now I can't kiss my man without kissing my brother. Fucking great."
"Stupidity and self-destruction. Good plan," Holly's voice cuts through the chaos. "Throwing tantrums now? Maybe you should be following daddy’s commands if you can’t be a goddamned adult."
Bulls—fucking—eye.
Just when I thought I’d maxed out on shame. Apparently not.
"Stupidity and self-destruction. Good plan," Holly's voice cuts through the chaos. "Throwing tantrums now? Maybe you should be following daddy's commands if you can't be a goddamned adult."
Bulls—fucking—eye.
Just when I thought I'd maxed out on shame. Apparently not.
She’s never enlisted, but she sure as hell has the precision aim as though she did — her ammunition? Military grade.
Her words tear through me, through defenses I didn't even know I had left. Because she's right. The first night, I lay there, feeling her tentative touches, listening to her whispered subtle confessions—and I was too much of a coward to even let her know I was awake.
Too afraid of what it meant that her fingertips on my skin felt like coming home.
The same coward who got married so he could prove he was some big swinging dick of a son who deserved his father’s respect.
But this?
Holly seeing that weakness? It guts me in a way Noelle's betrayals never could because Noelle was hollow—something that looked solid but crumbled at the first touch.
Holly is steel and fire and unflinching truth. She sees right through every carefully constructed wall to the fear underneath.
And now I know she finds me lacking.
The lift operator waves us forward. Thank fuck. Because I can't breathe under the weight of her contempt. Can't stand here knowing that while I memorized every brush of her fingers in the dark, without her knowing.
And she pities the man who can’t even be honest about being awake.
More lies. So many lies.
"Dad's comment mind fucked you hard," Charlie's voice has lost its edge, replaced by something too close to sympathy.
Drip.
"I'm fine." The words come out strangled.
"Yeah, that's why you just rage-kissed my boyfriend." She crosses her arms. "Totally screams 'fine' to me."
Nick is still occasionally wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "For the record, that was a solid two out of ten. No tongue, no passion. Holly gives better kisses to her coffee cup."
"Can we not discu?—"
"Oh, we're absolutely discussing this." Eve's grin is predatory. "I'm thinking diagrams. Maybe a PowerPoint."
The lift operator clears his throat. "You folks riding or writing a romance novel?"
"Ladies," I gesture to the exit ramp, my movements jerky with tension. "This has been fun, but—" I throw my arm out, blocking the girls' path. "No sisters allowed."
"Seriously?" Charlie's voice could strip paint. "What are you, twelve?"
"Generous estimate." I force a smirk I don't feel, my face tight with the effort.
Better they think I'm being childish than see how Holly's words hollowed me out. How the shame burns in my gut, mixing with the memory of her soft touches that I was too afraid to acknowledge.
Eve's eyes narrow. "Back to this bullshit?"
"Just maintaining tradition." I keep my arm firmly in place, even as everything in me screams to let Holly stay.
“Being a dick and running away,” Holly fires back, all spitfire and steel. "But hey, at least you're on brand."
The words hit their mark because she's right. I am being a dick. But it's better than the alternative. Better than admitting I can't trust myself around her.
I make the mistake of looking at her. Really looking at her.
The hurt in her eyes makes it virtually impossible to breathe.
My lungs seize.
This isn't just about my father's comment or Noelle or any of it, this is about me pushing her away.
Again.
Just like we did all those years ago.
"I'm not running." The lie is bitter on my tongue, "I'm?—"
"A coward."
Drip.
Charlie sucks in a rough breath. "Fuck, Hols."
Without another word, she skis out of the line, head high.
"Masterclass in fucking up," Eve mutters.
“Glad you made it to the show.” A growl of pure frustration grinds in my throat. I don’t need the fucking judgment. I’m doing just goddamn fine with it on my own.
Charlie glances between Holly's retreating form and me. "For someone who's supposed to be good at strategy, you suck at this."
With a shake of my head, I push off and line up for the lift. One look over my shoulder confirms which side my sisters are on as they head off in the same direction as Holly.
Nick flips the metal arm down as soon as we settle on the bench and begin our ascent.
Dragging us higher, even as I've never sunk lower.
Holly's always seen straight through everyone's defenses. A master at reading people and brave enough to call people on their bullshit with deadly accuracy.
And now she's seen through mine.
My hands shake as I grip the safety bar.
"You know what the difference is between you and Holly?" Nick finally breaks the silence as we near the top.
I don't want to know. But I ask anyway, my voice rough. "What?"
"She’s the first to apologize for what she does, but she never apologizes for who she is. " He studies my face. "Maybe you should try it sometime."
And that's exactly why she deserves better than me.