Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
H olly
They show up on a Sunday.
No warning. No call. Just a sleek black SUV crunching gravel in the drive and two too-perfect silhouettes stepping out like they own the damn mountain.
My stomach drops before I even open the door.
Jack’s out back, sawing cedar for a client job, and I’m praying he stays there.
“Mom? Dad?” I step out onto the porch, already bracing.
My mother’s mouth pinches like she’s sucked on a lemon. “Really, Holly? This is where you’ve landed? Thank God you still had your location turned on on your phone or we’d never have found you.”
My father just scowls at the cabin like it’s a personal insult. “We thought this was temporary.”
“It was,” I lie.
They glance past me. Toward the woodshed. The stacked lumber. The sound of Jack’s saw slicing through silence.
“Is he here?” my mom asks, voice sharp.
“Don’t,” I warn, stepping in front of them. “This isn’t your business.”
“It became our business the second you dragged Josie out to the middle of nowhere to shack up with some—some woodsman .”
“Woodsman?” I snort. “Jesus, Mother. He’s not Bigfoot. He builds furniture. He runs a business. He’s Josie’s?—”
The door creaks behind me.
Jack.
His voice is quiet, lethal. “I’m Josie’s what?”
I whip around. He’s shirtless again, jeans dusty, sawdust clinging to his skin like a second layer. His eyes, though—those are pure fire. Cold and hot all at once.
“Jack—”
He walks forward, slow and steady. "Your parents came to visit?"
My mom’s mouth drops open. She’s not used to men like Jack. Men who don’t flinch. Don’t grovel. Don’t give a damn about their curated disappointment.
“Jack, please,” I say, stepping between them.
But he doesn’t look at them. He only looks at me.
And suddenly I know.
He heard enough.
“Inside,” he says.
“Jack—”
“Now, Holly.”
I glance at my parents. My mom looks scandalized. My dad just folds his arms.
I walk inside.
He follows.
The moment the door shuts, it’s like the oxygen gets sucked out of the room.
He doesn’t say a word. Just stares. Hard. Like he’s stripping away every layer I’ve ever used to protect myself.
I open my mouth. Close it. Try again.
“They don’t know the whole story,” I whisper.
“But you do.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
I swallow. “I wanted to. I planned to?—”
He steps closer. “Don’t. Don’t stand there and feed me pretty lies like they’re easier to swallow than the truth.”
“I was scared, Jack.”
“Of what?” His voice cracks. “That I’d be a bad father? That I wouldn’t care? That I’d walk away?”
I shake my head, eyes burning. “That you wouldn’t want her. That you’d forget again. That it would hurt worse the second time.”
Silence.
Then he speaks, low and dark.
“I can’t believe you're the girl that I wrote letters to for all those years. There was something about you that was so familiar–so easy–and now I know why. I’ve been lied to before, Holly. But this—this cuts deeper than anything.”
My breath hitches. “Don’t say that.”
“You had my daughter , and you didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t know how!”
He backs up, dragging a hand through his hair. Pacing now. Angry. Caged.
“How old is she?”
“Five.”
He lets out a breath like it physically punches him. "Five years, and I never got to hold her. Never got to see her take her first steps. Say her first word. Five years and I was a stranger."
"I was nineteen. You were drunk. It was one night?—"
"One night that changed everything. And you let me walk away–go back to the desert like nothing happened. Just tell me why. Because I look at you and I see a woman trying like hell not to fall back into something she already fell for once."
I exhale shakily. "It was one night."
His brow lifts. "A hell of a night."
"You didn’t even remember me."
"That’s not true. I remembered the way you tasted–and to be honest–you are using a different name now. You think I could really forget a woman like you?" His eyes flick up and down my form. “Why’d you change your name?”
“I didn’t,” I defend, “Holly is my name. I just hated it for years so I went by my middle name–Katherine– Kat.”
His lips are inches from mine now, his breath warm, his stare all-consuming.
"You disappeared, Holly. And now you’re back, with a kid who looks like me and eyes that say you’re still mine."
My chest tightens. Everything I’ve been holding back—every fear, every truth—rises up, clogging my throat. Jack doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. Just blinks slowly, pain radiating through his irises.
"How long were you gonna keep that from me?"
Tears sting my eyes. "I didn’t know how to tell you."
His voice is softer now, but still firm. "You tell me by telling me . I don’t need perfection, Holly. I need truth."
My lip trembles. "I was scared. You didn’t remember. You were drunk, and I thought—I thought maybe it didn’t matter to you."
"It matters," he growls, dragging his hand through his hair. "It matters so damn much I can barely breathe when I look at her."
I cross my arms, hugging myself tight. "You don’t understand–I didn’t have a choice–my parents–"
He turns on me, eyes blazing, cutting me off mid-sentence. "Everyone has a choice. You just didn’t pick me. "
Tears spill, hot and fast.
“I’m sorry, Jack. I thought I was doing what was best.”
His voice breaks. “You were wrong.”
And with that, he walks out the door.
Leaving me behind.
Again.