Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Everett
I can't think of anything worse than standing in this spot, at this moment in my life.
After everything—the Tara post, the reindeer, the fight with Sierra—standing up here like a prize bull at auction feels like a punishment designed specifically for me.
But the show must go on. That's what Caleb said. Give them something else to talk about.
So here I am. Smiling like my world isn't on fire.
Roman goes first.
The crowd loses its collective mind. Paddles fly. Numbers climb. Some woman in the third row looks ready to commit crimes.
He sells for eighteen hundred dollars and a promise to “keep the flannel on.”
Nolan goes second.
Quieter energy, but no less intense. The strong, silent type apparently does it for a very specific demographic. A group of women in matching sweaters pool their resources and win him for two thousand flat.
He looks like he'd rather be fed to wolves.
Caleb goes third.
He milks every second. Flexes. Winks. Blows kisses. Turns the whole thing into a one-man show that somehow nets twenty-two hundred dollars and at least three marriage proposals.
And then it's my turn.
Holly takes the microphone.
The smile she aims at me doesn't reach her eyes.
“And now, ladies...” She pauses, letting the anticipation build. “The moment you've been waiting for. The main event. The man, the myth, the mountain, and lovingly known as Powder Pup #3.” She draws out another dramatic pause. One. Two. Three. “Everett Morgan.”
Stepping onto the stage, I force a smile I don't feel and hope I don’t look feral.
There’s no way I don’t look feral.
All teeth, trepidation, and total heartbreak.
“Now, let me tell you what you're bidding on tonight.” Holly's voice is warm, inviting.
“This man will fix your snowblower. Chop your firewood. Carry your groceries through a blizzard without breaking a sweat.” She gestures toward me like a game show host. “He'll remember your coffee order.
He'll notice when you've had a hard day.
He'll make you feel like the only woman in the room.”
The crowd sighs. Paddles twitch with anticipation.
Holly's smile sharpens.
“Now, I have to warn you,” Holly continues, her voice sweet as antifreeze. “This one comes with a few... quirks. Commitment issues.” She tilts her head. “A real gift for making your mascara run—and an even better gift for making you think it's your fault.”
Silence descends until the quiet becomes absolutely deafening.
Feral. Nope, my smile hadn’t dialed to feral just yet.
But now… now I'm willing to bet my mountain that I look like a record-setting case of rabies.
A few nervous laughs scatter through the crowd.
Holly grins, all teeth. “I kid, I kid. Mostly.” She gestures toward me. “Now who wants to start the bidding?”
The paddles go up. The numbers climb. I stand there like meat on a hook, watching the room blur past me while Holly calls out bids with barely concealed venom.
But I'm not watching the bidders.
I'm watching Sierra.
She's in the back corner, camera raised, documenting everything like she promised. Professional. Controlled. Not looking at me.
The bidding hits three thousand.
I catch her eyes—red-rimmed and devastated.
Thirty-two hundred.
She bites her trembling lip fighting back tears.
Thirty-five.
“Going once at thirty-five hundred...”
A shudder rolls through her and she lowers her camera.
“Going twice...”
She turns toward the door.
“Sold! To the lady in red!”
Sierra slips out.
Gone.
Something cold floods my chest.
No.
I don't hear the rest. Don't register the winner. Don't care about the check being written or the hands trying to shake mine.
I need to find her.
Jumping off the stage, I’m already moving toward the exit, when I spot him.
Justin. Holding hands with a guy.
Fuck.
He wasn't flirting with her. He wasn't trying to win her back. He was just... talking. Saying hi. Being polite.
Exactly like she said.
And I—
Typical fucking guy.
I saw what I was afraid of seeing. I made her the villain in a story she wasn't even part of. And then I took the most vulnerable thing she ever shared with me—Eleanor and Jedediah, the initials, the split log, all of it—and I beat her with it.
I used our story as a weapon.
What the fuck did I do?
I push through the crowd, desperate now, needing to find her, needing to explain—
Holly steps into my path.
“Going somewhere?”
“Holly, move.”
“That little performance back there?” She crosses her arms. “The mascara line? That was just the warm-up.” Her voice drops, steel wrapped in silk. “Hurt her again, and I'll make sure the next auction is for your organs.”
“I need to find her—”
“What you need is to give her space.”
“I fucked up. I know I fucked up. I need to—”
“You need to back off.” She doesn't budge. “She's not a problem you can fix in the next five minutes, Everett. She's a person. And right now, that person needs to be as far away from you as possible.”
“Holly—”
“I'm not done.” Her eyes flash. “You don't get to chase her down and force a conversation because you feel bad. That's not an apology. That's you trying to make yourself feel better.”
My chest aches, the words landing a direct hit.
Because she's right.
But knowing she’s right doesn’t stop the desperation clawing me from the inside out.
“Walk away,” Holly says quietly. “Give her tonight. And tomorrow, if she's willing to listen, you grovel, and you mean it.”
“I don't have time for this, Holly.” I move to step around her. “I need to—”
“You need to listen.”
“What I need is to find her before—”
A hand lands on my shoulder.
Chance.
“Everything okay here?” His tone is easy, but his grip says otherwise.
“We're fine.” My jaw is so tight it aches. “Your wife was just finishing up.”
Holly's eyes narrow.
Chance's grip tightens. “Careful.”
One word. Low. A warning. A favor.
I glance between them. At the wall they've formed. At the door Sierra disappeared through.
Every instinct screams at me to push past them. To find her. To fix this.
But Holly's right.
I can't fix this by chasing her down.
I can only make it worse.
“Fine,” I grind out.
“Smart choice.” Holly's expression doesn't soften. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have an auction to wrap up.”
She brushes past me without another word.
Chance lingers.
“She's protective,” he says quietly. “Of Sierra. Of all of them.”
“I noticed.”
“Don't take it personally.” He squeezes my shoulder once, then lets go. “Just... don't prove her right.”
He follows his wife back into the crowd.
And I stand there, alone, watching the door Sierra walked through and wondering how the hell I'm going to fix what I just broke.