Chapter 14
fourteen
HOLDEN
I’m usually stuck on the sidelines at events, if I even stick around for them at all. Tonight is different because when the groom asks you to hang out, you have to say yes.
Both Cade and Holly opted out of bachelor and bachelorette parties, but I can’t really blame them with their levels of notoriety. It’s not just Enchanted Hollow that treats them like royalty.
Ever After Farms is closed to the public, but the Jacksons kept their doors open for all of Cade and Holly’s friends for a casual post-rehearsal dinner scene.
There’s a soft hum of music, the scent of cider and smoke.
For once, it’s not work, it’s a memory in the making.
Normally I’d watch from behind the counter instead of living inside.
Cade is sitting by one fire pit with all his teammates, and Holly is sitting around another, surrounded by females. Including Laila. She glances around, like she’s looking for something. When her eyes find mine, I know it was for me.
The invisible string that runs between us snaps tight, almost tugging me toward her with the momentum. That pull has always been there, like some invisible current trying to drag me home. Maybe this is what people mean when they talk about gravity.
“Sit with us,” Cade says, grabbing my shirt sleeve as I physically step toward her.
I blink, startled out of my Laila-induced trance. “What?”
“Sit,” Logan says.
Weston Reilly’s there too—resident tight end for the Frost Giants—half-hidden behind the biggest bag of marshmallows I’ve ever seen. He’s supposed to be the team’s tight end, but tonight he’s clearly going for honorary s’mores champion.
I’m pretty sure most of the Frost Giants' offense is arguing about how to properly roast a marshmallow.
“I’m not a dog,” I tell him.
He may be my older brother, but the ability to bully me stopped a good decade ago. Yet I sit anyway, falling into an empty camping chair.
I haven’t sat around a fire since last winter, when Laila and I pretended to be newlyweds.
That entire weekend feels like it happened years ago, not only last December.
It feels like I’ve been fighting to get back to the feeling of that whole day.
The sleigh ride, the slow dance in the snow, the hot cocoa around the fire, and the quiet confessions that followed.
Even if most of that happened in the ugliest, itchiest Christmas sweater I’ve ever worn.
I still think about what she said that night—how marriage wasn’t something built to last, how she wasn’t sure she was built for it either.
I wanted to tell her that love’s not something you’re built for, it’s something you build.
But I kept it to myself, like half the things I should probably say out loud.
I didn’t push then, because I wanted her to feel safe, not cornered.
But tonight, something in her eyes looked different.
Softer. Like maybe she’s believing in the idea of forever after all.
“Earth to Holden,” Cade says, tossing a branch into the fire. He sips from a can of something from the local brewery. “You look like you’re a thousand miles away.”
“More like back in time,” I mumble, scrubbing a hand down my face.
To my left, Logan turns in his chair, studying the group of women. “She’s over there?”
“Will you stop it?” I slouch in my chair, like I could hide if I wanted to. “Don’t do that.”
“You really think you’re going to ask her?” Logan asks.
All eyes shift to me.
“Kenna has a big mouth.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” he grins. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”
I want to tell him she’s my forever, that every breadcrumb leads back to her—but I can’t say that out loud, either. Not yet.
I swallow. “I really want to, but I just don’t know if she’s ready.”
Cade’s laugh is low, his long legs stretched out in front of him. “That’s the thing, though. Love isn’t about readiness. We weren’t ready for this—Holly was hiding from her stepmother, for crying out loud. It’s all about the risk.”
“But she had to be ready to face her stepmother, right?” I ask.
His eyes soften, and he visibly sighs. “That’s a different kind of ready, man. A whole different fight.”
I was afraid of that. And I can’t fight that part for her. Even though I would, a million times over.
Sparks from the fire leap and fall like snow. Laughter floats through the air mixed with the low music playing from speakers throughout the farm. For just a minute, the world slows, and I feel like I could belong here.
“Did you already bake gingerbread men with ‘Mr.’ and ‘Mrs.’ on them?” Logan asks.
The stress of the last week bubbles over.
“I can’t believe you’re giving me grief about this when you can barely bake toaster strudel,” I say.
Cade chokes on his beer, and all eyes swing to me.
“You’re the only one with room to give advice,” I tell Cade. “But you—Logan—you really have no room to talk. You couldn’t even keep your marriage together.” The words topple out before I can stop them.
The words hang heavy in the air as all eyes swing to Logan, and his glare says I crossed a line. I rarely fight dirty, but I’m tired and I’m sick and tired of feeling like ‘the odd man’ out.
Of everything.
Various forms of “You were married?” and “To who?” fly around the circle.
I leave out the part that he was married—briefly—to the woman who became the team nutritionist. The conversation would take a turn I couldn’t steer out of, and while Logan annoys me, I’m not cruel.
We all know he loved her, even if he won’t admit it.
It was just terrible timing, a fast decision right before he drafted early.
That’s the part I can’t stop thinking about, the timing. How something real can unravel because you move too fast.
“Dude,” he says through clenched teeth. “That is not cool.”
I ignore him and continue on to Reed, the lead wide receiver for the team.
Weston’s leaning back in his chair, quietly amused, tossing a marshmallow between his hands like a football. “Careful, man. You’re about to be the one catching heat next.”
“And you—you’re afraid of ruining the friendship. Get out of the friend zone already.”
All the attention shifts from Logan to Reed as I air out each team member’s dirty relationship laundry.
“What did I ever do to you?” His eyes fly up into his hairline. “I told you that in confidence.”
He told me way more than that after he saw Quinn and me talking. Turns out they have a history. Sometimes I think we forget how small the world is, even though it seems huge.
“You told me that because I’m friends with her,” I say, shaking my head. “What are you so afraid of?”
“Probably the same thing you’re afraid of,” Reed says. “Losing what we have.”
I get it. But I hate the attention being on me, even if they might offer me some sage wisdom on how to navigate the next steps with Laila. We’re all oblivious, though, I think. Just wading through and trying to figure out how to get to that same storybook ending Cade will get tomorrow.
And then after.
That’s the word that sticks in my head—the after. The part no one really plans for but everyone hopes lasts.
I think that’s what I want most.
“I’m afraid she’s trying to protect me,” I say. “From her mom. From her mess.”
From herself. But I don’t say that part out loud.
Cade angles himself toward me. “Then show her you don’t need to be protected, man.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Logan clears his throat. “You’re not a kid sneaking in her window anymore, just like she’s not sneaking into yours.”
“Sneaking into windows, huh?” Reed smirks. “Never took you for the type.”
I chuckle. “So what do I do then?”
“Turn on the porch light,” Cade says. The guys snicker, and Cade frowns at them. “I wasn’t done.”
“Sorry, go ahead,” Logan replies.
“It’s a metaphor. You’re a man now—leave the porch light on for her. Be her safe space. If she loves you, she’ll find her way. Promise.” He pauses, then adds, “Think of it like leaving a trail, Something she can follow back when she’s ready.”
Breadcrumbs and porch lights. Every quiet thing I’ve been trying to give her, all blending together.
That’s what I’ve been doing all along—leaving a piece of home burning for her, so she never doubts where she belongs.
Maybe that’s what I’ve been trying to say this whole time, without words.
A light to keep her safe from whatever lurks in the shadows, like her mother.
Maybe soon I’ll find a better way to say it. Something she can hold on to, even when I’m not there.
It’s more than I expected from this conversation, but if anyone understands a woman bruised by a maternal figure, it would be him.
He’s telling me to do what I already do for her every day.
Weston tips his beer toward me across the firelight. “For what it’s worth, man, timing’s never perfect. But you miss a lot of touchdowns if you wait for the wind to die down.”
But maybe it’s time I stop waiting by the window and start opening the door.
So I guess the next step really is asking her to be mine.