Chapter 3
Chapter three
Blake
I padded back down the hall after an hour of doing paperwork, running a hand through my hair.
Biscuit had always been a sucker for company, but it surprised me to see him curled right up next to Holly, the pair of them half-buried in my jacket, like they’d been together forever.
She was still in her clothes. Still had that ribbon clenched tight in her hand.
She looked small, and so goddamned tired.
She had her thumb in her mouth, as if that was the only comfort she had.
And she was lying on the damn floor. Covered with my coat and a dog, but the floor was still hard and probably too cold.
I leaned on the doorframe for a second, just watching them. Her cheek was pressed against Biscuit’s fur. His tail thumped once, but he didn’t move. It was like they both knew that moving might break whatever peace she’d managed to find.
I should’ve just picked her up and tucked her into bed.
But I couldn’t. She hadn’t even tried the bathroom.
I could still see the fear on her. The way her hands were still clenched even in sleep, the way she curled into herself, like she needed to hide even when she was safe.
She deserved better. She deserved soft, even if I didn’t know how to do that right.
I sighed and went to the bathroom. Ran the water, checking the temperature twice, then added the bath stuff I’d won in some gift basket, but never even opened and then forgotten about.
I didn’t know if she’d want bubbles, but I did it anyway.
It smelled like honey and something sweet.
Not the kind of thing you expected in a house like mine.
I checked the towels. Picked out the softest one I owned and set it on the edge of the tub. Then I thought about clothes. She’d need something, but I didn’t keep women’s clothes around. I had some old flannels that were clean and warm and would be the size of a dress on her.
When the water was ready, I went back to the guest room. Holly was still on the floor. I crouched beside her, careful not to crowd her, and waited until her eyes fluttered open. She looked up at me, all big and brown and confused.
“Hey, Holly,” I said, keeping my voice low. “You fell asleep.”
She blinked. “Sorry.” She tried to push herself up, but she was slow, like her body didn’t quite want to listen.
“Don’t be sorry.” I reached out but stopped just short of touching her. “I ran you a bath. Thought maybe you’d want to get warm for real. You don’t have to, but…” I shrugged, feeling stupid for not knowing the right words. “It’s there if you want it.”
Her fingers twisted in the ribbon. She hesitated, then nodded. “Thank you.”
God, her voice was soft. Like a secret.
Biscuit didn’t want to let her go, but when I clicked my tongue, he fell back a step, watching her with that dog look that meant he’d be waiting when she was ready.
I offered her my hand, palm up. She stared at it for a long second, but then she took it.
Her skin was cold. Not freezing, just…not warm enough.
I helped her up. She swayed, so I steadied her with a hand at her elbow.
She didn’t flinch. That felt like progress.
I walked her into the bathroom, ridiculously happy when she didn't pull away.
She was so small she barely made a sound on the wood, but I could feel the weight of her hand in mine.
It made something in my chest go tight. I wanted to just scoop her up and carry her, but I knew that would probably freak her out.
The bathroom was warm from the steam. Bubbles frothed on top of the water. It smelled like honey, and I felt stupid for worrying that she'd think it was too girly. She just stared.
I let go of her hand and pointed at the tub. “Take as long as you want. You can lock the door. There’s a clean towel there, and I left a toothbrush and soap.”
I didn’t crowd her. Just stepped out of the way, keeping my hands to myself like I was handling something fragile. Which, honestly, I was.
She hovered by the door for a second, looking at me like she was waiting for me to yell or change my mind.
“You’re okay, Holly. Go ahead.” I tried to make my voice softer. “You need anything, just call out.”
She nodded and ducked inside, still clutching the ribbon. I closed the door behind her and ran a hand through my hair, feeling about a hundred years old. What the hell was I doing? I'd given up wanting anything after Amanda, and I knew better than to go there again.
I went back to the kitchen and poured myself a second beer, but didn’t drink it.
Biscuit was still pacing the hall, ears perked, tail wagging every time he thought he heard her.
I got down on one knee and scratched his head, opening the back door.
He would manage without a walk tonight, just a turn in the back yard.
“You like her, huh?” He thumped his tail against my leg. “Yeah. Me too.” He was quick as if he agreed Holly shouldn’t be left alone for long, so I locked the door again when he was back in and quickly got his dinner ready.
Going to my room, I dug through drawers until I found the softest flannel shirt I owned and a pair of sweatpants with drawstrings. They’d be huge on her, but at least they were clean and warm.
When I came back, the bathroom door was still closed. I could hear the faint slosh of water, but nothing else. She was probably still in the tub. I just set the clothes on the floor outside the door and knocked, not loud. “Left you something to wear. Shout if you need anything.”
No answer, but that was fine. I figured she’d come out when she was ready.
Fifteen minutes went by. I checked my phone. Nothing. I checked the hallway. Still quiet. I tried to focus on the emails, but my thoughts kept drifting back to her, curled up on the rug with Biscuit, or shivering in the truck, or now, maybe, with her knees hugged to her chest in my bathtub.
I’d never wanted to fix something so bad.
When I finally heard the bathroom door open, I got up and went to the closed bedroom door. “Everything okay?”
I heard a quiet thank you and decided to call it a night. She was exhausted and I had another early start tomorrow making the site safe before the guys finished for the holidays the day after.
Biscuit was pacing, and he never woke me like that. Not unless there was thunder—or trouble. The red numbers on the clock glared 3:12 AM while his nails clicked urgently across the floor, followed by a low, worried whine that tightened something deep in my chest.
Up instantly, barefoot and shirtless, I yanked open my bedroom door. Biscuit shot past me straight to the guest room, pawing at the door and looking back like I was already too damn late.
Pausing, I listened. Soft, strangled sounds filtered through the wood. Not loud enough to wake a stranger. Just loud enough to break a heart.
Nightmare. Of course she’d have nightmares. A girl who’d been sleeping in a box didn’t close her eyes without seeing ghosts.
Pushing the door open quietly, I stepped into the low lamplight. Holly lay curled on the bed, body wound tight with fear. Whimpers slipped out, the kind that belonged to someone who didn’t expect help.
Biscuit hovered close, whining, careful not to touch her. Good boy. He knew about bad dreams. I crouched beside her and kept my voice low. “Holly, you’re dreaming. You’re safe. You’re at my house.”
She jerked but didn’t wake. Then her breath caught and she whispered, raw and terrified, “No… Vincent.”
The name landed like a punch, twisting something ugly in my gut.
Keeping it slow, I brushed her hair back with my fingers. “Hey, sweetheart. It’s just a dream.”
Biscuit leaned in and licked her hand. She flinched so hard my teeth clenched. Full-body shaking took over, the kind that came from a fear that had been taught—carved deep.
“It’s just a dream, honey,” I murmured. “Me and Biscuit—we’re right here.” My hand settled over hers, big and warm, grounding her. “Wake up, sweetheart. You’re safe. Nothing’s gonna hurt you now.”
She gasped awake, eyes wild and unfocused. For a heartbeat she didn’t know who I was. Then recognition hit, and she launched herself forward, burying her face in my chest. No scream—just silent shaking, like she’d learned not to make noise even while breaking.
Instinct took over. Arms wrapped around her, steady and solid, rocking her gently. Her fists clutched at me like she expected me to disappear.
The words slipped out before I could stop them, soft with guilt. “Holly… what’s your last name?”
“Turner,” she breathed, fragile as paper. Then she sagged against me, crying now, quiet and exhausted. Gathering her closer felt both necessary and wrong, like prying open a lock she wasn’t ready to share. But she didn’t pull away; she clung harder, seeking something solid.
My thumb brushed her cheek as I kept my voice low. “You’re okay. He’s not here. No one’s ever touching you again.”
A tiny, broken sound escaped her—like she almost believed me. Her breathing hitched and stuttered. She tasted every word before letting it go. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Don’t apologize,” I said immediately, stroking her hair. “Not for nightmares. Not for waking me. Not for a damn thing.”
Another shiver rolled through her as she hiccupped against my chest.
“You want to talk about it?” The question came out gentle, not pushing.
Her throat worked. “It was dark,” she whispered. “I couldn’t see. I cried… and that made it worse. They said naughty girls had to learn to behave. So they left me there.”
My jaw locked. Left her where? Who the hell were they?
“Who did that to you, Holly?”
She blinked herself partway back into the present, suddenly aware of where she was. “No one. Just a dream. Nothing.”
“Hey.” My voice roughened, though she didn’t flinch. “That wasn’t nothing. But listen—you're not there anymore. You’re here. The door’s not locked. You can walk out anytime you want. No one’s keeping you anywhere you don't want to be ever again.”
Her lip trembled. She looked away fast, guilty for existing.
Talking through feelings wasn’t my strong suit, but holding someone together while they shook apart? That, I understood.
“You’re safe here, Holly,” I said, softer now. “Nobody’s putting you in the dark. Not while I’m breathing.”
She finally looked up, eyes wet and unsure, but a small flicker of belief sparked there.
“Sit up a little,” I suggested, nodding toward the pillows. “Easier to breathe.”
She obeyed slowly, like her body needed instruction. Biscuit pressed against her leg, a warm anchor. Her palm rested on his head, grounding herself on fur and steady heartbeat.
I stayed right beside her. When her breathing evened out, the blanket pulled around her shoulders, her eyelids drooped again—exhaustion winning.
“Sleep,” I murmured. “It’s over.”
Biscuit stretched along her side, guarding her in his own way.
Planned to leave, but ended up sitting longer, watching her chest rise and fall.
Every time the thought of her locked somewhere dark for “misbehaving” crossed my mind, my hands curled into fists.
Foster care? A boyfriend? Didn’t matter.
Someone had hurt her. Someone had taught her to fear shadows and silence.
Feelings weren’t my specialty, but protecting what needed protecting?
That I could do without thinking.
One decision settled deep and solid:
No one was ever putting Holly Turner in the dark again.