Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Saint
Christmas Eve didn’t feel like Christmas.
It felt like a mistake I couldn’t undo.
I sat in my truck outside the clubhouse for a long minute, staring at the missed call log on my phone like it might change if I looked hard enough. It didn’t.
Three calls to Belle.
Two texts.
No answer.
I tried to tell myself she was busy. That she was working. That she was sleeping. That she needed time.
But the truth sat heavily in my chest.
She was ignoring me.
And I couldn’t blame her.
I could still see her face in the bakery. Her eyes were bright with stress and anger, and her pride snapped like a wire. I’d told her the truth expecting… something else. Relief, maybe. A shaky laugh. That exhale people let out when the weight finally comes off.
Instead, I’d watched her look at me like I’d stolen something.
I hadn’t meant to.
I hadn’t meant to hurt her.
I just… couldn’t stand there and do nothing.
I rubbed a hand over my jaw and stared out at the snow-dusted street.
All I wanted to do was go straight to Belle’s.
But Mom’s voice echoed in my head the way it always did when I was about to do something with consequences.
Think first, Saint. Then move.
So I started the truck and turned toward Mom’s house.
I parked and walked up the steps with my boots crunching on snow.
Before I could knock, the door swung open.
Mom stood there in an old sweatshirt and holiday pajama pants with her hair piled on top of her head.
She looked me over once, sharp and quick. “Where is she?” she asked.
I exhaled. “Hi, Ma.”
She didn’t smile. “Don’t ‘hi, Ma’ me. Where’s Belle?”
My shoulders sagged slightly as I stepped inside. “Not here.”
Mom’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
I hung my jacket on the hook by the door and stared at the floor for a second because I didn’t want to say it out loud. Saying it out loud made it real.
“We fought,” I admitted.
Mom made a noise in her throat. Not surprise. More like disappointment.
She walked back into the kitchen, and I followed.
Mom moved to the counter and kneaded dough like she needed something to do with her hands. A big roasting pan sat on the stove, and the oven timer was ticking down. Christmas music played softly from an old speaker in the corner.
Mom didn’t look at me as she said, “Tell me what you did.”
I huffed out a humorless laugh. “You already assume it was me.”
She glanced at me then, eyebrows raised. “If it wasn’t you, you wouldn’t be standing in my kitchen looking like somebody keyed your bike.”
I leaned against the counter opposite her. “I helped her.”
Mom’s hands paused in the dough. “Helped her how?”
I stared at the flour-dusted countertop. “Her dad’s debt. The guy that’s been coming into her bakery. Bill McClure.” I nodded once. “I handled it.”
Mom went still. “Saint…”
I looked up. “What? You want Belle safe or you want me polite?”
Mom’s gaze held mine, hard and steady. “I want you smart.”
My jaw clenched. “I was smart. I didn’t hurt anybody. I didn’t start anything. I made a deal.”
Mom pressed her lips together. “And did you tell Belle?”
My silence answered.
Mom’s shoulders dropped slightly, and she went back to kneading with a little more force than necessary. “Oh, honey.”
I bristled. “Don’t ‘oh honey’ me.”
Mom shot me a look that could peel paint. “Then don’t act like a man who needs ‘oh honey.’”
I dragged a hand through my hair, frustration buzzing in my veins. “I didn’t want to stress her out more. She was already drowning.”
Mom’s expression softened just a fraction, but her voice stayed firm. “And you think the way to keep a woman from drowning is to grab her by the throat and drag her somewhere she didn’t choose?”
I flinched. “That’s not what I did.”
Mom wiped her hands on a towel and leaned against the counter, finally giving me her full attention. “Saint,” she said gently, “Belle is not used to anyone stepping in.”
“I know,” I muttered.
“She doesn’t have family,” Mary added. “She has herself, and that’s it. No one else makes decisions for her.”
That hit deeper than I wanted it to.
I stared at the floor again. “I wasn’t trying to control her.”
“I know you weren’t,” Mom said, softer now. “But can you understand why she feels like you did?”
My jaw tightened. I could understand it. I didn’t like it, but I understood.
Belle had built her entire life around being the one who handled things. The one who fixed messes. The one who didn’t ask for help because help always came with strings.
And then I’d walked into her world and cut the string she’d been holding onto without asking.
Mom sighed and reached out. “You’ve got a good heart,” she said. “But you forget sometimes that pride is how some people survive.”
I swallowed hard. “I didn’t do it for pride.”
Mom nodded. “I know. You did it because you care.”
I looked at her. “So why is she acting like I ruined her life?”
Mom’s mouth twisted in a sad smile. “Because she finally trusted you enough to let you close,” she said. “And then you reminded her that men make decisions without her.”
My chest tightened. “I never wanted to be that.”
Mom patted my arm. “Then don’t be.”
I blew out a breath. “What do I do?”
Mom’s gaze was steady. “You apologize,” she said simply. “And you don’t apologize like a man trying to win. You apologize like a man who understands he crossed a line.”
I nodded slowly. I could do that.
“I already tried to call,” I said.
Mom snorted. “Calling isn’t the same as showing up.”
“I’m going to,” I said.
“Good,” Mary replied. Then she pointed a finger at me. “And you do not,” she warned, “show up with a speech about how you were right.”
My mouth twitched. “I wasn’t going to.”
Mom raised an eyebrow like she didn’t believe me.
I pushed off the counter. “I’m going.”
Mom nodded once, satisfied. “Go,” she said. “And remember, Belle isn’t mad because you helped. She’s mad because you didn’t trust her enough to tell her.”
That hit me straight in the gut.
I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door.
“Saint,” Mom called.
I paused with my hand on the knob.
Mom’s voice softened. “Make sure she is here tomorrow,” she said. “I’m not letting Christmas be ruined.”
I let out a quiet breath that might’ve been a laugh if it didn’t hurt so much. “I’ll try.”
“You better,” Mom said.
*
Belle’s place was lit up when I pulled into her driveway.
She was awake.
I parked, shut off the truck, and sat for a second, staring at her shadow like it might turn and come running to me.
It didn’t.
I got out and walked up the sidewalk with the snow crunching under my boots. The air was cold enough to sting my lungs.
I climbed the steps and knocked.
Once.
Then again.
Nothing.
I leaned closer, voice low but steady. “Belle. It’s me.”
Silence.
I waited.
Still nothing.
I could walk away. I should. If she didn’t want to see me, forcing it wouldn’t fix anything.
But I wasn’t leaving without saying what I needed to say.
I took a breath and spoke through the door.
“I’m sorry,” I said, the words scraping my throat. “I’m not sorry I helped you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
I rested my forehead against the wood for a second with my eyes shut.
“I saw him,” I continued quietly. “That first day. The way he looked at you. The way you went still. And I knew you were carrying something you shouldn’t have been carrying.”
I swallowed hard. “I didn’t want you scared every time that bell rang. I didn’t want you looking over your shoulder in your own damn bakery.”
My chest ached so hard it felt like pressure.
“I should’ve come to you,” I admitted. “I should’ve told you I was going to handle it, and if you told me no, I should’ve listened.”
My throat tightened. I stared at the doorknob like I could will it to turn.
“I didn’t do it because I think you can’t handle things,” I said, my voice rough.
“I did it because I care about you. Because the debt wasn’t yours.
Not really. And I—” I exhaled sharply as the words caught.
“I didn’t know how to stand back and watch you get punished for a man who didn’t deserve you. ”
Silence stayed heavy on the other side of the door.
I forced myself to keep going.
“I don’t want you to think I’m that guy,” I said. “The guy who decides for you. I’m not trying to own you. I’m not trying to buy my way into your life.”
I swallowed again. “I just… I want you safe. And I want you. And I don’t know how to do this right if you won’t talk to me.”
My voice dropped to almost a whisper. “Please talk to me, Belle.”
I waited.
For footsteps. For the lock clicking. For any sign she’d heard me.
Nothing.
I straightened and stared at the door as if it had personally betrayed me.
Then, from inside, Pepper let out a sharp bark.
My heart clenched.
Of course, the dogs were in there. Of course, they’d heard me.
I stared at the door one last time, then stepped back.
“I’m going,” I said softly. “But I’m not done. I’m not walking away from you. Not unless you tell me to.”
I turned and walked down the stairs.
Behind me, the window still glowed warm and steady.
And Belle’s shadow stayed right where it was.
She didn’t open the door.
Not tonight.