Chapter 17
Seventeen
Luke
The pub is warm and loud, filled with laughter and the cheerful chaos of people celebrating the night before Christmas Eve.
I sit alone in the corner booth, nursing a non-alcoholic cider that’s gone warm in my hands, watching the revelry with a rising sense of determination. An hour ago, I walked in here cold and confused, my conversation with Holly tumbling around and around in my head.
Now, everything is clear.
Crystal clear, in a way nothing has been in years.
Holly was right about everything. The darkness I see everywhere isn’t the truth—it’s my truth, but only because that’s the filter I’ve been using to view the world. A filter built from my father’s cruelty, childhood pain, and my own desperate need to protect myself from being hurt again.
But here’s what I finally understand…
That filter doesn’t keep me safe. It keeps me isolated. Alone. Cut off from the things that make life worth living.
From things like connection, joy, and love.
Holly sees the darkness too; she simply refuses to let it win. She fights back with kindness, with silliness, with jokes, and with relentless optimism that I mistook for naivety when it’s actually the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.
And I want to be part of her fight.
I want to stand beside her, to protect her light instead of trying to extinguish it with my cynicism. I want to be the man who makes her life easier, not harder. The man who adds to her joy instead of draining it away.
I don’t know if she’ll give me another chance. I may have burned that bridge beyond repair, but I have to try.
Because I’m in love with her.
I am. I feel the truth of it, stronger than any logical voice in my head insisting it’s too soon to have formed a lasting attachment.
I am deeply, remarkably in love.
But if there’s another man—if I read that moment at the inn correctly—then I’ll find a way to accept it. I’ll step back and let her be happy, even if it kills me. But I won’t give up without fighting for her first.
I have to show her that I can change, that I am changing, and that all I want is to be worthy of her trust.
Her heart.
I set down my glass and stand, pulling on my coat with decisive movements. It’s time to find her, to tell her everything I should have said this afternoon instead of spiraling into fear and confusion.
As I push through the pub doors, the cold wind hits like a prize-fighter aiming for vital organs. I gasp, shocked to find that I actually have to lean into it to keep from being forced backward.
The snow is falling heavily now, thick flakes that blur the lights strung across the square and muffle the sounds of the town.
This storm is worse than the forecast predicted.
Much worse and arriving earlier than expected.
I pull out my cell to text Elliot and let him know I won’t be home for a bit, but that I’m okay, only to find I have no signal. Not so much as half a bar.
I curse beneath my breath.
I’ll have to head back to the house before my siblings get worried. Sadly, talking to Holly will have to wait.
I’m heading for the parking lot where I left the snowmobile when I notice a small group huddled near the gazebo in the square. Their body language is tense, agitated. Even from a distance, I can sense that something’s wrong.
As I walk past, I spot Willow, her purple coat bright against the white snow, her face pale and strained.
“—can’t just wait here,” she says, her voice rising with panic. “She’s been out of touch for nearly an hour, and the storm is getting worse.”
My stomach drops.
I head straight for them, demanding as soon as I’m in earshot, “Who’s been out of touch?” even though some part of me already knows.
The group turns to look at me. Besides Willow, there’s an older man I recognize from the gingerbread competition and two middle-aged women bundled in winter coats.
“Holly,” Willow says, looking relieved to see me. “She was helping us look for Cheeks after he was chased into the woods. We split up about an hour ago with promises to meet here, but she didn’t show.”
The world narrows to a single, crystalline point of terror.
“What time was she supposed to meet you?” My voice sounds strange, distant.
“Around five-thirty,” the older man says. “The last time I saw her, she was heading up one of the old logging trails they keep plowed for winter hikers.”
“The logging trails?” My heart is pounding now, blood roaring in my ears. “That’s miles of forest.”
“We know.” One of the women nods, her face creased with worry.
“We called the police from the landline at the post office, but they said they can’t send anyone.
There’s been an avalanche at one of the ski resorts.
All of their resources are tied up there.
They said since Holly hasn’t actually been out in the elements that long, and she’s an experienced hiker, she’s low priority at the moment.
They said to check back in if she’s not home by nine, but—”
“By nine?” I cut in, incredulous. “It’s a blizzard. She could freeze to death by nine.”
“We tried to tell them,” Willow says, her voice breaking. “But they wouldn’t listen. They said Holly likely found shelter somewhere and is waiting out the storm. They think everything will be fine, but…”
“But you don’t think so,” I finish.
Willow gives a tight, miserable shake of her head.
“I don’t either,” I agree. “I’ll find her. I’ll start looking right now.”
“Luke, no.” Willow grabs my coat sleeve. “The storm is too dangerous. You don’t know these woods the way Holly does, and the visibility is almost zero. You could get lost, too.”
I cover her hand, giving it a firm squeeze as I promise, “I won’t get lost. I promise. I played in those woods all the time as a kid.”
The older man steps forward. “Son, the trails look different in the winter. It won’t be easy. Some of them are barely marked, and in a storm this bad, she could have wandered off the trail without even realizing it.”
“Then I’ll search the entire forest if I have to.” I pull away from Willow’s grasp, heading toward the far side of the square.
“Wait, Luke!” Willow calls after me. “Here! At least take this!”
I turn as she staggers through the rising snow to press a flashlight into my hands. “Please, be careful. If you can’t find her in an hour, find a—”
“I’ll find her,” I say.
It’s not a promise. It’s a fact.
I turn and hurry over the bridge, toward the dark line of trees visible beyond the old mill and a few historic homes. The wind is fierce now, driving snow into my face hard enough to burn. Within minutes, I can feel the cold seeping through my coat, biting at my skin.
I ignore it.
The only thing that matters is finding Holly.
The logging trail entrance is marked by a weathered wooden sign that’s already half-buried in snow. I click on the flashlight just beyond the final streetlight and push into the trees.
The forest swallows me immediately.
The wind is slightly less fierce here, blocked by the dense evergreens, but the darkness is absolute. My flashlight cuts a narrow beam through the swirling snow, illuminating maybe ten feet ahead before the light is swallowed by white.
“Holly!” I shout, my voice instantly swept away by the wind. “Holly, can you hear me?”
Nothing but the howl of the storm.
I push forward, following what I think is a trail, though it’s hard to be certain with the snow coming down so fast. My boots sink into drifts that reach my shins, then my knees. Every step is a battle, my muscles burning with the effort.
But I don’t stop.
I can’t stop.
Because Holly is out here somewhere, possibly hurt, and I’ll be damned if I let this be the way her light snuffs out.
My mind keeps replaying our conversation this afternoon. Her tears, her honesty, her wisdom. The way she looked at me when she asked if I needed her, with that sweet, brave openness that sliced my heart to pieces.
God, yes. I need her.
I need her like I need air, like my next heartbeat. She’s shown me what I’ve been missing, what I’ve been running from.
I just hope I get the chance to tell her everything she’s made me see.
And how much she means to me.
“Holly!” I shout again, pausing to sweep my flashlight in a wide arc. “Holly!”
Still nothing.
I come to a fork in the trail and have to make a choice. Left or right….
I choose right—following the loop around the ridge—and keep moving, my breath coming in harsh rasps, my face numb with cold.
The snow is relentless, piling up faster than seems possible. The drifts are getting deeper, harder to push through. I have to use my hands to grab onto tree branches, pulling myself forward when the wind gets too intense.
How long have I been searching? Fifteen minutes? Twenty? Sixty? Time has grown tricky, stretchy, the way it does in a crisis.
I have to find her.
She has to be okay.
She has to be.
“Holly!” My voice is hoarse now, raw. “Please! Holly!”
The wind throws my words back in my face, but I push forward. The alternative—turning back, giving up, accepting that she might be lost out here—is unthinkable. A beat later, I stumble over a hidden root and go down hard, landing face-first in a drift.
For a moment, I just lie there, exhausted, my body demanding I rest.
But I force myself back to my feet.
At least the trail—if I’m still on it—is all downhill now as it winds back into town. I follow it, hope flickering in my chest. Maybe she had the same idea. Maybe she realized the storm was too dangerous and turned back toward the village.
The trees begin to thin. Soon, I can make out lights in the distance, the flickering of the shops on Main still strong enough to be seen through the driving snow. I reach the exit to the trail and stand there in the knee-high accumulation for a beat.
I’m trying to decide where to go next, when I see it, a light blazing from high in the air, up in the town hall tower room. It’s like someone’s trying to send a signal to Santa.
Or a signal to the town that she’s okay…
My heart stops, only to lurch back into motion with a sharp jerk.
It’s Holly. It has to be. She’s there, at Town Hall, just like the night she caught me trying to steal that stupid peg leg.
I start running, or at least try to, but the snow makes it feel more like floundering through knee-deep mashed potatoes. Every step is hard won, and my legs are shaking with exhaustion, but I don’t slow down.
I keep moving, keep pushing, keep fighting through the storm.
She’s in there. She’s safe. And I need to get to her.
Finally—finally—I reach the steps, fight my way up to the front door, grab the handle, and haul it open.
The first thing I see is the fire in the large stone fireplace dominating the lobby. Then, there, beside it, silhouetted against the flames…Holly.
“Thank God,” I croak, certain I’ve never meant the words this much.
She jumps to her feet, spinning to face me as the wind gusts in. “Luke?”
Before I can speak, the storm knocks me forward, slapping me to the floor before slamming the door closed behind me.
Snow cascades off my coat, my hair, covering the hardwood before it starts to melt in the heat.
“I love you,” I rasp, the words breathy as I begin to shiver, and my head spins in a way that warns I might not be conscious for long.
“I might be about to pass out, but I love you. I’ve loved you since you put your head on my shoulder at the tree lighting.
Maybe even before. I’m s-sorry for being an idiot who didn’t know how to pull his head out of his ass.
B-but it’s out now. Fully out and ready to f-fight for you. ”
The words echo in the sudden silence, as I lie there, dripping and shivering and slowly realizing that I really am about to pass…