Chapter Thirty-One #2
Flowers on every surface. A card from Clint that said, Those boys would go soft without you. Maria had left a stuffed bear from Jewel, tucked against my pillow. Someone had written Steel Saints don’t quit across the top of the whiteboard in permanent marker.
Mom and Dad came every day. They brought food I couldn’t eat and guilt I couldn’t swallow. When I opened my eyes one morning and saw Mom holding my hand, she was crying so hard she didn’t even notice I was awake until I squeezed back.
“Holly,” she gasped. “Oh, my sweet, beautiful, brave baby girl.” She kissed my forehead over and over, whispering prayers that didn’t reach the ceiling. Dad just stood at the foot of the bed, staring at me like he was trying to make sure I never left again.
Later, when they thought I was asleep, I heard Hannah’s voice from the hallway—sharp, brittle. “You saw her doing all this and didn’t tell us?”
Dalton’s voice cracked back, raw from too many sleepless nights. “I was trying, Mom! You think I didn’t notice? You think I didn’t try to stop her? You were there, but you weren’t. None of you were. You were all grieving him, and I was trying to keep her alive!”
Silence fell like a dropped weight. Then the sound of Hannah breaking. I saw her shadow embrace him, reaching for the son who towered over her. Watched him melt into her arms like he had been carrying a weight that wasn’t his for too long. And, truth was, he had.
“I am so sorry,” she said softly. “I’m here now, baby.”
When I opened my eyes again, Dalton was back in the chair by my bed, elbows on his knees. He didn’t say anything. Just watched me like if he blinked, we would be back on the bathroom floor.
Rehab came next. Voluntary, technically. I signed the papers anyway.
Dalton drove me. We didn’t talk much. The hum of the tires filled the silence between us. When he parked, he left the engine running and just stared out the windshield, jaw tight.
“Why are you doing this?” My voice cracked more than I wanted it to.
He didn’t look at me. “Because he asked me to.”
That used to work, that excuse, that invisible line back to Jackson, but not anymore. I shook my head, the motion small and sharp. “That’s bullshit, Dalton. He’s gone.”
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, the sound somewhere between exhaustion and surrender. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “He is.”
Finally, he turned to look at me. “You’re like the sister I never had, Holly.
You’re smart, and funny, and you’ve got this huge heart that never stops trying to fix people who are already in pieces.
” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.
“And you made a guy who was like a brother to me happier than I’ve ever seen him. ”
The words hit harder than he meant them to. I didn’t know what to do with them, with the truth in his voice, or the ache sitting heavy behind it.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He winked at me. “Anytime, blondie.”
My heart ached at the sadness in his blue eyes, and I wondered how long it would be before they were bright again.
In case anyone was wondering, rehab was hell. Beige walls. Weak coffee. Counselors with kind eyes that made me nauseous.
Every time they asked me to “share,” I shut down. They wanted to talk about grief. I wanted to burn it.
Day three, I shook so bad I thought my bones would break. They called it detox. I called it penance.
Maria came once. Cried. Said she wanted to bring Jewel but didn’t want her to see Aunt Holly like this.
A piece of my heart fractured. The thing about addiction was…
it was a greedy monster. It took and took until there was nothing left but shame and skin.
You thought you were numbing the pain, but you were really feeding it.
One pill, one drink, one lie at a time. And the cruelest part?
It didn’t just eat you alive. It ate everyone who dared to love you, too.
One Tuesday, I was sitting by a window in the common room. An aide came over to let me know I had visitors, and I turned to see Hannah in her leather jacket and Mom in her red-soled heels making their way to me.
Hannah didn’t bother sitting down. Mom stared at me in a way I was sure she meant to be intimidating.
“We’re keeping Willow’s Harbor afloat,” Hannah said. “Barely. But it’s your dream, Holly. You started this. There are women and kids depending on you. On your name. On what you built.”
Mom folded her arms, voice softer but no less sharp. “We heard you weren’t cooperating in therapy. So, you can sit here and feel sorry for yourself, or you can get back to work. You wanted to give people a second chance. Start by giving yourself one.”
I stared at them, still shaking from withdrawal, still trying to believe I was worth the air I was breathing.
Hannah leaned forward, eyes fierce. “You survived hell. Now prove it meant something.”
I stared at them, jaw nearly on the floor.
Mom slid a piece of paper over to me. Numbers.
From Willow’s Harbor. How many had been saved.
How many had been given a new life. How many had a future now…
because of us. I glanced from it to them.
The pain was still there. It probably always would be.
A love like that was not the kind you forget.
But it could be the kind that kept you going on the bad days. If you let it.
I looked up at them. “Ok.”
Mom frowned. “Ok?”
Hannah must have seen the look in my eyes change and she put a hand on mom’s shoulder. “Good.”
That night, and every night after, before I nodded off to sleep, I whispered the only words that ever made sense anymore. Got to get home.
When they finally released me, the air outside felt different. Lighter somehow.
I threw myself into school the way I used to throw myself into running from the past, from pain. Full throttle, teeth gritted, head held high. Late nights, lots of coffee, and notepads full of ideas that felt like redemption. I was behind, so I worked twice as hard.
I learned to lean. On Dalton when the nights got too loud.
On Maria when the guilt crept in like smoke.
On Mom and Hannah when I forgot why I started this in the first place.
It turned out failure wasn’t weakness. It wasn’t shoring up your defense and closing yourself off when things got tough.
Sometimes opening up the gates, letting people in… that was the real strength.
Willow’s Harbor grew beyond my wildest dreams. Women came in shaking and left with jobs, apartments, laughter.
Kids started school for the first time without fear in their eyes.
The men of the Steel Saints had became a unit.
Deadly, precise. They weren’t just a motorcycle club anymore.
They were protectors. Silas sneered when he thought I wasn’t looking.
Said we were going soft. But a hard look from Hannah or August always silenced him. I didn’t let it bother me.
I gave my first speech at a conference, palms sweating, heart hammering, and looked out over a sea of faces that reminded me what survival looked like when it turned into purpose.
Someone asked how I was supposed to help others when I could barely help myself.
Others around them squashed him, admonished him for the harsh question, but I took it in stride.
I smiled and told him, “One day at a time. That’s all you can do. ”
I still went to meetings. I still counted days.
And I still thought of him. Every time I passed the Harbor sign, every time a new mom walked through our doors, every time I caught a sunrise and remembered what it meant to make it through the night.
I used to think moving on meant forgetting.
Now I knew better.
You honor the ones you lose by living the life you promised them you would.