21. Holly
21
HOLLY
There’s something magical about Christmas in Chicago—especially when the air feels alive with a mixture of pine needles and cinnamon. Except in my case, today, the only magic I feel is from the vented heat in my office that’s trying its hardest to thaw me out from this morning’s blustery wind. A little too much frosty , not enough festive .
My office is a glorious mess of papers, post-its, and half-empty coffee mugs; it feels a bit like a festive bomb exploded in it. Red and green streamers dangle from the ceiling, and glittering snowflake decals cling stubbornly to the windows.
It’s as if Christmas decided to move in and make itself very comfortable.
Lauren and Mia are sprawled across the two visitor chairs in my office at the Blizzards arena, each balancing a cup of coffee like it’s the key to life. Mia’s somehow made herself at home, legs tucked under her, like she’s about to settle in for a Real Housewives binge, while Lauren is flipping through a list of Christmas events, eyeing it like it’s her worst enemy.
“If I have to hear one more rendition of Jingle Bell Rock , I swear I’m going to deck someone,” Lauren mutters, eyes narrowing at the list like it’s personally responsible for the world’s most overplayed holiday music.
“Come on, it’s Christmas!” Mia singsongs, flashing her best “holiday spirit” smile. She even has a tiny candy cane tucked behind her ear. Who does that?
“Exactly, Mia,” Lauren deadpans. “ Christmas. Where every event is designed to test how much you can fake smile while dodging mistletoe and terrible Secret Santa gifts.”
It’s my turn to grin. “Speaking of terrible Secret Santa gifts, what are we getting the guys?”
Lauren turns up her nose. “What do you get adults who treat the locker room like a middle school gym?”
“They’re not that bad.” My laughter spreads, and the duo joins in.
“It’s bad enough when they can barely wrap their heads around tying their shoelaces but have opinions on the best moisturizers,” Lauren snorts.
That sounds like typical Lauren having trouble with one of the guys—clearly Ryan, but I say nothing.
Mia twirls her candy cane. “I think Liam deserves socks?—”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lauren says, her arms crossed, eyeing Mia with the intensity of someone about to throw down in a candy cane duel. “There’s no way Liam actually wants socks for Christmas.”
Mia leans back in her chair, completely unbothered. “What? The guy loves socks. He’s always losing them.”
“Socks are like ... a cry for help, not a gift,” I chime in, twirling a pen between my fingers. “That’s like saying, ‘Here, enjoy something you need instead of something fun.’ You might as well hand him a toothbrush.”
“Okay, okay,” Mia concedes, rolling her eyes. “Then what’s your brilliant idea? A puppy?”
Lauren grins. “I don’t know. Maybe a vacation. Something exciting .” She waves her hands in the air as if summoning visions of sun-soaked beaches and umbrella drinks. “Not socks .”
“Ethan would probably lose his mind in two days without a game to obsess over,” my mumble is almost lost in soft laughter. “We’d turn around on vacation to find him building mini rinks out of sand.”
“See?” Mia sighs dramatically, throwing her hands up. “That’s why I say we give them socks; we can make sure they have their faces on them. That’s at least funny.”
My lips spread in a grin, as the banter between the sisters flows back and forth like a fast-paced tennis match. It’s moments like these that keep the stress from creeping in. After all, there’s something magical about December, and for the first time in a while, it feels like I’m actually enjoying it.
Ding.
The sudden chime of the office door swinging open catches our attention. We look up to see a delivery guy stroll in, holding what could only be described as the most exquisite bouquet of flowers I have ever seen. The blooms are big, bright, and utterly perfect, like they’ve been plucked straight out of a dreamy Pinterest board.
Lavender roses, white lilies, and a sprinkle of baby’s breath. The whole ensemble screams, "I know your taste and nailed it."
“Holly Bennett?” the delivery guy asks, glancing down at a clipboard.
“That’s me!” perking up in my chair, my heart flutters, already piecing together who the flowers must be from. Only one person would know my favorite combination of roses and lilies.
The flowers are set down on my desk, a vibrant, fragrant explosion amid the chaos of papers and post-its. Lauren and Mia both raise their eyebrows, exchanging glances.
“Well, well, well,” Lauren says, leaning in, her smirk growing by the second. “Looks like someone’s having a very merry Christmas.”
Mia laughs. “You got yourself a secret admirer, or is this from your not-so-secret admirer?”
My cheeks flush with heat as I reach for the card nestled between the flowers. My mind already pictures Ethan’s gruff, brooding face softened by a rare smile as he sent them. The thought makes my stomach do that stupid fluttery thing it’s been doing ever since Ethan waltzed into my life and decided to un-brood just for me.
“Oh, he’s such a romantic,” Lauren teases, practically vibrating with excitement. “Look at you, living your best rom-com life.”
My laughter bubbles, my attempt to act casual as I slip the card from the envelope falling short. “He really outdid himself this time, huh?”
She swats me playfully. “Look at you, all giddy and glowing like a string of Christmas lights.”
Dropping the card, my phone’s quickly in my hand, fingers typing furiously as I call Ethan. The phone rings, and my heart does that little somersault it’s perfected whenever I hear his voice.
“Hey,” I say, trying to sound casual and not like I’ve just turned into a lovesick teenager. “Thanks for the flowers! I don’t recall telling you my favorites, actually.”
There’s a pause, the kind that makes you think the line dropped. Then, “What? Flowers? I didn’t send anything.”
Oh. Oh ... wait, what?
“Well ... oh sorry!” I mutter, a little too brightly as my brain aches to switch topics. “Never mind! I mean, thanks for, uh, being you. How was practice?”
He chuckles on the other end, clearly confused by my chaotic vibes . “Good. What are you doing?”
“Work. You know, the usual. Might be a bit late.”
“Oh. Don’t make me wait too long. See you at home.”
When the call ends, I’m left standing there, phone in one hand, bouquet in the other, and a head full of questions. If Ethan didn’t send the flowers, then who the?—
My eyes scan the open card, heart stuttering, tripping over the words written there. The note is short, simple:
“You may not want to see me again, but at least give me one more chance. Let’s meet—just once. Jake.”
The entire joy is replaced by a sinking feeling that settles deep in my chest like a stone.
Lauren notices the change immediately. “Holly? What’s wrong?”
“These...” I begin, my voice strained, holding up the card. “These aren’t from Ethan.”
Mia frowns. “Wait, what?”
“They’re from Jake,” my grip tightens on the card, hands trembling slightly as the realization sinks in—Jake, once again, inserting himself where he does not belong . He’s been doing this for weeks now. The accidental meetings, the box of chocolates I tossed without a second thought, and now this?
“That slimy—” I start, but instead grab my phone, dialing with a sharp flick of my thumb.
“ Jake. ” The name hisses from my lips the moment he answers, coated in frustration. “You need to stop. Now.”
“Whoa, Holly, slow down,” Jake’s voice is smooth, too smooth, like he’s still under the delusion that this is all some charming game. “What’s the problem?”
“ What’s the problem ? You’ve been orchestrating these ‘coincidences’ like some kind of rom-com villain! The chocolates, the ‘accidental’ run-ins, and now flowers? Are you seriously trying to crawl back into my life?”
Jake’s laugh is low, almost mocking. “Crawl? I wouldn’t say that. I just thought you might want to, I don’t know, reconsider.”
“Reconsider? Jake, we’ve been over for months. In fact. I’ve moved on. We’re done.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and I can almost hear him adjusting his tone, that charming, fake humility slipping into place like a well-rehearsed act. “Okay, okay, I get it. But can we at least talk? You know, for closure?”
A scoff escapes my lips. “Closure?”
“Yeah. One conversation. You can say your piece, and I’ll leave you alone.”
The urge to throw the phone across the room is overwhelming, but instead, clenching my teeth, I consider the words. Maybe it’s better to just get it over with. Maybe then Jake will stop lurking in the shadows of my life.
“Fine,” my tone is clipped. “But this is the last time, Jake.”
“Great. There’s a diner near the stadium—how about we meet there this afternoon?”
Without waiting for further input, Jake rattles off the details, and I quickly end the call, fingers gripping the phone like it’s the only thing that keeps me tethered to reality.
Lauren steps closer, her eyes full of concern. “Are you sure about this?”
“I just want him to stop,” I mutter, my voice tired. “If talking to him will make him leave me alone, then I’ll do it.”
Mia, who’s been quiet during the exchange, finally speaks up. “Well, I’m leaving for the café. Want a ride to the diner? You shouldn’t go alone.”
I offer a weak smile. “Yeah. Thanks, Mia.”
The diner is as nondescript as they come—checkered floors, the hum of an old jukebox, and the scent of frying bacon clinging to the air. Settling into a booth near the back, my nerves jangle like Christmas bells that won’t stop ringing.
Jake walks in with the same smarmy confidence he’s always had, his grin too wide, too self-assured. He slides into the booth across from me, folding his hands like this is some kind of friendly coffee catch-up.
“Thanks for meeting me,” Jake starts, voice dripping with that faux sincerity I’ve come to despise.
“Let’s make this quick.” My arms go over my chest in a defensive stance. “What do you want?”
Jake leans back, his expression softening—or at least trying to. “Look, I just want to clear the air. We had something, you and me, and I guess ... I never got over it.”
My lips press into an angry thin line, my patience’s wearing thin faster than paper on fire. “Jake, I’ve moved on. We’ve been done for a long time.”
“Yeah, but—” Jake starts, but before he can launch into whatever self-serving speech he’s prepared, the bell over the diner’s door rings. One glance up and I freeze.
Ethan.
The world seems to stop as Ethan’s eyes lock onto mine, his expression flickering between surprise and something far darker. My stomach drops, the weight of the situation crashing down all at once. Ethan wasn’t supposed to be here—how could he be here?
He stands there for a second, taking in the scene, his jaw tightening, before turning on his heel and walking right back out.
“Ethan, wait—” Stumbling out of the booth, my voice catches in my throat. But he’s already gone.
Jake, ever the opportunist, leans back with a smug grin. “Well, that’s awkward. Didn’t know you’d picked the jealous type.”
My blood boils. “You knew ,” I snap, realizing all at once the twisted game Jake’s been playing. “You planned this.”
“Maybe.” He shrugs, all too casual. “But hey, it worked, didn’t it? Got him out of here pretty fast.”
Anger floods my veins as I slam my hands down on the table. “You think this is some kind of joke ?”
Jake’s smile falters for just a second, but it’s enough for me to know I’m done here. No more games. No more Jake.
Without another word, I rush out of the diner, my heart pounding in my chest, praying that Ethan hasn’t gone far. Spotting him just as he’s climbing into his car, I call out, breathless. “Ethan, wait !”
He pauses, his hand on the door, and for a moment, he just stands there, his back to me, shoulders tense.
I rush forward, stopping just behind him. “It wasn’t what it looked like. Jake—he set this up. He wanted you to walk in. He’s been trying to mess with me for weeks.”
Ethan turns slowly, his eyes meeting mine, and there’s something cold there, something that makes my chest tighten. “I get it,” he says, his voice even. Too even. “I just ... I need a minute.”
My heart clenches, the panic rising. “Ethan, please?—”
“I’m not mad,” Ethan cuts me off, his voice softer now, but still distant. “I just need to clear my head.”
The drive back to the house is painfully quiet. I try to fill the silence, pointing out holiday decorations along the way, making small comments, trying to pull Ethan out of whatever place he’s retreating to. But it’s like talking to a brick wall. He responds, but barely.
When we finally pull into the driveway, Ethan offers a tight smile. “I’m ... tired. Think I’ll turn in early.”
And just like that, he’s gone, leaving me standing there, confused and more than a little heartbroken.