Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Chance
Her taste lingers on my lips like an unauthorized security breach.
Sweet.
Dangerous.
The kind of chaos that turns the strongest of men into fools.
And let’s be honest—I deserve it. I’ve spent the past year giving Nick endless grief about Charlie. Now, here I am, a walking cliché, fighting my dozenth hard-on just being in close proximity.
You know, like the same zip code.
I watch her walk away, trying like hell not to notice how that skirt hugs every curve.
Or how she still has that little swing in her step—the one that used to drive us nuts when we were kids because it meant she was up to something.
Only now it's driving me nuts for entirely different reasons.
I suck in a breath, only to have the familiar scent of pine and cinnamon fill my lungs dragging me back to a childhood that refuses to let go.
Same massive stone fireplace where Holly set the stockings on fire trying to roast marshmallows when she was eight—still scarred from her attempt at "campfire chic."
Same worn leather armchairs where Nick and I plotted every harebrained scheme while she sat behind a book, pretending not to eavesdrop.
Same Holly who tagged along after us, all scraped knees and pure, unrelenting determination.
A different Holly, one who kisses like she's declaring war and laughs like she's already won it.
"You coming?" Nick's voice cuts through my definitely-not-appropriate thoughts about his sister.
"Yeah." I scrub a hand over my face. Between the drive to Portland, the night at the hotel with Holly, and that kiss—I'm running on fumes.
Horny, lust-filled fumes. “You owe me a drink."
Between her early morning exploration of my face and the way she trusted me with her fears, sleep feels impossible. Every time I close my eyes, I feel her fingertips ghosting over my skin.
And if I don’t lock it up, my best friend is going to see it written all over my face.
Survival skills engaged.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m leaning on the bar, burning up every last bit of energy trying to look like the picture of nonchalance while Nick makes it his mission to set me on fire with his piercing glare.
It’s all about who can hold out under the cloud of silent judgement the longest. Something we both excel at considering our families, but his loud as fuck silence is ruining our Pappy’s tradition.
"For fuck's sake, stop looking at me like that." I down half my drink in one go, savoring the burn. "Your face might stick that way and when my sister kick’s your ass to the curb, then what will you do?"
"Nice deflection." Nick's eyes narrow. "You want to explain that photo you sent me this morning?"
"Which one? The eggplant emoji parade or?—"
"You know damn well which one." He sets his drink down with more force than necessary. "The one of my sister looking thoroughly debauched in your shirt."
My mind flashes to Holly in my flannel, all soft curves and sleepy eyes.
Yup, not helping the boner status one fucking bit.
"Debauched?" I snort. "Next thing you’re going to accuse me of knowing the color of her knickers."
I happen to know, but let’s not split hairs.
"Deflecting. Again."
Goddamn right I am.
I’m hoping to hold out to the second Pappy’s. Drown my bone in a little 90 proof because it’s impolite to point. Especially when it’s at your best friend—mid interrogation.
Just call me Mr. Goddamn Manners.
He jams a hand through his hair, and I remember doing the same a few hundred times when he and Charlie played out through text while I was half a world away.
"Just tell me you didn't sleep with her."
The weight of her secrets sits heavy in my chest.
Holly tracing my features in the dark.
Holly whispering her fears to my supposedly sleeping form.
The trust in those moments means more than any physical contact could.
No, Nick… I didn’t fuck your sister. But with her every lingering touch in the dark when she thought I was sleeping… she fucked me. Really fucked me.
Didn’t sleep with her.
“You saw the picture, the room only had one bed.” Okay, low blow, but I’m not ready to have this conversation. Not after spending half the night keeping myself awake so I could hold her hand longer.
“Answer the fucking question, McAllister.”
Every cell goes still at his tone. Thirty years of friendship with Nick sitting like lead in my gut.
"Do you see stretch marks around her lips?”
I take way too much pleasure in the way his mouth goes slack.
“Is she walking funny?”
And now hangs open.
“No?” The tension between us pulses as I hold his stare. “Then I guess I didn't fuck your sister."
Oblivious to the self-loathing in my voice, his shoulders relax slightly.
"The way you two were looking at each other under that mistletoe..."
"That was all your mother's doing." Which is true enough.
The kiss itself though?
All Holly—sweet, spicy, no longer struggling to keep up, but instead charging ahead.
"It was a joke, man." The ice in my glass clinks as I swirl the amber liquid. "You left me with Squirt duty. I was simply keeping you updated on the mission status."
"With visual aids?"
"I'm thorough like that."
"Yeah?" He leans forward. "How about you be thorough explaining why you looked ready to commit murder when Blake showed up?"
Shit. He caught that?
"Professional courtesy. Guy's a douche."
"So you're what—going to stare daggers at every guy who looks at my sister?"
"If necessary." I flash him a grin. "Think of me as your eyes on the ground."
“Well shit, look what the storm dragged in!" A familiar voice booms across the bar.
Everett Morgan's grin is exactly as I remember it—wide and genuine, with just a hint of trouble brewing underneath. Time’s been good to him. He carries himself with the easy confidence of a man who knows his place in the world.
"Morgan." I stand, accepting his bear hug with a laugh. "Still terrorizing the slopes?"
"Someone's gotta keep you city boys humble." He drops into the seat next to me, signaling the bartender. "Though I hear you're not exactly living the soft life these days. How many deployments now?”
“Seven.” I take another sip of whiskey. “Just there for intelligence purposes. Less glamorous than it sounds."
"Unless you count all the penetration," Nick mutters with a grin into his glass.
I shoot him a look promising retribution.
"How's the lodge treating you?"
"Same shit, different snow." Everett's eyes scan the room, then stop.
His whole body goes still.
"Well, hello gorgeous. Please tell me she's not with either of you because that—" He lets out a low whistle, "Is worth breaking my 'no guests' rule for."
My gut clenches as I follow his gaze. Holly stands near the fireplace, all bare legs and flushed cheeks, with her head thrown back in laughter at something Charlie just said.
One sweeping perusal of her elegant throat and my mouth runs dry.
The same throat I wanted to taste this morning.
Fuck.
"Pipe down, hotshot. That's my sister," Nick says flatly.
"No way." Everett's eyes widen. "Little Holly?” He lets out another whistle. "Damn. Time has been very, very kind."
A growl builds in my chest. "Watch it."
Nick and Everett’s heads turn to me in tandem.
Shit.
"Something you want to share?" Nick's voice carries that edge again.
"Just looking out for your sister." I force a casual shrug. "Like I said—eyes on the ground."
"Speaking of looking out for her—" Everett grins, clearly enjoying the tension. "Remember that time Holly tried to find our clubhouse? Made it halfway up the back trail before you two noticed she was following you?"
The memory hits and the whiskey turns rancid on my tongue. Holly, maybe twelve, determination written all over her face as she tried to keep up. Snow clinging to her red mittens, eyes bright with hope until we crushed it.
God, we were such assholes.
"She got her revenge though." Nick chuckles. "What was it—salt in our canteens?"
"Ghost peppers," I correct, phantom heat burning my tongue. "And that was just the beginning."
The taste burned into my memory alone makes me reach for my water. "We probably deserved worse."
"Probably?" Nick snorts. "We definitely deserved worse. She cried for days after that."
My chest tightens. "Yeah, well, we were idiots."
"Were?" Everett smirks.
My phone buzzes with a text from my contact at the airport—Holly's luggage is en route with a buddy of mine. At least something's going right today.
"Rest up—" Everett's grin turns wicked. "Mistletoe can be a demanding bitch."
“She can demand all she wants, it’s not happening." I toss some bills on the bar. "Once was enough."
"Sure it was." Nick's tone carries enough bite to strip paint.
I flip them both off without looking back, but Everett's laughter follows me out.
One look at my room key tells me they got us in their family wing. Basically a cluster of rooms all of the same hallway. I get the sentiment, but fuck, there really is no escape.
The main lodge empties out, most guests getting in their last runs before the sun goes down, taking with it about twenty degrees.
Holly’s dad and his 24/7 ass kisser bragged about a dinner meeting in town earlier, effectively killing our tradition of having a big family dinner we usually have the first night.
Works for me.
The silence in my room, one I’ve stayed in many times before, is only broken only by the soft whisper of snow against the window.
The bed's exactly where it was twenty years ago when Nick and I used to sneak down to raid the kitchen after lights out.
Holly caught us most of the time, naming the price of her silence. The bargain basement price of bringing her back a cookie.
We always did. Even when we were being assholes about everything else, we couldn't resist that face.
Just like I couldn't resist her kiss today.
My phone buzzes, thank fuck, yanking me from the memory.
Of the kiss, not the cost of her bribes.
HOLLY
Guess what just arrived?
HOLLY
My luggage, you sneaky bastard.
HOLLY
How did you manage that?
I grin at my phone, picturing her excited face.
ME
I know people.
ME
Got everything you need?
HOLLY
All my presentation materials safe and sound.
HOLLY
My laptop's running like a drunk snail though.
HOLLY
And I share a wall with Blake so that’s fun.
The growl is out before I can stop it.
ME
Everything okay? Want to switch?
HOLLY
Define okay...
HOLLY
He's knocked twice already.
HOLLY
Are conjugal visits a thing in prison? Asking for a friend who might murder him if he tries again.
Red bleeds into the edges of my vision. The urge to knock on his door myself is almost overwhelming.
ME
Need backup?
HOLLY
Nope. I’m good.
HOLLY
But seriously... thank you. For the luggage rescue.
HOLLY
And for checking on me.
Something in my chest tightens at her words.
This is the Holly I remember—the one who notices things. Who fights like hell, but is always thankful for kindness.
The one I'm definitely going to hell for wanting.
ME
Always.
ME
Hey, Squirt…
HOLLY
Yeah, Jackass?
There it is. That spark of humor that’s so Holly.
Impressive how she wields sarcasm even when she’s imploding inside. A smile tugs at my mouth. She’s tough, always finding a way to pull herself back from the edge, even when the ground is shifting under her feet.
ME
This is your presentation to lose. Don’t let your father get in your head. He doesn’t deserve that power. You're the only one who can give it to him.
Dots appear doing the digital wave over and over, only to disappear thirty seconds later. Each one ticking away is a reminder that I’m way too invested in this.
No reply.
They flash on the screen again. Stop. Then reappear.
I can’t help but watch the hypnotic little bastards like they might hold the answer to the age-old question: which came first the chicken or the goddamn egg, while the Jeopardy theme song plays through my head: do-do-do-do, do-do-do…
Pure. Fucking. Agony. My chest tightens, caught somewhere between anticipation and the urge to throw my phone across the room.
HOLLY
Get some sleep, soldier boy.
I blink down at her response, the relief so powerful, I’m dizzy from it.
HOLLY
Fresh battle tomorrow.
She has no idea. But that's tomorrow's problem.
Tonight, I map out the lodge's entrances and exits in my head, calculating alternate routes that avoid that damn entryway and its mistletoe entirely.
Mission parameters set.
No more mistletoe incidents. No more kisses. No more testing my control.
I'm a soldier. I can follow simple orders.
Even if I know the war is already lost.