Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Chance
The barn door groans as I shove it open, ancient hinges protesting. Wind whips through at my back, but it does jack shit to cool the inferno raging inside me.
She better fucking hide because when I get my hands on her… we’re going to have one hell of a talk. Meaning, I’m going to talk and she’s not going to keep her mouth all the way shut while I set a few things straight.
My jaw aches from clenching it, the muscle there jumping with a life of its own. The memory of her staring at Everett's mouth burns through me to my core.
She’s not interested in him, not really.
I know this.
But that’s the thing about betrayal—it gets its hooks in you, and logic doesn’t mean shit.
Scents of hay, motor oil, and wood pull me back to nights spent hiding in the shadows with stolen beers and endless stories. When our mistakes were innocent—forgettable.
Now I’m becoming a fucking pro at the mindfuck variety, with the power to destroy everything and everyone I’ve ever loved.
The sleigh sits silent in its corner, that damn wagon still hitched behind it like some kind of witness to what went down tonight.
To where my hand was.
To how she trembled.
To how she ran.
The low hum fills my ears, that familiar sense kicking in—a skill honed through years of dealing with the little stalker dogging our every step, like some pint-sized CIA operative.
And right now, every instinct is dragging me toward the corner.
Because maybe the best place to hide is in the very place you were running from. My hand, her thigh, and then some—the fucking sleigh.
Oh yeah, that would be just like her… feeling all the goddamned things, go to the one place where your forced to relive it.
The tarp over the back shifts, just enough to confirm what I already know.
My boots crunch over the dirt-caked wood as I tear up the distance between us. Taylor Swift’s muffled voice drifts from beneath the tarp. Followed by that little hum Holly does during the bridge.
Always the fucking bridge with this woman.
Grabbing her ankle, I yank hard, dragging her defiant little ass to the edge of the wagon. Her earbuds tumble free, hay clings to her hair, and pure fire blazes in her eyes.
Popped the little menace clean out of her earbuds—with the hold she has on me, this is just the first of many more times to come.
“What the hell, Chance?”
In one swoop, I climb on top of her, caging her with my knees at her waist.
Catching her wrists, I pin them to the floor above her head. "Don't ever do that to me again."
"Do what?" Her chest heaves, eyes flashing. "What’s your fucking problem?"
“My problem?” I growl, leaning in closer. “My problem is you sitting on that sleigh eye fucking Everett like—like—” The words tear out of me, raw and honest. “Like I wasn’t right there.”
Confusion flickers across her face. “I wasn’t—what are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you using another guy to get to me.” My voice drops, rough with fury I’m still choking back. “I mean it, Holly. I won’t go there again—definitely not with you. Got it. Never with you.”
I hate where that one moment sent me. Back to a time where I caved to expectation and turned myself into a doormat.
And what did I learn?
Sometimes people are just shit… and it has not one goddamned thing to do with me and everything to do with them.
“Why do you care, Chance?”
My gut offers up straightforward logic—Don’t tell her.
But my heart? My heart is the captain of debate by day, drunk poet by night.
Because you’re everything—maddening, challenging, fearless.
You’re the only one who can bring me to my knees.
And when I wasn’t paying attention, Squirt, you became my entire world.
Sneers and digs by day, falling more in love with her by night.
I can’t tell anyone. I can’t confess to my best friend that I’m so goddamned out of my mind for his sister, if he ever told me to choose between loving her or keeping my best friend—my brother—I’d choose her every fucking time.
I bury my hands in her hair, angling her head just right, and pour every ounce of frustration into kissing her senseless.
It’s not gentle. Nothing like our careful mistletoe kisses.
It's raw hunger unleashed, days of pent-up tension exploding in one bruising, soul-wrecking kiss.
She makes a sound in her throat, half whimper, half moan, sending a surge of blood straight to my cock. But the sigh that follows, ragged and full of relief—like she’s been waiting for this— for me—for us—her entire life.
She tastes like chocolate and desire and something uniquely Holly that makes my blood burn.
"Rate that, Squirt," I growl against her throat. "I fucking dare you."
Her hands fist in my shirt as she arches up, meeting my intensity. When she rolls her hips, I nearly lose my mind.
Dragging my mouth down her throat, I savor hit after hit of delicious skin, her pulse racing beneath my tongue with every taste.
Behind her ear, she shivers.
Along her collarbone, she moans.
And along the soft swell of her breast above her sweater, she arches up, silently begging for more.
Spanning her ribs, I graze the underside of her breast in slow torturous strokes. So close to where I want to touch, to taste.
Desperate to touch bare skin, I slide my hand under her sweater.
Because she's mine.
Every smart-mouthed, sock-wearing, impossible inch of her.
I rock against her, chasing relief I know won’t come. Not tonight.
Tonight is for next level torture.
The mission? Collect every soft sigh, helpless moan, hungry growl—and lock them up.
No one else will ever get this part of her.
Never.
Pulling back just enough to see her face, I memorize how she looks in this moment—flushed and fierce and so fucking beautiful it hurts.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, yanking me back to her mouth.
This kiss is different—deeper, hungrier, like she's trying to devour me whole.
And I let her.
Christ, I'd let her do anything as long as she keeps kissing me like this.
My dick throbs painfully, demanding more.
Demanding everything.
I slide my hand higher under her sweater, palm grazing the lace of her bra?—
The barn door's groan cuts through our heavy breathing.
Nick's voice follows, casual and unsuspecting. "Chance? You in here?"
Holly goes rigid beneath me, her lips still swollen from my kiss. My heart slams against my ribs as her wide eyes lock with mine.
The guilt I've been fighting crashes over me—not for wanting her, never for that—but for lying to my best friend. My brother.
"They said you came in here like five minutes ago," Nick calls, his footsteps echoing on the wooden floor. Each step closer winds the tension tighter.
I press my finger to Holly's lips, silently willing her still. Her breath pants hot against my skin, and fuck if that doesn't make my dick throb despite the danger. "Yeah, I'm here."
"You good? You sound..." A pause. "Occupied."
Sweat breaks out along my spine. One wrong move, one sound from Holly, and everything explodes. "Just... give me five minutes, would you?"
"Sierra’s missing too." The amusement in his voice makes my stomach turn. "Second time around that particular block, huh?"
Holly's whole body goes stiff, that earlier fire in her eyes dying.
She tries to pull away, but there's nowhere to go with me still caging her in.
The hurt flashing across her face guts me before she locks it down, that mask I fucking hate sliding into place.
"Fuck off, Nick." The words come out harder than I intend, raw with frustration and something darker.
His laughter echoes off the walls as the door creaks shut. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
The silence that follows—like drowning.
Holly won't look at me, her hands flat against my chest—no longer pulling me closer but pushing me away. The inches between us might as well be miles.
"Holly—"
"Don't." Her voice cracks on that single word. "Just... don't."
She shoves harder and I let her go, watching helplessly as she scrambles out from under me.
Hay clings to her sweater, her hair a mess from my hands. She looks thoroughly kissed and completely devastated.
"It's not—" I start, but she's already running.
The barn door slams behind her with a finality that echoes in my chest. I drop my head back against the wagon's side, the wood rough against my scalp.
The taste of her lingers on my tongue, a reminder of everything I want and can't have.
Not fully.
Not yet.
I don’t know how long I sit there, minutes, hours… it’s hard to tell, but eventually my phone buzzes in my pocket, pulling me out of the haze.
NICK
You and Sierra get reacquainted?
The text burns in my gut, because he has no fucking clue how wrong he is.
How the recollection of Sierra—of that summer we spent messing around, a couple of dumb kids trying to find ourselves—completely fades when held against just five minutes with Holly.
I won’t be going back and rereading old chapters.
I’m interested in the new one.
Her.
I don't answer. Can't. Because every word out of my mouth lately is a lie.
The ghost of Holly's soft sighs haunts me. The way she arched into my touch. How perfectly she fit against me. The little sounds she made that I'll be hearing in my dreams.
My cock's still hard, my body humming with need, but there's no relief coming tonight.
This is my punishment—wanting her, needing her, and having to pretend I don't.
Having to watch her pull away because she thinks she doesn't matter.
This isn't just addiction anymore. This is something deeper.
Christ. How do I keep acting like I hate her by day when she's branded herself into my blood with tonight’s kiss?
How do I go back when I know how she tastes?
How her skin feels under my hands?
How she surrenders?
I grab my phone again, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. But what the hell do I say?
Sorry my past keeps hurting you?
Sorry I'm lying to my best friend?
Sorry I can't stop wanting you even though I should?
In the end, I say nothing. Just push to my feet, adjust my painfully hard dick, and head for the door.
Maybe a cold shower will wash away the memory of her taste—her touch. The way she looked at me before Nick's words shattered everything.
Yeah. And maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and none of this will matter.