Page 20

Chapter 20

Lucas

“Well, that went well,” I growled under the blanket. What the hell did I say that for?

A couple minutes later, I found Holly in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, his body stiff, his eyes fixed on the floor. He looked as though he was barely holding it together. His dark eyes, usually so guarded, were wide with fear, darting toward me for just a second. He was trembling, although he was trying to hide it. I felt a lump in my throat, knowing how much he was struggling.

I’ve fucked this up.

I watched him in silence, trying to figure out what to do or say. There was so much I wanted to tell him—that I was an idiot, and I would understand if he told me get the fuck out into a snowstorm, but also that he didn’t have to keep running, that I wasn’t going anywhere. But instead of talking, I crossed the room, making sure not to startle him.

His eyes widened and then grew bright with tears, and my heart fractured.

“Oh, Paul, I’m sorry,” I whispered, and when I got close enough, I paused.

“It’s okay.”

It clearly wasn’t okay. “Can I hold you?” I asked, keeping my voice low, not wanting to spook him.

Holly didn’t say anything right away. He looked up at me, and there was so much fear and confusion in his expression, maybe even a little hope. Finally, after what felt like forever, he nodded. It was a slight, stiff nod, but it was enough.

I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him into a hug. His body was tense at first, as though he wasn’t sure whether to lean into me or push me away. I pressed my nose to his throat, breathing him in, the scent of him calming something inside me. I felt him relax, his body softening against mine as he let go of the tight hold he had on himself.

We stood there in silence, wrapped up in each other, the world outside the kitchen fading away. I didn’t say anything—I didn’t need to. The hug was enough.

He tightened his hold on me, pulling me closer, and without thinking, I pressed a kiss to his throat. The moment felt warm, soft, and surprisingly natural. I could feel his pulse under my lips, steady and real, grounding me in a way I hadn’t expected.

“Do you want me to fix a shower for you?” I asked, my voice low, trying to shift the mood and give us something practical to focus on.

Holly blinked as if waking up from a daze, then nodded, still leaning into me. “Yeah, that’d be… good. But how does the shower even work with no power? How do we get hot water?”

I smiled a little at that. “Old cabin trick. The heat for the water comes from the stove,” I explained. “A coil system runs from the stove to the water tank. So as long as we keep the fire burning, the water heats up.”

Holly’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? The stove heats the water?”

“Yeah, it’s not bad if you know how to keep the fire going. But it’s not instant—it takes time for the water to warm up, and you have to feed the stove regularly to keep the temperature steady.”

He gave a small, tired chuckle. “That’s… kinda cool that you know that.”

“I’ll check the stove, make sure it’s running hot enough,” I said, easing back from him, though my hand lingered on his arm for a moment longer. “Don’t get too excited just yet.”

I moved over to the stove, checking the fire and adding more logs to ensure it was burning strong. The warm glow of the flames flickered against the walls, making the small space feel cozier than it had any right to.

“You’ll have to be quick. We only get a few minutes of hot water at a time,” I said, glancing back at him.

He gave me a small, tired smile. “I can work with that.”

I smiled back, but the knot in my chest hadn’t eased. Fixing a fire, heating water—that I could do. But navigating the emotions between us? That was a whole different challenge.

I walked over to the window and stared out. It was still snowing, but the blizzard had eased up. The snow was softer now, falling steadily, pretty, but it had buried the cars. There wasn’t even a hint of where either vehicle had been—just smooth, untouched white.

“It’s not as blustery anymore,” I said, more to myself than Holly, still scanning the outside. “But I’m worried about the roof. The snow’s piling up, and we could be in trouble if it gets too heavy.”

Holly glanced over, frowning. “Do we need to do anything?”

“It’s the weight,” I explained, returning to him. “Snow might look light when it falls, but it adds up fast. It can collapse the roof if it gets too thick, especially the wet kind like this. You need to clear it off before it becomes a problem.”

Holly glanced at the ceiling as if imagining it caving in. Then he surprised me by saying, “Let’s do it together. After breakfast. And before the shower.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You sure? It’s not exactly the most fun job in the world.”

He shrugged, giving me a slight grin. “Well, I’m not exactly doing anything else today.”

“Fair enough.”

We cobbled breakfast together, rummaging through what was left in the fridge. Cereal and milk for me, while Holly found some nuts and stirred them into a bowl of yogurt. The refrigerator was staying cool, but I knew that wouldn’t last long if the power didn’t come back. “Might be worth taking the milk and other stuff outside,” I suggested. “Turn the snow into an outdoor fridge before everything goes off.”

“Yeah, good idea,” Holly agreed, nodding. “We can do that too.”

After breakfast, we both headed to the bathroom to brush our teeth. Then we bundled up, layering as much as possible, and I grabbed my gloves. As I watched Holly fumble with his gloves, I couldn’t help but smile.

“Call yourself a hockey player?” I teased. Without a word, I stepped closer, taking one glove from him and gently guiding his hand inside. His skin brushed mine, and the world felt smaller with only the two of us in this quiet cabin.

“Not anymore,” he murmured, sounding more resigned than sad.

“Here,” I murmured, sliding the second glove on. I took my time with it, letting my fingers linger over his. As I tugged the cuff snugly around his wrist, I quickly kissed him, my lips brushing against his, soft and warm.

Holly blinked, startled, but his lips curled into a small smile as he whispered, “Thanks.”

He stared out the window, his breath fogging the glass as he peered into the snow. His voice was quiet, almost as if he were talking to himself. “I wonder where chickadees go in this kind of heavy snow?”

“They hunker down,” I said. “Find dense evergreens, hollows in trees, places where the wind can’t reach them. They fluff themselves up and ride it out.”

He nodded, still gazing out into the storm. “Smart little things.”

“Resilient,” I added. “They have to be. Ready?” I asked, glancing back at Holly.

He nodded, tightening his scarf around his neck. “Let’s get this over with.”

And with that, we forced our way out of the front door and stepped out onto the small porch to survey the thick snow, ready to tackle the roof before the weather had more surprises.

I found the snow rake propped up on the small porch, next to shovels for clearing paths. I grabbed everything, knowing we wouldn’t bother clearing the road—the snow was here to stay until the mountain road crews showed up with their plows. But we needed a path to the small generator, so I snagged the shovels, too.

“Okay let’s do this,” I muttered, handing Holly a shovel before heading out to tackle the roof.

Thankfully, given what had happened to Holly’s car, the cabin wasn’t under any trees, but the snow had banked up from the east side of the cabin, piling against the roof and drifting toward the south. We started knocking it down in chunks, using the rake to pull it away from the edges. More often than not, it cascaded right over us, covering us in soft powder. We worked quickly, our breath clouding the air. After a good half hour of clearing the roof, we dug a narrow path to the generator at the side of the cabin.

I’d just finished scooping another heavy load of snow off the path, my arms aching and my breath fogging in the cold, when something smacked me square in the face. Snow exploded across my cheeks and slid down my collar, icy and sharp. I froze for a moment, stunned, then wiped my face with my glove, blinking through the sting of cold.

I turned, my eyes narrowing as I scanned the area behind me. There was Holly, standing near the tree line, his arms crossed, trying way too hard to act innocent. His gaze darted to the sky as if he’d suddenly discovered an interest in the same birds he’d been talking about earlier.

“You did not just do that,” I said, dropping the shovel and shaking the snow out of my scarf.

“Do what?” Holly asked, his tone casual. “Wasn’t me.”

“Wasn’t you?” I echoed, crouching down to scoop up a handful of snow. “You’re the only one here!”

“Could’ve been the wind,” he replied, grinning now, his breath misting in the cold. “Or, I don’t know, maybe a chickadee with a grudge.”

“Uh-huh.” I packed the snow into a ball, standing slowly. “Let’s see if the wind—or a chickadee—can dodge this.”

Holly’s eyes widened, and before I could throw, he bolted, laughing as he ran around the corner of the cabin. I followed, the snow crunching under my boots, my own laughter bubbling up as I lobbed the snowball and missed him by a mile.

“You’ve got terrible aim, Haynes!” he called over his shoulder, leaning down to grab his own handful of snow.

“Oh, we’ll see about that!” I yelled back, scrambling after him as he whipped around and lobbed another snowball. It caught my arm this time, and I retaliated with a wild throw that landed square on his shoulder.

It was just that for a while—laughing, throwing, dodging, both of us slipping and sliding in the deep snow. By the time we were both too tired to continue, we’d collapsed in a heap next to the cabin, breathless and grinning like idiots. Holly’s cheeks were flushed red from the cold, his hair sticking up at odd angles where his hat had slid off.

I flopped back onto the snow, staring up at the pale gray sky, still catching my breath. “You’re terrible at this,” I muttered.

“Me?” he shot back, leaning over me, his shadow blocking the weak winter sun. “You’re the one who missed like half the time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I replied, closing my eyes for a second. “I’ll get you next time.”

When I opened them again, he was still hovering, his face inches from mine. His grin softened into something else, something quieter. “You’ve got snow on your eyelashes,” he murmured, brushing a gloved hand across my cheek.

“And you’ve got snow all over your face,” I shot back, my voice quieter.

His smile widened, his hand lingering briefly before he leaned in. I didn’t move, or even think to, as his lips met mine, warm and soft and so out of place in the freezing cold. The snow didn’t matter, the ache in my arms didn’t matter—nothing did except how his mouth moved against mine, slow and tentative at first, then deeper, surer.

When we broke apart, his forehead rested against mine, both of us still catching our breath for an entirely different reason.

“You’re not bad at this,” I teased.

“At kissing?” he asked, his grin returning.

“Yeah. Way better than throwing snowballs.”

He laughed, his breath warm against my skin. “Guess I’ve got my priorities straight, then.”

We stayed like that for a moment, the cold forgotten, before reality nudged its way back in. Holly sighed, sitting back and brushing the snow off his knees. “We should probably finish digging out the rest of the path.”

“Right,” I said, though I didn’t move yet. “But so that you know, I’m winning the snowball fight next time.”

He laughed again, standing and offering me his hand. “Is that before or after our snowman-building competition?”

“We’re having a snowman-building competition?”

He shrugged and gestured at all the snow. “Seems like a good idea.”

And somehow, in the cold with snow soaking through my gloves, I couldn’t stop smiling.

Once inside, we peeled off all the outdoor gear, tossing wet gloves and scarves over chairs to dry. Holly grinned at me, shaking the snow from his hair. “I don’t like the cold,” he admitted, his cheeks flushed from the work. “The Harriers wanted to trade me to Calgary, and look, I know Calgary has good weather sometimes, but… shit, it can get cold.”

I chuckled, hanging up my coat. “Well, Vermont has proper seasons. Warm summers and beautiful falls… but winter storms can get rough. Though, I promise, they aren’t typically this bad.” I glanced outside at the snow that had started up again. “This one’s a beast.”

Holly gave me a wry smile. “I’ll take your word for it, but I’m still not a fan of winter.”

“Don’t worry, spring’s coming,” I deadpanned as Holly headed to the kitchen. But something wasn’t right. He was limping, moving slowly, favoring one leg.

“Did you hurt yourself?” I asked, frowning as I followed him.

“It’s a hockey injury,” he said with a shrug as though it was no big deal. “Torn meniscus, way back.”

I blinked, the memory coming back to me. He’d been out for the last ten games that season. Before that, Holly had been on fire. He was racking up points like crazy—goals, assists, everything. He’d carried the Harriers to the playoffs on his back, and I told him.

“You remember that?” Holly asked, raising an eyebrow.

I dipped my head, feeling a little heat in my face. “I’m a Harriers fan. My best friend was on the team; of course, I remember.” I paused, then added, “But I wasn’t always watching for Kai… there was always something about you that drew me in.”

Holly stared at me, surprised, and I cleared my throat. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Anyway, you want ice for your knee?”

“I should,” he said, rubbing his leg. “And maybe elevate it for a while.”

I helped him get comfy on the sofa, propped up his leg on a small table with a pillow, and gave him the ice pack for his knee. He sighed as he settled back, the tension easing from his expression.

I knelt next to him and kissed his ankle and then his shin, lifting the ice pack and pressing a kiss to his knee. “All better,” I murmured, and his breath caught when I smiled up at him.

“Lucas…”

Something shifted inside me, something I couldn’t hold back any longer. Without thinking, I moved closer, and then, driven by a need I couldn’t quite explain, I straddled his lap. I kept my weight forward, careful of his knee, and rested my hands on the sofa behind his head. His eyes widened; he was surprised but didn’t push me away.

“It was always you that I watched,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

I kissed him before either of us could overthink it. Deep and heated, my lips pressed into his as if I’d been waiting for this a long time. Holly’s hands moved to my hips, gripping me tight, holding me still as our kiss deepened. His mouth was warm and urgent, and I let myself fall into it without hesitation or second-guessing.

I wanted this. I wanted him.

He pulled back, stopping me mid-kiss, his lips slick and his breath shaky.

“I love kissing you,” he whispered, his eyes searching mine.

Our lips met again, softer this time, but still with that same heat simmering beneath the surface. The kissing became something else—more tender, more about comfort than passion. We shifted, our bodies molding together as I leaned into him, my head resting against the curve of his neck. His pulse beat steadily against my skin, his breathing calm. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest, a soothing rhythm that lulled me into peace.

I didn’t recognize how exhausted I was until I started drifting, the warmth of his body enveloping me. Holly pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me, and for the first time in what felt like ages, I allowed myself to relax. His breath in my hair and the steady heartbeat beneath my cheek felt perfect, and before I knew it, I was asleep.

Time meant nothing when I was wrapped in Holly’s arms.