Page 2 of Daddy's Christmas Rescue
I crouched, keeping my voice as gentle as a man my size could manage. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
A pale hand slipped out, trembling. Small. Not a child’s, but close enough that my chest pulled tight. The scent of fear hit me next—sharp and unmistakable.
I set the ribbon where she could see it and eased back. The box shifted, scraping against the floor, and then a face appeared.
A woman. Young. Small and exhausted, bruises blooming across her cheek, hair tangled and held back with a matching ribbon. Dust streaked her skin like she’d crawled through the world on her knees. Her eyes locked on the ribbon like it was the only thing tethering her to herself.
“I’m Blake,” I said quietly.
She didn’t answer, but when I held my hand out—open, palm up—she snatched the ribbon and clutched it like a lifeline. Another bruise marked her ankle. No coat. No bag. Just a thin sweater. She wouldn’t have made it through the night.
“You can walk out, or I can carry you,” I told her, keeping my voice firm but steady. “Either way, sweetheart, you’re coming somewhere warm. I won’t let you get hurt.”
She flinched at the promise, like kindness confused her.
“What’s your name?” I asked softly.
A long moment passed before her fingers slipped into mine—ice-cold, bird-light.
“Holly,” she whispered.
“Good girl,” I murmured without thinking—and the way she softened told me it was exactly what she needed to hear.
She was folded tight in that box, knees to chest. I lifted her slowly, keeping her close but giving her space, and she pressedher cheek to my arm. I held still, letting her decide how close to be.
Outside, the crew fell silent. I wrapped my jacket around her, watching it swallow her whole, and she clung to the fabric like armor.
I settled her in my truck. She curled up instantly, ribbon wrapped around her finger, trembling easing only when the heater kicked in. We sat there watching the building come down, the demolition thundering through the cold air. She stared like she wasn’t sure whether to be afraid or relieved.
“Who can I call for you?” I asked.
She sank deeper into my jacket. “I don’t… have anyone.”
“Friends?” I kept my tone even. Calm mattered.
A small shake of her head.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-two,” she whispered. “I know I don’t look it.”
“No,” I said, a small smile tugging at my mouth. “You don’t.”
Her breath hitched. “I’ll go. I won’t cause trouble.”
Christ. Like existing was a burden.
I exhaled slowly. “Sweetheart, the only place you’re going right now is somewhere warm. You’re coming home with me. We’ll figure the rest out after you eat and sleep.”
She nodded—too fast, too trusting—and instinct clawed at me to warn her not to trust men who took charge. But she needed steadiness. Someone who wouldn’t drop her. Someone who wouldn’t hurt her.
“Good girl,” I said again, softer. She melted into the seat like the words wrapped around her.
On the drive, she whispered her name again—Holly—stronger this time. She twisted the ribbon the whole way, grounding herself with it.
I should’ve called the cops. Should’ve followed protocol. But she looked like someone who’d learned to fear uniforms more than fists.
So I gave her what I could control—heat, food, quiet.
