Page 33 of Daddy's Christmas Rescue
Her face went pale, and I could see the terror bloom behind her eyes as she turned toward me. “Blake, they’ll think it’s me. They’ll say I knew. You don’t understand—they always make everything my fault.”
I reached across the console, closing my hand around hers before the panic could spiral. “Hey. Look at me.” She did, barely, tears trembling at the edges. “No one’s blaming you. Tony, tell her.”
Tony’s voice softened. “Ms. Turner, you’re not under investigation. You’re the victim here. The accounts were opened when you were still a minor. We already have them under investigation for insurance fraud, and we have the lawyer they've been using who's being extremely talkative. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
Holly pressed both hands to her face, voice breaking through her fingers. “I didn’t even know Nana left me anything. She told me once that I’d always have a home, but I just assumed that meant she didn't think Mom or Dad would ever make me leave.”
" We’re freezing the accounts right now. I'll be in touch.” He rang off.
I felt her trembling beside me. She lowered her hands and stared at the dashboard like it was the only thing holding her upright. “All this time,” she said quietly, “I thought I was just a burden they tolerated. And really, I was the one paying their bills.”
Her voice cracked on the last word, and that was enough to undo me. I reached over and brushed my thumb across her knuckles. “You were never a burden, Holly. You were the damn foundation they stood on — they just never told you.”
She laughed once, raw and shaky. “Is that why Vincent wanted to marry me?”
I hesitated, but she wasn't an idiot, and I didn't think the question needed answered.
Rafe’s voice came back over the line. “Tony’s filing the warrants. He says to get her somewhere safe for the night. They’ll pick up the Turners and Vincent as soon as they have them.”
“Copy that,” I said, and ended the call. I reached out and took her hand in mine.
Holly
The world outside the truck window blurred into streaks of white and gray, the hum of the tires steady beneath us. I keptBanjo tucked in my lap, half hidden under Blake’s jacket, and tried not to cry again. Biscuit pushed his nose between the seats and licked my hand, his quiet way of reminding me I wasn’t alone.
I didn’t know what to say—or even where to look. The cab smelled faintly of pine cleaner and leather, like him. Safe. Too safe.Every time I blinked, I saw my father’s calm, disappointed stare; my mother’s perfect smile stretched tight around her teeth; Vincent’s eyes, cold and flat. They’d all talked about love, about home, about family, and I’d believed every lie because I’d been trained to.
“Breathe, sweetheart,” Blake said softly, his hand steady on the wheel. “It’s over now.”
I nodded, though my chest still felt tight and hollow, like there wasn’t enough room inside me for relief.
Headlights glowed behind us—the second truck, his crew. I hadn’t met them before tonight, but I’d seen them in the doorway earlier, solid shadows who looked like they could take down a building without slowing their stride. They followed us all the way back, a silent wall of protection.
When we finally pulled into Blake’s drive, the men climbed out, snow crunching beneath their boots. The cold air hit my face, sharp and real, and for the first time I realized I was free.
Rafe, the one with kind eyes and a beard like a lumberjack’s, offered me a warm smile. “Blake says you’re a baker,” he said. “My wife’s gonna lose her mind when she hears that. She’s been trying to make cinnamon rolls that don’t collapse for years.”
I blinked, startled. “Oh. I—I’m not really—”
He chuckled. “She’ll have you in the Saturday brunch group before you can run for it.”
Tyler, tall and cocky in a flannel shirt, laughed quietly. “Don’t let him kid you,” he said. “It’s not a group—it’s a cult. They trade recipes and drink enough mimosas to float the Saint John.”
Rafe swatted him on the shoulder, and the easy teasing between them pulled a small, unexpected laugh from my throat. It sounded strange at first, thin and shaky, but it was laughter all the same—and it didn’t feel wrong.
Duke, the quiet one, nodded toward Banjo where he peeked out from under my arm. “That the bunny that saved the day?” he asked.
“Sort of,” I said, ducking my head.
"What's his name?" I gaped because this huge man with tattoos wanted to know what I called my bunny. "Banjo," I whispered.
He smiled, slow and genuine. “Then you keep him close. My Gemma’s got a bear. She says he keeps nightmares away.” He grunted. "I tell her that's my job, but it doesn't hurt to have a back-up."
Something in my chest loosened at that. I smiled back at him, uncertain, but real.
Blake opened the truck door for Biscuit, who jumped down and stretched before trotting straight to me. I dropped to my knees in the snow, still clutching Banjo, and buried my face in Biscuit’s fur. He pressed closer with a soft whine, warm and solid, and the last of my trembling eased.
Rafe leaned against his truck and grinned. “Told you, man. Even the dog’s got better taste than us.”
