Page 7 of Daddy's Christmas Rescue
I heard a quiet thank you and decided to call it a night. She was exhausted and I had another early start tomorrow making the site safe before the guys finished for the holidays the day after.
Biscuit was pacing, and he never woke me like that. Not unless there was thunder—or trouble. The red numbers on the clock glared 3:12 AM while his nails clicked urgently across the floor, followed by a low, worried whine that tightened something deep in my chest.
Up instantly, barefoot and shirtless, I yanked open my bedroom door. Biscuit shot past me straight to the guest room, pawing at the door and looking back like I was already too damn late.
Pausing, I listened. Soft, strangled sounds filtered through the wood. Not loud enough to wake a stranger. Just loud enough to break a heart.
Nightmare. Of course she’d have nightmares. A girl who’d been sleeping in a box didn’t close her eyes without seeing ghosts.
Pushing the door open quietly, I stepped into the low lamplight. Holly lay curled on the bed, body wound tight with fear. Whimpers slipped out, the kind that belonged to someone who didn’t expect help.
Biscuit hovered close, whining, careful not to touch her. Good boy. He knew about bad dreams. I crouched beside her and kept my voice low. “Holly, you’re dreaming. You’re safe. You’re at my house.”
She jerked but didn’t wake. Then her breath caught and she whispered, raw and terrified, “No… Vincent.”
The name landed like a punch, twisting something ugly in my gut.
Keeping it slow, I brushed her hair back with my fingers. “Hey, sweetheart. It’s just a dream.”
Biscuit leaned in and licked her hand. She flinched so hard my teeth clenched. Full-body shaking took over, the kind that came from a fear that had been taught—carved deep.
“It’s just a dream, honey,” I murmured. “Me and Biscuit—we’re right here.” My hand settled over hers, big and warm, grounding her. “Wake up, sweetheart. You’re safe. Nothing’s gonna hurt you now.”
She gasped awake, eyes wild and unfocused. For a heartbeat she didn’t know who I was. Then recognition hit, and she launched herself forward, burying her face in my chest. No scream—just silent shaking, like she’d learned not to make noise even while breaking.
Instinct took over. Arms wrapped around her, steady and solid, rocking her gently. Her fists clutched at me like she expected me to disappear.
The words slipped out before I could stop them, soft with guilt. “Holly… what’s your last name?”
“Turner,” she breathed, fragile as paper. Then she sagged against me, crying now, quiet and exhausted. Gathering her closer felt both necessary and wrong, like prying open a lock she wasn’t ready to share. But she didn’t pull away; she clung harder, seeking something solid.
My thumb brushed her cheek as I kept my voice low. “You’re okay. He’s not here. No one’s ever touching you again.”
A tiny, broken sound escaped her—like she almost believed me. Her breathing hitched and stuttered. She tasted every word before letting it go. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Don’t apologize,” I said immediately, stroking her hair. “Not for nightmares. Not for waking me. Not for a damn thing.”
Another shiver rolled through her as she hiccupped against my chest.
“You want to talk about it?” The question came out gentle, not pushing.
Her throat worked. “It was dark,” she whispered. “I couldn’t see. I cried… and that made it worse. They said naughty girls had to learn to behave. So they left me there.”
My jaw locked. Left her where? Who the hell were they?
“Who did that to you, Holly?”
She blinked herself partway back into the present, suddenly aware of where she was. “No one. Just a dream. Nothing.”
“Hey.” My voice roughened, though she didn’t flinch. “That wasn’t nothing. But listen—you're not there anymore. You’re here. The door’s not locked. You can walk out anytime you want. No one’s keeping you anywhere you don't want to be ever again.”
Her lip trembled. She looked away fast, guilty for existing.
Talking through feelings wasn’t my strong suit, but holding someone together while they shook apart? That, I understood.
“You’re safe here, Holly,” I said, softer now. “Nobody’s putting you in the dark. Not while I’m breathing.”
She finally looked up, eyes wet and unsure, but a small flicker of belief sparked there.
