My Secret Santa Axton (Silver Ridge Christmas)

10. Letting Go

Letting Go

MEL

I stand in the half-demolished bunkhouse, surrounded by the ghosts of what could have been. Dust motes dance in the weak December sunlight streaming through gaps in the walls. The silence is deafening.

"Dammit, Axton," I mutter, kicking a loose board. It skitters across the floor, echoing in the empty space.

I force myself to focus on the task at hand. There's work to be done, with or without him. I pull out my clipboard, running down the list of safety measures we—no, I —need to implement.

"Structural supports... check. Debris removal... in progress." My voice sounds hollow in the cavernous room.

I run my fingers along a weathered beam, the rough wood catching on my skin. Axton's voice echoes in my head, explaining the intricacies of load-bearing walls and structural weak points. His passion for his work had been infectious, his eyes lighting up as he walked me through the demolition plan.

"Dammit," I mutter, snatching my hand away. I can't let myself get lost in those memories again.

But it's too late. My mind catapults back to that day in the bunkhouse, Axton's lips crashing into mine with a desperation that matched my own. For one glorious moment, I thought we'd finally broken through the walls between us. His hands had gripped my hips, pulling me closer like he never wanted to let go.

Then, just as quickly, he'd pushed me away. The warmth in his eyes turned to ice, leaving me cold and alone.

I'd tried to shake it off during my weekend with Kenzie. We'd danced, laughed, and I flirted with men as if anyone could compare. For a few blissful hours, I'd almost convinced myself I could move on.

But now, standing in this half-demolished shell, the ache in my chest feels sharper than ever.

"How long?" I whisper to the empty room.

How long am I supposed to wait? How many times can I offer my heart, only to have him push it away?

I know Axton's fighting something. The pain in his eyes when he looks at me... it's not indifference. It's fear. But I'm tired of being collateral damage in his internal war.

My fingers curl into fists at my sides. I want to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all. Instead, I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders.

I can't keep doing this to myself. Something has to change.

"He made his choice."

But did he?

The thought nags at me as I double-check the bracing on a load-bearing wall. Axton's always been a man of few words, but lately... it's like trying to read a blank page.

I trace the delicate silver chain of the locket, remembering how it appeared on my porch. Another secret gift, another piece of Axton's heart he can't seem to give me directly.

His words replay: "You deserve better than what I can give you."

But I've seen the softness in his eyes when he thinks I'm not looking. I've felt the gentleness in his touch, so at odds with his gruff exterior. It's there in every carefully chosen gift, in the way he lingers just a moment too long before walking away.

Why can't he just admit it? Why does he keep pushing me away with one hand while leaving these breadcrumbs with the other?

I close my fist around the locket, feeling the edges dig into my palm. It's fucking frustrating.

"What are you so afraid of?" I whisper to the empty room.

But I know the answer. He's afraid of the same thing I am—getting hurt. The difference is, I'm willing to risk it. Axton... I'm not so sure.

"How long am I supposed to wait?" I ask the empty room. "How long before I admit he's never gonna let me in?"

The bunkhouse offers no answers, just the creaking of old wood settling.

I lean against a sturdy beam, letting out a long breath. The truth I've been avoiding settles heavy in my chest. I can't keep doing this. Can't keep putting my heart on the line for someone who won't—or can't—do the same.

"I want off of the Axton rollercoaster," I whisper, and for the first time, I actually believe it.

The realization doesn't make the ache go away, but it loosens something inside me.

I straighten up to return to my tasks. I better move before I freeze my ass off.

Weak December sunlight filters through the gaps, illuminating swirling dust. I survey the wreckage, my clipboard clutched tight.

I scan the safety checklist, ticking off items one by one. I'm surprised to see we're ahead of schedule, even without Axton's presence this past week.

For a moment, concern flickers—is he okay? I squash the thought immediately. It's not my problem anymore. I'm done caring.

But even as I tell myself this, I know it's a lie. Deep down, I still care. I want answers, closure, something to help me move forward. But right now, it's easier to pretend I don't give a damn.

As I make my way back to the main house, the crisp air clears my head. The familiar sight of home—solid, dependable—grounds me. But something's off. Mamma's on the porch, pacing. Her face is drawn with worry.

"Mel, thank goodness," she says as I approach. "We've got a situation."

My heart sinks. "What's wrong?"

Mamma takes a deep breath. "It's Lena. She's gone."

"Gone?" I repeat, not quite processing. "What do you mean, gone?"

Mamma leads me inside, her voice low. "She left in the middle of the night. All we found was this." She hands me a crumpled note.

I scan the hastily scrawled words. I'm sorry. Please take care of my babies. I'll come back when it's safe. -L

"Oh no," I breathe. "Amir and Zoe..."

"They're at the shelter," Mamma says. "But we need to move them here. It'll be more stable for them."

I nod, pushing aside my own emotional turmoil. There are kids who need us now.

"I'll go get them settled."

"Thank you, love. I'll be over after I finish making the police report."

At the shelter, I find Amir and Zoe huddled together on a small couch. Zoe's trying to be brave, but I can see the fear in her eyes. Amir clings to his teddy bear, lower lip trembling.

"Hey there," I say softly, crouching down to their level. "How about we go on a little adventure to my house?"

Zoe eyes me warily. "Where's Mommy?"

My heart breaks. "Your mom... she had to go away for a little while. But she wants you to stay with us where it's safe. Is that okay?"

Amir's lip quivers harder. "When is she coming back?"

I swallow hard. "I don't know, sweetie. But I promise we'll take good care of you until she does."

As I help them pack, I come across a worn shoulder bag that must be Lena's. Something compels me to look inside. Amid the usual clutter, a folded paper catches my eye. I open it, my blood running cold as I see Ian's name scrawled at the top.

"What the hell?" I mutter, scanning the rest. It looks like... directions? A crude map?

My mind flashes to Kenzie's abduction. The fear in her eyes when we found her. Could Ian be involved in this too?

I shove the paper in my pocket, my protective instincts kicking into overdrive. Whatever's going on, I won't let these kids get hurt.

I spend the afternoon shuttling between the shelter and home, gathering Amir and Zoe's meager belongings. With each trip, the reality of their situation sinks in deeper. These kids have lost everything, and now they're relying on us—on me—to keep them safe.

By the time we finish dinner, the sun's already dipping below the horizon. I guide the kids upstairs for baths, trying to establish some semblance of normalcy.

Amir splashes happily in the tub while Zoe insists on washing her own hair. It will be a tangled mess, but I admire her independence, even as my heart aches for the circumstances that forced her to grow up so fast.

"Alright, munchkins," I say, leading them into my old bedroom. "This is gonna be your space for now."

I watch as they take in the room—the faded cowgirl wallpaper, the well-worn dresser, the twin beds that suddenly look impossibly small.

Were they always that tiny? Or is it just that these two seem so much more fragile now?

Amir clutches his teddy bear tighter, his eyes wide. "Can I sleep by the window?"

"Course you can, buddy." I ruffle his damp curls, fighting back the lump in my throat. "How about you, Zoe? You okay with the other bed?"

She nods, running her hand over the patchwork quilt. "It's pretty," she says softly.

While I tuck them in, I can't shake off the heaviness of responsibility that is settling upon us. These kids need stability, love, protection—all the things their mama was trying to give them. And now it's up to us.

"You're safe here. I promise," I whisper, more to myself than to them. "And guess what? I've got the best bedtime story picked out."

As I read, watching their eyes grow heavy, a sense of peace washes over me. This—caring for others, being part of something bigger than myself—is what matters. And I feel the joy of being part of my mother's mission.

When they're finally asleep, I slip out onto the porch. The cool night air is a balm to my frayed nerves.

"Heavy day?" Daddy's deep voice startles me.

I turn to see him settling into a rocking chair. "You could say that."

He pats the seat next to him. "Want to talk about it?"

I sink down, suddenly exhausted. "It's just... everything with Axton. And now Lena..." I trail off, not sure how to put it all into words.

Daddy nods, his eyes kind. "Love ain't always easy, Mel-bell. But it should bring you peace, not take it away."

We sit in comfortable silence for a while as I digest his words, the porch swing creaking softly. Finally, I gather the courage to tell him about the Secret Santa gifts.

"...and the locket, Daddy. It had lavender in it. He remembered."

Daddy's quiet for a moment, considering. "Sounds to me like those gifts came from a man who cares about you, Mel. Maybe more than he knows how to show."

I start to protest, but he holds up a hand. "I'm not saying you should wait around for him. But have you ever considered that his leaving wasn't about you. Maybe it's about leaving Silver Ridge."

His words stick with me, even as part of me wants to dismiss them. I'm too raw, too hurt to consider any other explanation right now.

"Thanks, Daddy," I say, standing up. "I should get some sleep."

He nods, squeezing my hand. "You're gonna be just fine, Mel-bell. You've got a heart big enough to hold the whole world. Don't let one man's fear make you forget that."

As I walk back to my house, the night air cool on my tear-stained cheeks, I feel... lighter somehow. The pain's still there, a dull ache inside me. But alongside it, there's something else. A quiet strength, born of knowing I always land on my feet.

I pause on my porch, looking up at the star-studded sky. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I can breathe. Like there's a future out there that's even brighter than the one I'd imagined with Axton.

I unlock my door, stepping into the quiet of my home. Tomorrow will bring new challenges—Lena's disappearance, the kids, the bunkhouse project. But tonight, I'm going to rest. To let go of the weight I've been carrying for so long.

As I crawl into bed, Daddy's words surface in my mind. But have you ever considered that his leaving wasn't about you. Maybe it's about leaving Silver Ridge.

A tiny spark of hope flickers within me. I push it down, not ready to examine it too closely. But it's there, stubborn and persistent, refusing to be completely extinguished.

I take a deep breath, letting the quiet of the night settle around me. The weight I've been carrying—the constant hope and disappointment—seems to lift, just a little.

"Father," I whisper into the darkness. "I'm done trying to force this story. It's time to let go."

A sense of calm washes over me, unexpected but welcome. I've spent so long trying to decode Axton's silence, to be the perfect support, the one who could break through his walls.

But maybe that was never my job to begin with.

I trace the delicate chain of the locket, remembering all the secret gifts, the almost-moments. For the first time, I don't feel the ache of longing. Instead, there's a quiet seed of determination.

"Ball's in your court now, Axton."