Reid
The snow came down hard after midnight. Hard enough that by dawn the parking lot looks like someone dumped the whole damn north pole on top of it.
Pulling on my coat I step outside, the cold biting my face and ears. I don’t know what I expect to see out here. Maybe her car buried under an avalanche. Maybe nothing at all.
What I don’t expect is her.
She’s standing beside her Civic. It’s half-buried, windshield frosted over, and unable to move an inch.
Leaving has always been easy for me. I pack up, point the truck toward the next town, and don’t look back.
Staying is what scares me. Staying means letting someone see me when there’s nothing to fix, nothing to prove, nothing to hide behind.
But when I look at Jodi, snowed in and trying so hard to be brave, I know I’m done running.
“Jodi,” I call out as I cross the lot.
She startles, snapping her head up, breath forming a pale cloud in the early morning air.
“Reid.”
“You weren’t seriously going to try driving this thing down the mountain.”
“It’s not. I wasn’t—” Her eyes squeeze shut. “I wasn’t going to leave yet.”
The way her voice carries softly, slightly broken hits me low and hard. I feel like an ass for snapping at her. For lashing out.
Even if she doesn’t want me, I still want her safe.
I fold my arms, just to keep my hands from reaching for her.
“What are you doing out here? It’s too cold and you still don’t have a damn coat, Jodi.”
She swallows, snowflakes clinging to her pale lashes.
“I woke up early. I couldn’t stop thinking about last night. I wanted to clear my head. And my car.” She gestures helplessly to it.
“You weren’t leaving,” I say slowly. “Not this morning.”
She shakes her head, eyes bright.
“No. I wasn’t. I wasn’t planning to run again.”
That thread of tension inside me unspools, just a little.
“Then why come to your car?” I press, gentle but firm.
“Because,” she whispers, “I wanted it to be ready for whenever I go. Whether that’s today or tomorrow or—” she breaks off, voice trembling. “Or whenever you tell me you don’t want to see me.”
My breath leaves me in a rough exhale.
“I didn’t say that,” I murmur. “I’m never going to say that.”
“But I hurt you,” she says, hugging her arms around herself. “I could see it, and I did it anyway. I hurt us both for no reason. Every time I closed my eyes last night, I kept thinking about how I just shoved everything aside because I got scared.”
Her gaze flicks up to mine, regret glimmering with the faintest trace of hope teasing the edges.
“I was going to knock on your door,” she says. “To try to fix things. I wasn’t leaving yet, Reid. I swear.”
Something in my chest eases. I step closer to her until there is only a breath of space between us.
“Jodi,” I say quietly. “You really thought I’d let you just walk away?”
Her breath catches because she knows the answer.
“No,” she whispers. “I didn’t.”
I let the silence settle between us, warm despite the cold air biting at our faces.
“You should’ve come to me,” I say, softer now. “You don’t have to figure things out alone.”
Her lips part.
“I’m trying. I promise I’m trying.”
She looks so small in the snow.
I reach out, brushing a cold curl from her cheek and behind her ear.
“Come inside,” I murmur. “Get warm and we’ll figure this out.”
Her eyes soften like a spring thaw.
“Yeah?” she asks.
“I wasn’t planning on letting you go without a fight,” I say simply. “You’re mine Jodi. It’s as simple as that.”