Chapter 28
Colette
The question shouldn't have surprised me.
Not really.
But it did.
Maybe because no one had ever asked me something like that before. Not with that kind of care — not with weight behind it. Not when I was half-naked and tangled up with them and already too far gone to pretend I wasn’t.
Silas wasn’t pretending. He was looking at me like I was worth waiting for. Worth choosing. Worth every soft breath between us.
My throat felt tight. I didn’t pull back from him — couldn’t, really — but I let my hands still against his chest, feeling the steady, careful beat beneath my palm.
“I thought I was,” I whispered, though the words felt like they came from some younger, scared version of me. The one who never got picked. The one who always wondered why not me.
His thumb stroked the side of my jaw. Slow, patient.
Devastating.
“And now?” he murmured.
I met his gaze — god, those eyes — and for the first time in forever, I didn’t look away. “I thought this was… I don’t know—” My voice snagged. “—the universe’s way of paying me back for all the shit it’s put me through.”
He didn’t interrupt, didn’t try and manage or lessen what I was feeling. Silas just sat, one hand cupping my cheek as though I was fragile, the other curled into the skin of my hip, holding me.
“A fun and sexy little romp.” I finally managed, doing my best to blink away tears that had sprung up. “But now you’re… real? And… even with your permanent scowl you might just have raised the bar for anyone that might come after.”
His lips turned downward with that comment – as if the thought of after and not him disgusted him.
Truth be told, it might disgust me too.
“I’ll never forgive myself,” My voice trembled. Not from fear — not exactly — but from the enormity of it. Of him. Of how different this was… and how desperately I wanted it anyway. “If I let you slip through my fingers, Silas. I want this. I want you.”
Silas let out a breath, like I’d just said the exact thing he’d been praying I would. His grip tightened — gentle, sure — and I felt it everywhere.
“Okay,” he said softly, borderline reverently. “Then that’s enough for me.”
And just like that, I wasn’t falling alone anymore.
The water had gone cold by the time either of us remembered to move. The world outside the tub might as well have disappeared — the wind, the snow, the ticking of the old clock somewhere in the cabin. All I could hear was our breathing, syncing in the quiet.
When Silas finally stirred, it wasn’t to ruin the moment. It was to preserve it. “Come on,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep and something else entirely. Something that set a fire deep in my bones “You’re freezing.”
He stood first, slow and careful, water sluicing down his skin. He offered me his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world — like I hadn’t just told him he was the closest thing to real I’d ever felt. When I took it, his fingers closed around mine, steady and certain.
He wrapped me in a towel so big and warm it might as well have been his arms, rubbing slow circles across my back until goosebumps gave way to a different kind of shiver.
“Better?” he asked, not meeting my eyes.
I nodded, even though it wasn’t true.
Nothing about this was better. It was beautiful and it was doomed and I knew it.
He moved through the small washroom as though he’d been living there for years — draining the tub, tossing another towel over his shoulders, wringing water from his hair. Every small, domestic movement cracked something open in me.
Because it felt like a glimpse of something I was never meant to have.
Something I might never get again.
“Do you always take care of people like this?” I tried to sound light, teasing. The words wobbled anyway.
He looked up, towel still in his hands. “Not usually.”
And that — that quiet, simple honesty — almost undid me.
He reached for me again, his thumb brushing a strand of wet hair from my cheek. “You’re shivering, Colette”
I tried to laugh, but it came out small. “Yeah. Guess I’m not built for mountain life.”
He smiled — faint, crooked. “You’ll just have to stay close to the fire, then.”
I knew what he meant.
I also knew he couldn’t mean it. Not for long.
The thought hit like a bruise blooming under my ribs — that in a day or two, maybe less, there’d be clear roads, more reliable cell service, and the real world waiting with its lists and expectations.
That I’d have to leave this cabin, and him, and the version of myself that felt brave enough to fall. I turned away before he could see the sting in my eyes, clutching the towel tighter.
He didn’t stop me, but I felt his gaze on me — warm, unrelenting, like sunlight I didn’t know how to look at directly.
When his voice came again, low and rough, it nearly undid me. “Cole?”
I swallowed. “Yeah?”
“Don’t go borrowing from tomorrow, little menace” he said softly. “Just… stay here with me a little longer.”
When he said it, I wanted to say yes without thinking. I wanted to stay in that moment — soft, warm, almost real. But my heart was beating so hard it felt like it needed something lighter, something mine.
“I’ll be right back,” I told him, voice quieter than I meant.
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing like he wanted to ask where I was going, but didn’t. He just nodded once and watched me leave.
The little duffel bag I’d thrown together before the trip was still sitting by the fireplace. I knelt beside it, unzipping it slowly, almost embarrassed by my own impulse.
The stupid thing had almost been a joke — the red lace set I’d bought last week when I thought I’d be spending Christmas alone, trying to remember what it felt like to want to be myself again. Glittering red, soft white trim. Ridiculously cliche and corny.
Something I could wear for me, even if no one ever saw it.
But now…
Now there was a Silas in the picture.
The reflection in the foggy bathroom mirror made me laugh under my breath — my hair a mess, cheeks flushed as I snapped the final clasp into place.
I stood there, barely covered, wrapped in gaudy red lace and a cardigan he’d lent me that hung loosely off my shoulders.
The two pieces left little to the imagination. The bottoms were skirt adjacent, but really… it was just a pair of bright red panties with white faux-fur ruffles on the ass.
The top was no better. A big red bow held my breasts in place, like a goddamn present, the same white fur decorating the ends of the bow. It barely stretched across my nipples, and was working miracles.
I didn’t plan on showing off. Not really.
But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to see his eyes when he saw me.
When I stepped out of the bathroom, he was still by the fire, shirtless, rubbing at his hair with a towel. He looked up at the sound of my bare feet on the wood floor, and the moment his eyes landed on me, the towel stilled.
I could feel my pulse in my throat.
“It’s Christmas Eve,” I said softly, almost sheepish. “I figured I should dress for the occasion.”
He didn’t say a word at first. Just breathed in, sharp and quiet, like he was steadying himself.
Then—
“Colette.” Just my name.
Rough around the edges.
A prayer and a warning all at once.