Chapter 9 Dean #2
Callum reappears, snow dusting his jacket from where he must’ve checked the street.
He’s got his phone pressed to his ear, brow furrowed in concentration as he listens.
After a few beats, he tucks it away in his pocket and exhales with a firm nod.
“Good news. Hotel’s fine.”
I don’t miss the way Noelle’s expression tightens at that.
Her lips part just slightly, her eyes rolling heavenward like she’s seconds away from groaning out loud.
Instead, she presses her hand to her temple and says nothing, but the resistance is written all over her face.
This time, I do grin. I can’t help it.
“Well. Guess we better get moving then,” I say, dragging the word out as I lean one hip against the counter.
Her head snaps toward me and I can see the conflict play out in her eyes. The logical part of her that knows I’m right, warring with the fiercely independent streak that hates being told what to do.
Eli, blissfully unaware of the silent battle unfolding above him, looks up from his coloring and beams.
“We’re going to a hotel?” Excitement bubbles in his voice.
Noelle sighs again. “Looks like it. Let’s go put on your coat and boots so we can get going.”
“Yay!” He cheers.
We bundle up, layering scarves and gloves and hats like armor against the storm.
Noelle crouches in front of Eli, her breath coming out in pale clouds as she wraps an extra scarf around his neck, tucking it snugly under his chin.
His little face peeks out from the bundle—rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed, the kind of picture you’d see on a Christmas card.
“There,” she murmurs, adjusting the edge of his hat so it covers his ears. “All set, Frost Elf.”
He giggles at that, and something in her face softens.
The sight squeezes at my chest.
I shove my hands into my pockets, pretending to check the time on my phone so I don’t linger on it too long.
The second we step outside, the cold slaps us square in the face.
The wind cuts through our coats like knives, and the snow’s coming down harder than before—thick, blinding sheets that swallow sound and blur everything into a white haze.
The walk to the hotel isn’t long—normally, it would’ve been a quick ten minutes—but tonight, it feels endless.
The storm’s lashing us with icy gusts, stinging our faces, soaking through gloves and sleeves.
The snow’s piled high enough that every step sinks deep, and our boots crunch rhythmically as we trudge forward through the chaos.
Cal leads the way, head down, his broad shoulders hunched against the wind. He keeps one arm out slightly to his side, a makeshift shield for Eli, who trudges behind him, holding tightly to Noelle’s gloved hand.
The kid’s doing his best to keep up, his little boots slipping every few steps, but he never complains—just grits his teeth and pushes on, stubborn and determined.
I hang back half a pace, close enough to grab either of them if they stumble.
Noelle’s quiet, her focus glued to Eli, her lips moving occasionally as she murmurs small reassurances over the howl of the storm.
But every so often, her eyes flick to me—just for a heartbeat.
It’s nothing more than a glance, but it’s enough.
Enough to make my pulse pick up, enough to stir up every memory I’ve been trying to bury for six years.
The flicker of firelight on her skin.
The taste of her name on my lips.
The sound of her breath when she whispered mine.
I clench my jaw, forcing my gaze back to the storm. This isn’t the time.
By the time we reach the hotel, we’re soaked and half-frozen, our faces raw from the wind.
The glow spilling from the glass doors feels like salvation. Inside, the lobby hums softly—emergency lights casting everything in a warm amber glow, the hum of a generator somewhere in the background.
The air is blessedly warm, carrying the faint smell of coffee and cinnamon-scented candles.
Cal pushes the door open, letting Noelle and Eli in first. The blast of heat makes Eli sigh audibly in relief. “It’s warm!” he says, his voice echoing off the marble floor as he stomps the snow from his boots.
“Feels like heaven,” I mutter, peeling off my gloves.
Grant’s already waiting in the double suite upstairs, the one we’d booked earlier.
Two adjoining rooms, one door between them, and a view of the town buried under a thick blanket of white.
The windows are frosted over, the wind rattling faintly against the glass.
When we step inside, the space is lit by the soft, yellow glow of a couple of lamps.
The heater hums steadily, running off the generator, and the faint scent of coffee fills the air.
Grant stands as soon as we walk in, his broad frame filling most of the space.
He’s got that look on his face again—the one that says I’m fine but never quite hides the worry beneath it.
When his eyes land on Noelle and Eli, his whole demeanor shifts. His gruffness softens instantly, replaced by something quieter, almost reverent.
“Welcome in,” he says, sweeping a large hand awkwardly toward the space. “Got it warmed up for you. Cal said the storm was getting bad.”
He gestures toward the couch where a pile of folded blankets waits, and the Keurig on the side table is already brewing, steam curling from a fresh mug.
Noelle starts to shrug off her coat, shaking snow from her dark curls, but before she can even set it aside, Grant moves.
“Here, let me,” he says, already stepping forward.
He’s got it bad for her.
But hell, don’t we all?
Noelle, oblivious or just pretending to be to the sudden shift in the air, thanks him softly before crouching beside Eli to help him take off his coat and boots.
She avoids eye contact with any of us, keeping her head down.
When Eli’s finally free from his winter layers, he springs back to life. He spins once in the middle of the room, his socks sliding slightly against the carpet. “Woah! This place is huge!”
Grant chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. “Glad you approve, little man.”
Noelle smiles faintly, smoothing her son’s mop of curls back from his face. Her touch is tender. “Say thank you to Mr. Grant for letting us stay.”
“Thanks!” Eli beams, throwing his arms out wide like he’s about to hug the entire hotel suite.
Grant’s reply comes out in his usual low rumble but his grin betrays him. He’s smiling in a way I haven’t seen in years. “Anytime.”
I can’t help myself. “What, are we chopped liver?”
Noelle’s head snaps toward me, her eyes widening just slightly before she laughs, quick and nervous. “And…Mr. Dean and Mr. Callum,” she adds, her cheeks blooming with a healthy pink.
“Thank you!” Eli sings out again, repeating it louder this time before bolting toward the couch and catapulting himself onto it.
The cushions dip under his small weight, and he bursts into laughter as he bounces before collapsing into another heap of giggles.
“Easy there.” I grin.
I hang back near the door, peeling off my wet gloves and gathering up our drenched coats and boots.
The small hotel closet creaks open, and I carefully arrange everything inside, putting the boots up on the rack to dry and coats draped neatly over the hangers.
I don’t know how long Noelle and Eli will be here, but judging by the snow still whipping past the window, it’s not going to be short.
The five of us fall into a strange rhythm after that.
We order an early dinner from the hotel kitchen—sandwiches, soup, fries, and hot cocoa for the kid—and eat together in the main room.
It’s quiet at first, the only sounds are the soft clink of silverware and the storm raging outside.
But then Eli starts talking.
He fills the room with stories. Animated recaps of his favorite cartoons, a detailed explanation of why chocolate milk is “way better” than regular milk, and a dramatic retelling of how he and his grandfather almost got stranded out in the middle of a lake for a whole day once when their boat’s motor stopped working.
He’s a talker, and it’s impossible not to be charmed. Even Grant cracks a real smile at one point, the kind that reaches his eyes.
Noelle watches him the whole time, her face soft with quiet pride. Every once in a while, she murmurs a gentle “Chew, honey,” or “Slow down,” but mostly, she just lets him go and go, content to listen.
It’s in that moment, watching them, that it really hits me: she’s built something extraordinary.
A world that’s just hers and his.
I can see now why she’s so guarded, why our sudden reappearance feels like an intrusion.
To her, we’re not just ghosts from the past, we’re the threat that could shatter the fragile peace she’s managed to create out of a difficult situation.
When the plates are cleared and the cocoa is gone, Eli starts to slow down.
His yawns come one after another, his eyelids heavy despite his insistence that he’s “not sleepy.”
Noelle laughs softly. “Uh-huh. Bedtime.”
“But, Mom…”
“No buts,” she says gently, smoothing his hair back again. “Come on.”
“Here,” I say, pushing to my feet before she can protest. I nod toward the adjoining door between the two rooms. “He can sleep in here. It’ll be quieter.”
She hesitates for a heartbeat, like she wants to argue, but then she nods. “Okay. Thanks.”
She scoops Eli up, his little arms draping around her neck, his head lolling against her shoulder.
Together, we head to the next room.
She moves slowly, humming something under her breath as she tucks him into one of the beds—Callum’s—piling blankets around him until he looks like a bundled cocoon.
I step back into the other room, giving her space.
The energy shifts the second she steps back into the other room.
She sits gingerly on the edge of the couch next to me, her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes darting between us with a wariness that makes my chest ache.
Cal leans back in the armchair, his fingers steepled under his chin. Grant stands near the window, arms crossed, his profile rigid in the faint lamplight.
I take a breath, knowing what I’m about to say will change everything. But the truth’s been clawing at me for too long to keep letting it go on like this. “Noelle, we need to talk about Eli.”
She tenses instantly, her spine straightening, her eyes narrowing just slightly. “What about him?”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, locking eyes with her. The air between us feels charged, heavy.
“Is he one of ours?”