Chapter 27
NATALIE
W e didn’t speak until we were outside.
The cold slapped my cheeks the second the door swung shut behind us, sharp and unrelenting…
the kind of cold that made your breath visible and your feelings harder to hide.
Snow was falling again, slow and delicate, like the sky had the audacity to be gentle when everything inside me was loud and frayed and raw .
Easton didn’t speak.
He just walked beside me, close enough that his hand brushed the small of my back. Not a guide. Not a claim. Just there. Like a punctuation mark. Like he knew I was unraveling and was quietly volunteering to be the thread that held me together.
We stepped through a second door that led to the covered wraparound patio, strung with soft white lights that glowed like sleepy stars overhead. A few empty chairs faced the mountains, now just jagged shadows against a bruised horizon of snow and pine.
I sank into one of the chairs with the weight of someone who wasn’t sure if she’d ever stand up again. The wood creaked beneath me, and the cold from the seat bled through my dress, but I didn’t care .
My breath came in short, shallow bursts—tight and high, like my ribs hadn’t caught up to the rest of me. Like part of me was still back there , frozen in that hallway. Staring at the man who’d once made me believe I wasn’t enough. Who’d almost made me believe it again.
Easton sat beside me, knees wide, elbows on them as I stared out at the snow. Watched it fall like tiny ghosts. “He didn’t even flinch when I punched him.”
Easton was quiet for a moment, his breath clouding in front of him.
“Maybe he’s used to being hit,” he said finally.
I let out a bitter laugh, sharp and small. “Yeah. Or maybe he just doesn’t feel anything. Maybe he never did.”
I shook my head. “I shouldn’t have done it.” My voice cracked. “I shouldn’t have given him the satisfaction of seeing how much he still gets to me.”
He turned his head. “No, Nat. You gave yourself the satisfaction. Of not staying quiet. Of not swallowing it down again. You were the one with power back there. You stood there, told the truth, and let him fucking choke on it.”
I wiped at my cheek, annoyed to find it damp. “I hate that he made me feel like I was a kid again. Like I was the one being dramatic. Like I was just too emotional to be loved.”
“You’re not too emotional,” he said, voice low and even. “You’re not dramatic. You’re not difficult.”
I side-eyed him. Hard.
He exhaled a short breath through his nose. “Okay, I mean, you can be dramatic.”
My brow arched higher.
“But not about this,” he amended quickly, holding up a hand like a man begging for mercy. “This was righteous fury. Very noble. Would’ve looked great in slow motion.”
Despite myself, my lips twitched.
“Slow motion, huh? ”
“Yep. Black and white. Epic swelling music. Maybe a wind machine.”
I scoffed and then waggled my eyebrows. “It was kind of epic.”
He grinned, looking a little relieved that I wasn’t falling to the ground in hysterics at the moment—even though the situation really did call for it.
“It was definitely epic,” he told me proudly.
We sat for a beat longer, the silence between us softening around the edges. The snow kept falling. The air stayed cold.
But something inside me had unclenched.
I let my head fall against his shoulder.
“I used to imagine him showing up,” I said, quieter now.
“Not like this. Not with lies and manipulation and…her. But the version I needed when I was a kid. I used to make up conversations in my head. I’d sit at the window and picture him getting out of the car with flowers, or a letter, or just an apology . Something real.”
“I’d even rehearse what I’d say back. Like it was a scene I could control. Like if I got the lines right, it would fix something. Make him stay.”
I pulled in a breath that stung all the way down, the kind of inhale that scraped through your chest like glass.
“But after a while, I stopped. I told myself he was gone. That I’d never see him again. That it was safer to grieve someone alive than keep hoping for something that would never happen.”
My voice thinned, raw at the edges. “I never thought he’d actually come back. And now that he did…” My throat burned. “I wish he fucking hadn’t.”
Easton didn’t try to fill the silence. He didn’t try to fix it. He just reached for my hand and found it easily, his fingers threading through mine. His thumb grazed over my knuckles—lingering on the one that still throbbed from the punch, like he knew exactly where it hurt.
“You could hit him again if you want. I’ll hold him down. ”
That made me laugh, breathless and teary. “Tempting.”
“I’m just saying, I have no moral objections to vigilante justice. Especially when the guy deserves it.”
“He does deserve it,” I whispered back.
The wind shifted, blowing snow across the patio like confetti meant for some other kind of celebration. One I hadn’t been invited to. One I wasn’t going to miss.
And for a while, we sat like that.
Silent.
Breathing.
Healing, maybe.
The door creaked open again, letting out a burst of warm air and music…and Ellie.
She squinted into the dark like she wasn’t entirely sure what she was walking into.
“There you are,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself against the cold. “Everything okay out here?”
I nodded once. “Yeah. Just needed a minute.”
“Are you two coming back in, or what? Paige sent me to look for you. Whataburger just arrived, and MeMaw is officially getting freaky on the dance floor. Like, dangerously freaky. We might need to form a perimeter.”
Easton huffed a laugh beside me.
I blinked up at Ellie. The cold had numbed my face, but not enough to keep a smile from tugging at the corner of my mouth.
“See, this is why we can’t have nice things.
She was banned from body rolls after that Valentine’s dance at the community center where she dislocated her hip trying to drop it to Ginuwine and took down the entire punch table like a domino. ”
“She swiveled into the garter toss like a backup dancer on tour. I’m scared,” Ellie said, deadpan. “And, if we’re talking about punch…I’m pretty sure someone spiked the one that was specifically labeled nonalcoholic. Like, big bold letters. And by someone , I mean Levi .”
I snorted, the laugh catching me off guard, rising up in my chest like something lighter than what I’d been carrying. “We’ll be right in,” I said.
She nodded, then gave us both a weird little salute before disappearing back inside, her heels clicking and her hips already moving to whatever song was blasting through the speakers.
I stood slowly, Easton rising beside me. My fingers tightened in his for just a second. “You sure you’re up for it?” he asked, his voice low, just for me.
I nodded once, firm. “He doesn’t get another second of my life,” I said. “Not another sliver of space in my head. This day? This week? It belongs to Paige. And you. And me.”
His gaze held mine for a beat, steady and sure. “When are you going to tell her?”
I exhaled, the cold biting at my lungs. “I’ll tell her later,” I murmured. “But not today.”
Today didn’t belong to Terry.
And neither did I.
Easton led me inside.
Not reluctantly.
Not because I was pretending everything was fine.
But because it wasn’t fine—and I was walking in anyway.
The music hit me first…loud, joyful, chaotic. Then the smell of warm fries and too many candles, someone laughing too hard, the thrum of a beat I didn’t recognize but already loved.
I spotted Paige spinning in her dress, a half-eaten burger in one hand, a champagne flute in the other. MeMaw was doing the worm. Someone had given her sunglasses. It was unclear who was in charge anymore.
Easton leaned down. “Sure this isn’t too much?”
“It’s too much in all the right ways,” I muttered. “Let’s go party.”
We stepped into the whirlwind together—laughter, fries, and questionable dance moves waiting for us.
And I didn’t look back.