Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
ENZO
Why did I invite Winter to stay here?
What was I thinking?
Not that I wasn’t sincere about the invitation—I’d much rather know Winter is safe here than at that dark and depressing motel all alone—but she just escaped an abusive and traumatic situation. There’s no way she’d want to stay with a man she barely knows.
Although it doesn’t feel like I barely know her.
From our first meeting, there was an immediate connection. Winter didn’t feel like a customer, but someone I’d known for years. Instead of making small talk like I usually did, I found myself opening up to her—telling her about leaving the Army to take over the store, how much I still missed my uncle, and how odd it felt coming back to Bliss after so long.
Talking to her felt natural.
Everything feels natural with her. Holding her hand at the store, and again in the hospital. Comforting her when she cried. Wanting to protect her.
Shit, even asking her to stay at my house felt like the most natural thing. Which is absolutely crazy since I’ve never even lived with a woman. I dated plenty, but never let anything get serious enough to have that living-together conversation.
A niggling thought keeps working at me, like a splinter wedged in deep.
What if I had asked her out? Would Thomas still have come after her? If Winter and I had started dating, would he have given up on his sick obsession? Would I have been around to stop him if he tried to take her?
Why didn’t I ask her out that day?
All the reasons come back to the same thing. I was afraid of letting someone in.
I was still dealing with so much—missing my uncle, my team, the only life I’d known for two decades—I couldn’t imagine opening up to anyone. I told myself I was in no place to be dating when I couldn’t even get my head on straight.
Except it wasn’t that simple, and Winter made it past my defenses, anyway.
I’ve thought about her since that day in the store, hoping in the back of my mind that she’d come in again. That if Winter showed up it would be like a sign that I should do something. But she didn’t come, and I kept myself busy and rarely went into town, and I didn’t even know she was missing.
Shit.
I feel pretty damn terrible about that. So many what-ifs and they all lead back to the fact that Winter was scared and hurting and alone and no one knew.
Is it any wonder I’d rather see her here, comfortable and safe and with someone to look out for her instead of a tiny motel room with a lumpy bed and a cop outside who’s probably spending more time on his phone than watching out for her?
Fine. That’s not entirely fair. There are some good cops in town. Patrick, for one. But still. I’d wager money none of the officers on the Bliss police force have the kind of experience I do.
I glance out the window into the backyard, this time seeing a swathe of stars winking above the trees. It’s a perfect summer night, like the ones I remember from when I was a kid—warm enough to sit outside and count the stars, but cool enough to make s’mores over the still-glowing coals on the grill.
For a moment, I imagine Winter here; the two of us sitting by the fire pit I recently installed and toasting marshmallows while talking about an upcoming hike on the Long Trail or a day trip to Burlington or up north to Hill Farmstead Brewery.
Giving my head a little shake, I force my mind back to reality. I’m home, trying to figure out something to eat for a late dinner after hours spent cleaning and restocking at the store. And Winter is no doubt at the motel, watching TV or reading while an officer keeps guard outside.
Or is she sitting there, alone and scared and in pain, afraid to ask anyone for help?
Shit. I don’t know why I can’t get her out of my head.
I should. Winter could have called if she needed anything. Her silence is a clear signal she’s not interested in my help.
Unless she’s afraid to ask for it.
My stomach rumbles, a loud reminder that I’ve been standing around in the kitchen for the last ten minutes without actually preparing anything. For lack of a better idea, I grab a loaf of bread and toss it on the island before heading to the fridge to find some cheese and turkey for a sandwich.
Halfway to the fridge, my phone buzzes. For a second, I think Winter? Does she need something? and quickly snatch it up to read the incoming message.
But it’s not Winter. It’s my old Army buddy, Tayo, who lives out in Colorado. We went through the Green Beret qualification course together, and even though he ended up stationed at a different base than me, we’ve kept in touch ever since.
I’m also guessing this message isn’t a random how are you doing, it’s been a while text, but something initiated by Cole telling our group of friends that I’ve been struggling.
As soon as I read the message, I know I’m right.
Hey. How’s it going in VT? Keeping busy? Was just talking to Kayla about you and your store. She was saying maybe we can come out to visit you soon. Or if you feel like a vacation, you’re always welcome here.
I can’t even be mad at Cole. If one of my old buddies said they were having trouble adjusting to civilian life, I’d probably do the same thing. So I smile as I send a reply.
I’m doing okay. It’s different. But I’m getting used to it. And VT is great. Hiking, skiing, craft beer… Not sure when I’ll have a chance to head out west, with the store and repairs and all, but would love to have you and Kayla visit if you can.
Three dots blink for a second.
I understand. Things have been pretty busy lately, we’ve had a lot of requests for help, but I’ll try to schedule something in the next couple of months.
Tayo works for a group called the Brotherhood Protectors, and I know they’re always busy. It’s how he actually met his wife; first, finding her a place to stay at the ranch they use as headquarters, and later rescuing her from sex traffickers.
It’s because of his experience that I end up telling him about Winter.
Would love to have you visit anytime.
Something pretty crazy happened last night, actually.
Tayo’s reply comes back immediately.
What happened? Do you need help?
It’s something I love about all the people I’ve met in the Army. It’s like a big family and there’s never a shortage of brothers and sisters ready to offer their assistance.
My stomach growls angrily, so I take a slice of bread from the load and tear a large bite out of it—very classy, my mother would scold me if she could see me—before responding to Tayo.
I don’t think I need help right now. But the store was robbed last night. They haven’t caught the main suspect, but I found a woman there. She was unconscious in my office. The guy who broke in hit her when he discovered her calling 911. Knocked her out. He took off and left her there.
She says he held her hostage for a month. Hurt her. Threatened her. And when he dragged her along to be the lookout and she realized it was my store, she had to do something, So she snuck in after him and called for help.
I’m still typing as Tayo’s message comes through.
Shit. That’s a lot to unpack. Is she seriously hurt? Are you sure she wasn’t involved? How did she know it was your store? Do you know her?
I nod at the screen as I type.
Yes. I’ve met her a couple times. She’s not like that. I don’t think Winter would rob anything, much less the business of a person she knows. And she risked herself to call 911. She could have run away. Tried to save herself. But she didn’t. And her story…
A few seconds go by before his message appears.
So you think she’s innocent. Is she still in danger? From the guy who hurt her?
My molars grind as I send my reply.
Yes. The police have her at a motel outside town. But she has a concussion. And she’s scared. In pain. I saw her at the hospital this morning and…
And what? I can’t stop thinking about her? Worrying?
But Tayo knows what I’m saying without having to see it.
What does your gut say?
I glance out the window again. While the dark doesn’t bother me, I can’t help wondering if Winter is afraid of it. Is she sitting in the room with all the lights blaring? Is she jumping at sounds, afraid the tiny creak means Thomas has somehow found her?
I know what my gut is saying.
It could be wrong. I could show up at Winter’s motel room and she could be completely fine. She could think I’m being nosy and overbearing instead of concerned.
But if I don’t at least check…
On the drive over there, I second-guess myself half a dozen times. Me . I used to make life or death decisions on nearly every mission, sometimes with only seconds to deliberate. There wasn’t any room for doubt. Our survival relied on making a decision and committing to it.
When I get to the motel, I get that kick in the gut again.
It looks even worse than I remember. Flickering halogen streetlights illuminate a cracked parking lot with a handful of old cars. Paint is peeling from the siding and the landscaping consists of scattered brown shrubs and a lawn that’s more dirt than grass. Several of the rooms appear occupied, the faint glow of lamps and TVs leaking through cracked blinds.
A police car is parked about two-thirds of the way down the building, between units eight and nine. It’s fairly close to the doors; theoretically close enough to spot anyone trying to break in, but if the officer isn’t paying attention…
I pull into a parking space a few spots down, then approach the police car with my hands raised in a gesture to show I mean no harm. Fortunately, I know the officer—Fred was the same year as me and he recognizes me immediately.
He rolls down his window and says, “Enzo! What are you doing here?”
Lifting my chin at him, I reply, “Just wanted to visit Winter for a minute. See how she’s doing.”
His gaze narrows speculatively. “Just see how she’s doing?”
“Yeah. With the concussion and all.” Clearly he wants more of an explanation—which I’m actually happy about, it means he’s doing his job—so I add, “I know her. From before this. And how she helped out at the store, calling 911, then getting hurt… I’m worried about her. I just want to see how she’s feeling.”
Fred’s eyebrows jump up, and I can already hear the small-town gossip mill churning. But he nods and gives me a small smile. “Okay. She’s in room eight.”
After another minute of conversation—how do I think the Sox are doing, did I see that new gas station going in, and what are my thoughts about those out-of-staters trying to bring a Starbucks into town—I make my way toward Winter’s room.
At her door, I battle another quick rush of self-doubt. Should I be here? Should I have brought something? Food? Snacks? Some kind of small gift?
I’m not sure of the proper procedure for visiting someone who’s hurt, hiding from her abusive ex, was responsible for saving my business from being burned down, and also happens to be a woman I can’t stop thinking about.
As I knock on her door, I say, “Winter, it’s Enzo. I just wanted to stop by for a minute. See how you’re doing. I hope that’s okay.”
There’s no response for a few seconds, making me wonder if she’s sleeping. It’s not late, only a bit past nine P.M., but if she’s tired, maybe took a pain pill…
Then the door opens, and once again, I know my gut was right.
Winter looks anything but okay.
The bruise on her forehead has blossomed into an even more vivid array of reds and purples. Dark smudges shadow her eyes. Her lip is red and swollen like she’s been gnawing at it, and there are dried tear-tracks on her cheeks.
She’s shivering even though she's wearing a long-sleeved shirt and yoga pants and the air conditioner in the room is silent.
Winter’s a petite woman—she’s probably half my weight and her head barely comes to my shoulder—but right now she looks so small and vulnerable I’m seized by an unexpected desire to pull her into my arms and reassure her everything’s going to be okay.
“Enzo?” She peers up at me, her brows arching up in confusion. “Is something wrong?”
Yes. “No. Nothing’s wrong.”
Winter takes a step back from the doorway. Her brow creases. “Do you want to come in?”
“If it’s okay.” I suddenly realize that while Winter may seem small and fragile to me, I may come off as big and intimidating, which is the last thing I want. So I shove my hands in my pockets and say, “I just wanted to see how you’re doing. But if it’s not a good time…”
Winter lets out a short laugh, and just for a second, her face lights up with it. Lips quirking, she says, “Enzo. I’ve been sitting in this room for the last five hours, trying to convince myself there’s no way Thomas can sneak past the officer outside and get in here. The only shows I can get on the TV are police procedurals and true crime docuseries, which I really don’t want to watch right now. Seeing you is the highlight of my night.”
A second later, her cheeks flush bright red. “Forget I said that. I must sound so ungrateful. Of course I’m glad to be somewhere safe and the police are watching out for me and?—”
“Winter.” I touch her hand, squeezing her fingers gently. “You do not sound ungrateful. At all. It sounds like you’ve been stressed and I bet you still have a headache and—” I look around the room, searching for some evidence of food, but there’s nothing beside a few bottles of water and some packages of crackers. “Have you eaten? An actual meal?”
She stares at me for a few moments, then sags as she says, “No. Officer Wilkes got these”—she gestures at the water and crackers—“from the vending machine.”
Turning back to the door, I lock and deadbolt it, then guide Winter over to the bed. When I sit on the mattress, still holding her hand, she sinks down beside me and looks at me with a questioning gaze.
“You didn’t have dinner?” I ask. “I’m sure the police would have arranged something if you’d asked.”
“I didn’t think about it until later. And then…” Her gaze skitters away. “I didn’t want to ask. Because then they’d have to pay attention to figuring out food instead of… and then I thought I could call for delivery, but I don’t have my wallet. Or cash. Thomas took everything…”
Shit.
I clamp my jaw together so hard it sends shooting pains down my neck.
That piece of garbage…
“Sorry,” Winter adds quietly. “I shouldn’t be complaining. I’m just glad I’m safe. And thanks for coming to check on me. I really appreciate it.”
“Winter.” Even though rage is burning inside me, I keep my voice low and soothing. “Are you doing okay? Really? I don’t want to push. But I’m worried about you.”
After a long pause, she gives me an unconvincing smile. “I’m okay. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“But I am worried.”
“Why?”
Here we are, at the crux of it. Why am I so worried? If it was some stranger I found in my office, would I have gone to the hospital? Come here tonight?
Shifting on the mattress so I’m facing her, our knees almost touching, I tell her the truth. “Because I liked you, back when you came into my store. Before all this. I still do. And there’s just something… I keep thinking about you. Worrying if you’re okay. Wishing I could help. I know it probably sounds strange, but?—”
“I liked you, too.” It’s a soft admission. “Back then. And—” She stops. “Well. I keep thinking about you, too. I wish… things had been different.”
As I look at Winter, trying to figure out how to respond, I’m reminded of something one of my teammates told me. It was about a year ago, after Finn got together with Hanna, and he was telling me how it was when he first met her.
“It was crazy,” he said, “how I felt like I’d known her forever. From the first day, the first hour, I just knew there was something different about her. Even when I wanted to deny it, tried to deny it, it was impossible to stop thinking about her.”
Back then, I just smiled and nodded at him while thinking it sounded a bit unrealistic.
But now? I’m not so sure.
Unrealistic or not, I’m definitely not happy about the situation Winter is in. Maybe she won’t stay at my house, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help. It’s too late to go to the grocery store now, but I can make up some sandwiches for her to have tonight. Keep her company for a while. And tomorrow, I can stock up on things Winter can prepare using the tiny fridge and microwave tucked away in the corner.
Maybe I can even talk to Patrick about finding a better place for Winter to stay. There has to be something nicer than this. I can offer to pay the difference if the police don’t have the money.
I’m just trying to decide how to bring up my plan when the phone rings, a loud, old-fashioned jangling sound. Winter yelps and her fingers dig into my hand.
“Do you want me to—” But I stop myself. Of course Winter is capable of answering the phone on her own.
She smiles at me. “It’s okay. I gave the number to my aunt. So it’s probably her.”
Winter is still smiling as she picks up the phone and says hello, but a moment later, her smile drops. All the color drains from her face, and she clutches the receiver so tightly her knuckles turn white.
“Winter?” I jump up from the bed and rush over to her. “What’s wrong?”
She slams the phone down and stares at it as small tremors work through her body.
“Winter. Hun.” I gently turn her around. “What is it?”
Chin wobbling, fear etched into her features, she swallows hard before answering. “Someone… They said I’d regret what I did. That I’d be punished.”
I almost grind my molars to dust. “Thomas?”
“No. I couldn’t tell… they sounded weird. Disguised. It was probably one of his friends.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“We’re going to tell the police about this,” I tell her. But I’d put money on the number being blocked.
She nods and says in a small voice, “I know.”
Now the situation is even worse than before. Even with an officer posted outside, Winter’s going to be terrified here.
Giving in to the instinct I’ve been fighting since the moment Winter opened the door, I pull her into my arms, tucking her head underneath my chin. And thankfully she doesn’t pull back or stiffen, but leans into me instead.
“They already found me,” she whispers. “I just… I don’t know…”
Forget my plan. If Winter doesn’t want to come back with me, I’ll spend the night out in the parking lot instead.
But first, I say, “I know I already offered. And I understand why you may not want to. But the invitation still stands. You can come to my place and no one will know you’re there. I’ll make some food and you can get some rest and I promise, no one will hurt you.”
Winter tilts her head back to look at me. Hope and hesitation war in her gaze. “I don’t want to put you out…”
“You won’t.”
She’s silent long enough for me to think she’s trying to come up with a polite way to say no.
Then she surprises me. “Okay. If you’re sure you don’t mind… I’d like to stay with you.”
“Winter.” I hold her gaze, letting her see the truth in mine. “I absolutely don’t mind.”