Chapter Seventeen #3
“Don’t play dumb with me right now, Em,” I warn her, not in the mood for games. “I know you have her number, and I need it. Ashton fucked up, and I need to make sure she’s okay.”
That wakes my wife up quickly. Probably because she hates Ashton.
Or maybe because she simply adores Winter.
“Okay. Is she all right? I’m texting you the number now.
Do I need to kick the he-devil’s ass? Because I will.
I’ll use my flight miles just to hit him where it hurts and then fly back to Cali. ”
“Get in line,” I mumble, glancing at the message she sends with the number. “Got it. I’ll call you later.”
“Is she—”
She doesn’t finish her question before I hang up and dial the new number while driving a little too quickly down the interstate.
I don’t think Winter is going to pick up when I hear a quiet, “Hello?” come from the other end of the phone.
I’m not sure why the sound of her voice has my muscles easing into the seat, but it does. Even the exhausted tone that sounds heavy and forlorn makes me glad to hear it at all. “Are you home, sweetheart?”
Winter is quiet for a second, the subtle sound of a sharp breath being inhaled the only thing filling the space. Then, “Thomas?”
“Are you home?” I ask again, gripping the wheel tighter. My throat bobs when I hear the faintest sniffle from her end. “Ashton called me and told me…a lot. I need to make sure you’re okay.”
Once again, I’m met with silence. I know she hasn’t hung up because I can hear her choppy breathing. Is she crying? My foot presses down on the accelerator.
“You don’t—” Her words get muffled and hoarse, and it makes me want to beat the shit out of Ashton more than I already do. He isn’t the one who caused the accident, but he didn’t do her any favors by walking into her life like this. “You don’t have to come. I’m fine.”
All I say is, “I know you are.”
But there’s an incessant need inside of me to make sure she’s all right, and I won’t label what it is yet.
I don’t expect her to tell me about her past. Ashton told me enough.
It makes more sense why she’s so close to people in the community.
Why Bev and Vinnie consider her and her sister one of their own.
Winter needed them. Her sister needed them. She’s passionate about Fairbanks because they helped them put some of the pieces back together.
I pull up to the front curb of her apartment building and waste no time putting the car into park. “I’m coming in. What number is your apartment?”
Another sniffle. “Thomas—”
“What. Number?”
Apparently, the seriousness in my voice makes her realize I’m not playing around. She knows I’ll knock on every single door until I find the right one.
“Two,” she whispers defeatedly. “It’s on the first floor to the righ—”
That’s the only words she gets out before I’m barreling in the front door the second someone opens it and veer off in the direction of apartment two.
I hang up the phone, bang on the door twice, and wait impatiently until there’s a subtle click of the lock before the wood cracks open.
Winter’s face is damp and tear-stricken, and her eyes are red-rimmed and swollen. It’s all I need to see before nudging the door open, backing her inside, and wrapping her in my arms.
At first, her body is stiff against me. Like she can’t believe I’d hug her again. But the second she accepts it, she melts into my chest, and I can feel the tears soak into my T-shirt. I kick the door closed, run my fingers through her hair, and murmur, “I’ve got you.”
I don’t know how long we stand like that.
Me holding her.
Her crying.
But I don’t mind. Not at all.
“We don’t have to talk about it,” I begin softly, combing my fingers through her hair and resting my chin on the top of her head. “But we can if you want to. There’s no pressure.”
It takes her a few moments to collect herself and pull away, using her wrist to wipe at her cheek. “Why are you here, Moskins?”
I shake my head, suddenly hating her using that name. “It’s Thomas to you.”
Her throat bobs with a swallow, and she closes her eyes and rubs them with the heels of her palms. “What are you doing here, Thomas?”
I release a quiet breath. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m checking on you.”
She cracks her eyes open, and there’s an emptiness there I want to fill. “I’m not your responsibility. Or your friend. You don’t need to do that.”
I lift my hand and swipe the pad of my thumb over her cheek to capture a fallen tear. “Just because you aren’t my responsibility doesn’t mean I can’t make sure you’re okay.”
Her eyes narrow, and the sadness coating her glassy gaze morphs into anger. “Is this a game to you? I’m not particularly in the mood to deal with your hot and cold ass. You’re giving me whiplash.”
My jaw tics. “Does it look like I’m playing? The second Ashton called me today, the only person I wanted to see was you. Do you think I like feeling this way?”
She throws her hands up. “What way? And why should I give a shit how you feel right now?”
She’s right. Fuck. She’s right.
I hold my palms out in surrender. “I’m not trying to make this about me. I just wanted to see you. Not because I feel obligated, but because despite every fiber of my being telling me I shouldn’t, I give a shit.”
Speaking that truth aloud lifts a weight from my chest that I didn’t know was sitting there for so long.
Winter’s lips part, but nothing comes out as she stares at me. She’s as confused as I am about whatever lingers between us.
Not friendship. Whatever we’re classified as goes beyond that. We’ve crossed lines. Played with fire. And maybe this is us paying the consequences of those actions.
Feeling more than we signed up for.
Being vulnerable when we don’t want to be.
We hold each other’s secrets. Not to trade, sell, or give away. We hold them so we can finally fucking breathe.
Winter doesn’t say a word as she walks over to the small couch pushed against a wall. She drops onto it and brings her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them.
I follow her in, not sitting, but standing a few feet away to give her space.
She says, “I was thirteen when they died.”
I’m silent as she stares down at the floor and squeezes herself for comfort. The information she’s offering me straightens my spine, and I cross my arms and ball my hands into fists as she keeps going.
“I found out about the accident hours after they were found by a bystander driving home from work. There was so much damage to the car, the police said the driver that hit them would have been going twice the speed limit when they made impact.” Her eyes close, and a shiver rocks her body.
“The first time I saw the photos was at the trial.”
I push off the wall and kneel in front of her, wanting nothing more than to touch her. To comfort her. To be there in some way. But I force my hands to remain by my sides, fingers clenched into balled-up fists.
She shakes her head as more tears flow down her face like a waterfall.
“You want to know the worst part? The first responders on the scene said they didn’t die right away.
They said that both of my parents were alive.
In rough shape, but alive by some miracle.
By the time they got the jaws of life there to c-cut them out of the car, my father was dead.
Mom was…” She shakes her head, lips quivering.
“During the trial, they showed photos of footprints from a third party leading up to the driver’s side, where my dad was trapped by crushed metal.
Those same footprints were seen leaving the scene.
The person who hit them left them to die, Thomas.
Adam Burgess left them there. Two innocent people who just wanted to come home to their teenage daughter. ”
My throat bobs as her voice cracks, and she squeezes herself tighter.
Ashton doesn’t talk about his family, and I never gave a shit enough to ask about them.
He wasn’t hired to divulge personal information about himself, even if he was always up my ass trying to get info on me.
Maybe I should have pressed. I should have cared enough to wonder why he was so tightly lipped about his past when he had roots here.
“I didn’t know,” I tell her. “About any of it. I didn’t know my agent had a personal connection to you. That his brother did that to your family.”
Her eyes open, narrowing into slits. “But you asked me about him. You wanted to know if I knew him. You obviously suspected something.”
Her anger may be pointed at me right now, but I know it’s not me she’s pissed at.
It’s Ashton. Adam. The world. So, I brush off the hostility in her tone—the accusation behind it.
“Ashton made it sound like he knew you,” I admit, watching her nostrils flare with irritation.
“But he never said how, and you didn’t seem to recognize the name. ”
Winter’s teeth grind. “Because the bastard obviously changed his name.”
Ashton mentioned taking his mother’s maiden name after his brother was charged because he was starting to get traction in his career. According to him, he didn’t want his name to be attached to something as gruesome as a hit and run when he was supposed to be representing well-known people.
From a business standpoint, I get it. He didn’t want anyone digging into him and learning what his brother had done.
There are repercussions that could impact his clientele, so he had to protect his reputation.
But the second Winter was involved, he should have backed away.
He should have owned up to the things he was holding back.
I don’t tell Winter that I’m sorry about her parents, because what good would that do? They’re gone. My condolences aren’t going to bring them back or rid her of the trauma.