Chapter 47
Kelly
Jake stares at me, the moment lengthening. My gaze snags on the destroyed archway just a short distance away. The broken wood and scattered remnants of our work lie strewn across the field, half-buried under the relentless snowfall.
His jaw clenches, the muscles working beneath the stubble that shadows his face. I expect a storm to break from him too, but when he speaks, his voice is steady. “I mean it. I’m not going without you.”
His eyes are dark, sincere, and it takes everything I have not to dive into them. That would just prove how weak I really am. Show how I’m falling apart over a damn storm, when it’s so simple and easy for everyone else.
My fingers curl into fists, the cold biting through my gloves.
Don’t cry, Kelly. Strong girls don’t cry.
Jake’s eyes are on me. It’s almost unbearable, this silent kindness he offers so easily. He has no idea. No idea what’s happening under the surface. And he’s not the kind of man who could ever understand. For him, life is black and white. Fix things. Build them. Get it done.
And in his eyes, I’m that girl he used to know. One who shone so bright.
The truth hits me, cold and sharp, and I can barely breathe past it. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, I will always fall short. I’ve been holding myself together by sheer will, pretending I can do this, that I can be the person everyone expects me to be. But it’s a lie.
And Jake’s just not ready for that version of Kelly.
Jake purses his lip slightly, tiny flecks of snow catching on the stubble of his strong jaw. “Listen. We’ll rebuild. The storm hit hard, but we’ll get it back on track. We just have to take it one step at a time.”
I shake my head. “You don’t get it. This isn’t something you can just fix. This was on me. It was all on me.”
His steadiness is unbearable, a reminder of everything I’m not. I pull in a shaky breath, my eyes fixed on the snow beneath my feet. I need to be as far away from him as possible so I can fall apart all alone. “I’m sorry. I just— I can’t do this. I have to be by myself right now.”
His gaze searches my face, trying to understand. “You don’t have to shut me out like this. We’re better together.”
I look up, my voice slipping into a distant tone. I just want him gone. “No. We’re not better together. Please leave.”
“I can’t leave you.”
All the tension, all the fear and shame and exhaustion, coils inside me, a spring twisted to breaking point. My heart races, pounding against the walls I’ve tried so hard to build.
A scream builds in my throat, pressing against my ribs, clawing its way out. I need him gone. I need him to stop looking at me like that, with all that care and certainty, as if I can hold myself together just because he believes I can.
He has no idea. No one does.
I don’t want him here, don’t want anyone here to see me unravel, to witness how much of a lie my strength really is.
The words burst out, the only option so he’ll finally go: “It’s over, Jake. Just leave—please.”
His face goes slack, the hurt flashing in his eyes so quickly I almost wish I could take it back. But I can’t. I need to be alone. I need to protect myself, stop him from seeing the ugly side of me about to break through.
I force a swallow over the dry of my throat. “I’m sorry, but this was a mistake. All of it. We never should have started over. I need you to go. I need to be alone.”
He stands there, stunned. The pain on his face, the disbelief, twists something deep inside me. But I hold my ground, forcing myself to stay cold, detached, even as everything in me screams against it.
“You’re wrong,” he says, his voice low and pleading, reaching out to grab my hand, but I pull away. “Kelly, please. Don’t end this. Don’t shut me out.”
“Jake—” My voice cracks, but I swallow, blinking back tears. I’m not going to cry. Not now. “It’s over. I can’t keep doing this.”
For a second, he just stares at me, searching my face as if he can find some explanation for the cold words coming out of my mouth. “But we can fix this—don’t you get it? I love you, Kelly. We’ve come too far for you to throw this away.”
I look away, staring at the ground, at the broken pieces of the festival scattered around us. “I’m sorry. The whole thing was a mistake. It was never going to work.”
His face clenches, and he opens his mouth to say something more, but then his phone rings, stealing the words from his mouth. He reaches into his pocket, glances at it, his brows drawing together as he reads the name on the screen. His shoulders tense as he hesitates, torn.
“It’s Jenny,” he says, lifting the phone to his ear. “What’s going on?” He listens, his face shifting from confusion to anger to worry in a matter of seconds. “What do you mean? The principal said the boys were suspended.”
Jenny’s voice, small and frantic, comes through on the other end, and Jake’s face hardens. He ends the call and looks back at me, pain and frustration written all over his face.
I stare at him, the man who’s been trying so hard to love me, the man who believes in me even when I can’t. But he doesn’t know. If he knew the real me, he wouldn’t still be standing here.
“Adele’s in trouble,” he says. “I have to go. But I can’t leave you out here.”
“Then go. I’ll be fine.”
He stares at me, pleading. “Can we talk about this later? Just… please, Kelly. Don’t push me away. We can work through this.”
I shake my head. “No. I need to do this on my own. Go. Adele needs you.”
“Kelly—” He steps closer, but I turn away, hugging myself.
“You need to be with your daughter,” I say, my voice curt, clipped, hiding the tremble beneath.
For a moment, he stands there, torn, his hand hanging in the air as if he wants to reach out, to touch me one last time. But finally, he lets it drop to his side, his expression raw and pained. “We’re going to talk as soon as I speak to Adele. I’m not going to lose you again. ”
I force a blank expression. “It’s already over. Just leave.”
But Jake doesn’t move. “I can’t leave you here with the next storm bearing down. Please, just get in your car and go home. So I know you’re safe.”
I hesitate, the snow swirling around us, each flake a piece of me breaking off. If I don’t leave, he’s going to see me break anyway. “Fine.” I turn, walking to my car, sliding into the driver’s seat, while he watches.
Starting the engine and pulling away, glancing in the mirror to see him—a lone figure against the white snow heading toward his truck. Once he’s out of sight, I take the first right turn and pull over to the side of the road, the engine idling softly as I sit there in the silent car.
Outside, snow falls heavily, blanketing everything in an endless, cold white.