Chapter 13
Thirteen
Joy
The sound of my suitcase zipper sounds like a gunshot in the dark.
I'm sitting on the edge of the bed, the same bed where Winter and I made love just hours ago, and I'm packing up my life to leave.
Again. My hands shake as I fold my clothes, trying to fit everything back into the bag even though it feels impossible.
How do you pack up emotions? Your fear, your happiness, and everything in between?
How do you fold away feelings and zip them into a suitcase?
Tears blur my vision as I look around the room. It's just a hotel room, nothing special, but it's been my refuge for the past few days. Where I slept with Winter last night.
Last night.
God, last night was both the best and worst decision I have ever made.
I grab another shirt and press it to my face, letting myself cry into it. This is ridiculous. I'm a twenty-eight-old woman, and I'm crying over leaving a man I dated in high school. Except it's not that simple. It's never been that simple with Winter.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I reach for it, hoping irrationally that it might be him even though he's just downstairs. It's Alex.
Alex: Expect a meeting on Monday morning about the Patterson account and you dropping the ball.
Dropping the ball? I almost laugh, except it's not funny at all. I've been snowed in at a lodge in my hometown, falling in love all over again with the boy I left behind, playing house with his daughter, and wondering if I've wasted the last ten years of my life.
I toss the phone back onto the nightstand without responding and go back to packing.
What was I so excited about when I left Pine Ridge ten years ago?
I try to remember that girl, the one who couldn't wait to get out of this small town, who thought the world was waiting for her with open arms. I remember feeling trapped, suffocated by my parents' expectations and the limitations of small-town life.
I remember thinking that love wasn't enough, that Winter and Pine Ridge would hold me back from becoming whoever I was meant to be.
And who did I become? A marketing manager who works sixty-hour weeks and goes home to an empty apartment.
A woman who has plenty of money in her bank account but nobody to spend it on.
Someone who has achieved every goal she set for herself and feels emptier than ever.
I've fucking turned into my parents. The people I tried to get away from.
I sit down on the bed, hugging a sweater to my chest. The tears come harder now, and I don't try to stop them.
The truth is, I don't remember what I was so excited about. Proving everyone wrong?
But what did it get me? Approval from my boss? A nice apartment? The satisfaction of knowing I made it?
None of it matters. None of it fills the hole that's been growing in my chest since the day I left.
A knock on the door makes me jump. I wipe hastily at my face, trying to compose myself.
"Come in," I call out, my voice rough.
The door opens, and Winter steps inside. He's dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, his hair slightly damp like he just showered. He looks tired, dark circles under his eyes that tell me he didn't sleep any better than I did.
"Hey," he says softly, closing the door behind him. "I came to get your suitcase. Your car's been pulled out of the ditch. I can take you there whenever you're ready."
"Oh." I swallow hard. "That was fast."
"Yeah, the tow truck got here about an hour ago." He pauses, taking in my face, the suitcase, the obvious evidence that I've been crying. He reaches out, but I brush right past him. "Joy..."
"I'm fine," I lie, standing up and grabbing the last few items to stuff into my bag. "Just finishing up packing."
He doesn't call me on the lie, just stands there watching me. The silence is thick between us, heavy with all the big feelings we're experiencing.
"I can come back if you need more time," he offers.
"No, it's okay." I zip up the suitcase with a finality that makes my stomach turn. "I'm ready."
But I'm not ready. I'm so far from ready it's not even funny.
Winter crosses the room and picks up my suitcase like it weighs nothing. He heads toward the door, then stops, turning back to face me.
"Joy, I need to say something before we go downstairs."
My heart is pounding. "Okay."
He sets the suitcase down and takes a step toward me. "I'm sorry about last night. Not about what we did, but about pushing you afterward. About asking you to stay when I had no right to."
"You had every right," I whisper. "You just asked for something I'm too scared to give."
"I know." He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch gentle. "And I get it. I do. But I need you to know something before you leave."
"What?"
He takes a breath, and when he speaks, his voice is raw with emotion. "I forgive you."
The words hit me like a physical blow. "What?"
"For leaving ten years ago. For breaking my heart. For all of it." His eyes are bright with unshed tears. "I forgive you, Joy. You were eighteen, and you were trying to figure out your life. You don't need to carry that guilt anymore."
A sob escapes my throat before I can stop it. "Winter..."
"And even if we don't have a future, even if you drive away today and I never see you again, I want you to know I'm glad you got stuck here. I'm glad I got these few days with you. Because it reminded me what it felt like to be really, truly happy. And I'll always be grateful for that."
I'm sobbing now, unable to stop the tears from streaming down my face. He pulls me into his arms, and I let myself collapse against him, breathing in his scent one last time.
"I'm so sorry," I sob into his chest. "I'm so sorry for leaving you. For hurting you. For being too scared to stay."
"Shh, it's okay." He strokes my hair, his chin resting on top of my head. "It's okay, Joy. You don't have to be sorry anymore."
We stand like that for a long time, holding each other, memorizing the feel of being in each other's arms. Eventually, I pull back, wiping at my face.
"I should go," I say, even though everything in me is screaming to stay.
"Yeah." He picks up my suitcase again. "I'll take you downstairs."
We walk through the lodge in silence. It's quiet this morning, most of the guests still sleeping or having breakfast in their rooms. The Christmas tree in the lobby is lit up, the decorations Alana helped place twinkling in the morning light.
As we reach the front door, a small voice calls out.
"Joy! Wait!"
I turn to see Alana running toward us, still in her pajamas, her hair a mess from sleep. She crashes into me, wrapping her arms around my waist in a fierce hug.
"You weren't going to leave without saying goodbye, were you?" she asks, looking up at me with those big eyes so much like her father's.
"Of course not, sweetheart," I lie, kneeling down to her level. "I was going to come find you."
"Good." She squeezes me tighter. "I really like you, Joy. I hope you come back to visit us soon. Maybe for New Year's? Or Valentine's Day? Dad says those are good times to visit too."
I glance up at Winter, who's looking away, his jaw tight.
"Maybe," I tell her, my voice breaking. "I'll try my best."
"Promise?" She holds out her pinky finger.
I look at that tiny finger, and my heart shatters. Because I know I can't make that promise. I know that if I leave here today, I'm not coming back. It would hurt too much. Seeing them again, leaving again, over and over. I can't do it. Emotionally I can't take it.
But I also can't break this little girl's heart right now.
So I link my pinky with hers. "I promise to try."
It's not a lie. I will try. Even if I know trying won't be enough.
Alana seems satisfied with that. She releases me and steps back, taking her father's hand. "Bye, Joy. I'm glad you got stuck in the snow with us."
"Me too, princess." I stand up, my legs shaky. "You take care of your dad, okay? He needs someone to remind him to take breaks and eat lunch."
"I will," she promises solemnly.
Winter opens the front door, and the cold air rushes in, along with the reality of what I'm about to do. His truck is running in the parking lot, warm and ready to take me away from here.
Away from him.
Away from the life I could have had.
I follow him outside, Alana waving from the doorway. The drive to where my rental car has been pulled from the ditch takes less than ten minutes, but it feels like an eternity. Neither of us speaks. There's too much to say and no way to say any of it.
When we pull up behind my car, Winter puts the truck in park but doesn't turn off the engine. We sit there, the heater running, the silence deafening.
"I guess this is it," I finally say.
"Yeah." His hands grip the steering wheel so tight his knuckles are white. "Drive safe. The roads should be okay, but there might still be some icy patches. The plows have been through."
"I will." I reach for the door handle, then stop. "Winter?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For everything. For forgiving me. For being exactly who you've always been. For reminding me what it feels like to be home."
He finally looks at me, and the pain in his eyes nearly destroys me. "Joy, I.."
"Don't," I interrupt softly. "Please don't make this harder than it already is."
He nods, swallowing hard. "Okay."
I open the door and step out into the cold. Winter gets out too, pulling my suitcase from the back of his truck and loading it into my rental car. We stand there in the snow, the morning sun breaking through the clouds, making everything sparkle.
"Goodbye, Winter," I whisper.
"Goodbye, Joy."
I should get in the car. I should start the engine and drive away. I should leave before I change my mind, before I do something crazy like tell him I'm staying.
But as I reach for the car door, Winter's voice stops me.
"Wait."
I turn back to him, and he's standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking more vulnerable than I've ever seen him.
"Before you go, I just want you to know something." He takes a step closer. "It took me ten years to try and forget you, Joy. It took four days for you to make me fall in love with you again."
The world stops spinning.
My breath catches in my throat, my hand frozen on the car door.
He loves me. Still. Again. Always.
And suddenly, everything I've been running from, everything I've been too scared to face, becomes crystal clear.
I don't want to leave. I don't want to go back to Indianapolis. I don't want to spend the rest of my life wondering what if, regretting this moment, missing him and Alana and the life we could build together.
I want to stay. I want to take the job with him. Help him run the lodge.
The realization hits me so hard I almost stumble. It's not fear that's been holding me back. It's not doubt about whether we could make it work. It's the echo of my eighteen-year-old self, the one who thought she needed to prove something to the world and to herself.
But I don't need to prove anything anymore.
I just need to be happy.
And happiness is standing right in front of me, with snow in his hair and hope in his eyes, waiting for me to make a choice.
The same choice I should have made ten years ago.