Chapter 14
Fourteen
Winter
I watch Joy freeze, her hand still on the car door, her eyes wide with shock. The words I just said hang in the air between us, and I'm not sure if I've just made the biggest mistake of my life or the bravest move I've ever made.
Probably both.
The snow is melting under the morning sun, dripping from the trees, the sound of water hitting the ground the only noise for what feels like an eternity. She's not moving. Not speaking. Just staring at me like I've grown a second head.
"Winter, I..." she starts, then stops. Her hand falls away from the car door.
"You don't have to say anything," I tell her quickly, my heart hammering in my chest. "I just needed you to know. Before you left. Before I lost my chance to tell you."
She takes a step toward me, then stops. Her face is a mixture of emotions. Shock, fear, what i think is hope. "You can't just say something like that and expect me to…"
"I know." I run my hand through my hair, a nervous habit I've never been able to break. "I know it's not fair. I know you have a life in Indianapolis, a job you've worked hard for. I'm not trying to manipulate you or make you feel guilty."
"Then why did you say it?" Her voice cracks on the last word.
"Because it's true." I take a step toward her, closing the distance between us.
"Because I've spent ten years trying to convince myself I was over you, trying to build a life that didn't include you, and then you showed up here and in four days you turned everything upside down.
And I realized I never stopped loving you.
I just learned how to live without you."
Her eyes fill with tears. "Winter..."
"But I don't want to live without you anymore," I continue, the words pouring out now that I've started. "These past few days, watching you with Alana, laughing with you, being with you? It showed me what I've been missing. What we've both been missing."
"It's not that simple," she whispers. "I can't just…"
"Why not?" I challenge. "Joy, what's waiting for you in Indianapolis? Really? You have a job here, I promise."
She opens her mouth, then closes it. I can see her struggling with the answer.
"I can't promise you perfect," I tell her, taking her hand in mine.
"I can't promise you that it'll be easy or that we won't have to work at it.
But I can promise you that I will love you with everything I have.
That Alana will love you. That you'll be part of a family that wants you, not for what you accomplish or how much money you make, but just for being you. "
"Winter, stop." She pulls her hand away, and my heart sinks. "You're making this so much harder."
"Good." I know I'm being unfair, but I can't help it. "It should be hard. This decision should be hard. Because it matters, Joy. We matter."
She turns back to the car, and panic floods through me. She's going to leave. After everything, she's still going to leave.
"I have to think," she says, her hand back on the door handle. "I need time to process all of this."
"How much time?" The question comes out more desperate than I intended.
She doesn't answer, just stands there with her back to me. I can see her shoulders shaking, and I realize she's crying.
"Joy, please. Just tell me what you're thinking."
She spins around, and the anguish on her face nearly breaks me.
"I'm thinking that I'm terrified! I'm thinking that the last time I made a decision about us, I got it completely wrong, and I'm scared I'll do it again.
I'm thinking that I don't know if I'm brave enough to give up everything I've worked for on the chance that this might work out. "
"It's not a chance," I insist. "It's a choice. And it's not giving up everything, it's choosing something better than what you have now."
"How do you know it's better?" she demands. "How can you possibly know that?"
"Because I know you," I say again, more firmly this time. "I know that you're dying inside in that life. I know that you're lonely and unfulfilled and searching for happiness you'll never find there. Because what you're looking for isn't in Indianapolis, Joy. It's here. It's always been here."
She's crying harder now, her hands covering her face. "You make it sound so easy."
"I'm not saying it's easy. I'm saying it's worth it." I pull her hands away from her face, forcing her to look at me. "Tell me something. If you could have any life you wanted, with no fear of failure or judgment or making the wrong choice, what would you pick?"
She stares at me for a long moment, tears streaming down her face. "That's not fair."
"Answer the question."
"Winter…"
"Answer it, Joy. What would you pick?"
Her voice is barely a whisper when she finally responds. "You. I'd pick you."
The relief that floods through me is overwhelming. "Then pick me. Pick us. Pick the life you actually want instead of the life you thought you were supposed to have."
"What would our life look like?" she asks suddenly, cutting me off. "If I stayed in Pine Ridge. What would that actually look like?"
The question catches me off guard, but I don't hesitate. This is it. My chance to paint the picture, to show her what we could have.The life I want us to have.
"Mornings," I start, my voice soft. "Mornings where you wake up in my bed, in our bed, with the sun coming through the window. Where Alana runs in and jumps on us because she's excited about either a school field trip or a new book or just because it's Saturday."
Joy's crying still, but she's listening.
"Breakfasts in the lodge kitchen," I continue. "If we choose not to do that, then in our home.The three of us cooking together, making too much food. Alana helping you flip pancakes while I make coffee. Fighting over who gets the last piece of bacon."
A small smile breaks through her tears.
"Days where you work at the lodge doing the social media and the marketing. Days where you have lunch with Fiona or Carol or any of the other people in town who would love to get to know you again. Days that are worth living."
"Afternoons," I keep going, building the vision.
"Afternoons where we pick Alana up from school together when she starts, and she tells us about her day.
Where we help her with homework at the kitchen table and maybe bake cookies just because.
Where the three of us go for walks in the woods or play in the snow or just curl up by the fire and read. "
Joy's hand finds mine again, squeezing tight.
"Evenings where we have dinner as a family. Where Alana sets the table and you make something mouth-watering and I clean up afterward because that's gonna be our deal. Where we talk about our days and laugh about stupid things and make plans for the weekend."
"Nights," I whisper, pulling her closer, putting my chin on her head.
"Nights where we put Alana to bed together, both of us tucking her in and kissing her goodnight.
Where we have time just for us, to talk or watch a movie or just be together.
Where I get to fall asleep next to you and wake up next to you and know that you're not going anywhere. "
She's sobbing now, but not pulling away.
"And then," I say, my own voice thick with emotion, "in a year or two or whenever we're ready, maybe we add to our family. A little brother or sister for Alana. Maybe two. As many as you want. As many as we can handle."
"Winter," she breathes.
"That's what our life would look like," I tell her. "Simple. Comfortable. Full of love and laughter and all the small moments we've both always wanted. Not exciting or glamorous or impressive to anyone but us. Just good, happy, ours."
She's quiet for so long I start to panic again. Maybe I've said too much. Maybe I've pushed too hard.
"I want that," she whispers. "God help me, I want that so much."
My heart soars. "Then take it. It's right here, Joy. All you have to do is say yes."
But she's shaking her head, even as she says she wants it. "I need to think. I need to go back to Indianapolis and really think about this without you right in front of me making me feel things."
"No." The word comes out harsher than I intended, and she flinches.
"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I just..
. Joy, if you leave now, you're not coming back.
We both know it. You'll go back to your apartment and your job and your routine, and you'll convince yourself that you made the right choice.
That staying here would have been a mistake. "
"You don't know that."
"I do know that. Because that's what happened last time. You left, and you built a whole life around justifying that decision. Around proving that leaving was the right thing to do. And now here you are, ten years later, finally admitting that maybe it wasn't."
She pulls away completely now, backing toward her car. "That's not fair, Winter. You can't…"
"I'm not trying to be fair." My voice is rising, desperation bleeding through. "I'm trying to be honest. I'm trying to fight for us, because clearly I didn't fight hard enough last time."
"You can't blame yourself for me leaving."
"I don't. I blame myself for letting you go without a fight. For not trying to find you and go after you. What I should have done was tell you I loved you too much to watch you walk away."
We're both breathing hard now, the tension between us crackling like electricity. The sun is getting higher, the snow melting faster. The roads are clearing. Soon she really will leave, and this moment will be over.
"Before you go," I say, my voice breaking. "Before you get in that car and drive away, I need you to answer me one question. Honestly."
"What?"
I take a deep breath, knowing this is my last shot. "Do you love me?"
Her eyes widen, fresh tears spilling over. "Winter…"
"Do you love me, Joy? Yes or no. That's all I need to know."
She's shaking, her whole body trembling. For a moment, I think she's going to refuse to answer. That she's going to get in the car and drive away without giving me even that small truth.
But then she looks at me, really looks at me, and I see it in her eyes before she even says the words.
"Yes," she whispers. "Yes, I love you. I never stopped loving you."
The world tilts on its axis.
She loves me.
She never stopped loving me.
"Then stay," I plead, closing the distance between us one more time. "If you love me, if you want the life I described, if you're tired of being lonely and unfulfilled, then stay. Be with me. Be with us. Let yourself be happy, Joy. You deserve to be happy."
She's crying so hard now she can barely breathe. "I'm scared."
"I know. I'm scared too." I cup her face in my hands, wiping away her tears with my thumbs. "But I'd rather be scared together than safe and alone. Wouldn't you?"
Before she can answer, before she can talk herself out of it again, I pull her into my arms. She melts against me, and we stand there in the parking lot, holding each other like we're afraid to let go.
Because we are afraid. Both of us.
But sometimes the scariest thing is also the right thing.
We stand there as the snow melts around us, as the sun climbs higher, as the moment stretches into something that feels like forever.
And I wait.
I wait for her to make the choice that will determine the rest of our lives.
I wait for her to choose me the way I've been choosing her for ten years.
I wait, and I hope, and I pray that this time love will be enough.