17. Hendrix
HENDRIX
H ours pass by, and we go through three cans of soup and two cups of hot chocolate each.
It's approaching midnight, but neither of us wants to broach the subject of our sleeping arrangement, as the only bedroom in this cottage is upstairs.
I'll take the couch, of course, but I'm not about to shoo her away, either.
Despite the circumstance that keeps us here, I've never felt more comfortable and at ease in my life.
Spending time with Colette is just… natural.
We talked all through our meal about utter nonsense—mostly fandom stuff and music—then she annihilated me in Monopoly, which made her cheeks flush with wicked glee.
She laughed maniacally each time my little car landed on one of her hotels.
I lost spectacularly. And I'd do it again to see her laugh like that.
I stack our dishes in the sink, stealing glances at Colette as she wraps herself tighter in the blanket by the fire.
The wind still howls outside, but the worst of the storm seems to have passed.
It’s died down to a gentle snowfall, but the roads are still too dangerous to risk driving back tonight.
Through the window, I can make out the hulking shape of my truck, now buried under what looks like a foot of snow.
"Well, looks like we're stuck here till morning. I'll need to dig the truck out and wait for the plows to scrape the roads before we can head back."
I set my bowl down and stretch. "But I gotta say, this might be the best date I've ever been on.”
She shoots me a look. "This isn't a date."
"Come on, we had dinner by candlelight, got snowed in at a cozy cottage..." I gesture to the crackling fire, dropping onto the couch beside her. "It's like something out of one of those movies my aunt watches."
"I don't date," she says flatly.
"Ever? Like, at all?" I lean forward, genuinely curious. "Is this some kind of vow of celibacy thing? Because?—"
"No," she cuts me off. Her voice carries an edge that makes me pause. "I just... don't. I'm too busy with work and the pageant and?—"
"Bull," I blurt before I think better of it. "Sorry. But I've known you since high school. You're one of the most organized people I know. If you wanted to date, you'd pencil it right into that color-coded planner of yours."
She turns away, staring into the fire. The silence stretches between us, heavy with things unsaid.
"It's not that simple," she finally whispers, so quiet I almost miss it.
"Then explain it to me."
But she just shakes her head, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders like armor.
A sigh escapes her as she tugs on her boots, not even bothering to lace them up before she stomps outside to the back of the house, her boots making deep impressions.
I watch through the window as she stands on the patio, arms crossed, staring up at the falling snow.
The moonlight catches in her hair, turning it silver.
Great job, bro. Way to push too hard.
But something about the way she's standing out there, all alone in the quiet night, tugs at my heart. I can't leave her like that. Grabbing my own boots, I follow her.
The snow crunches under my feet as I step outside. Without thinking too hard about it, I scoop up a handful of snow, pack it tight, and let it fly. It hits her square in the back with a satisfying poof.
She whirls around, mouth dropping open. "You did not just?—"
Another snowball catches her in the shoulder. "Oops. My hand slipped."
"Oh, it's on." She dives behind a snow-covered bush, already gathering ammunition. Her first shot grazes my ear, and I duck, laughing.
"Your aim could use some work!" I call out, dodging another projectile.
"Annoying as ever, Ellis!" But I hear the smile in her voice.
We chase each other around the yard like kids, pelting snowballs and trash-talking. She nails me right in the face, and I dramatically fall backward into a snowdrift.
"Hendrix?" She peers down at me, concerned. "Are you okay?"
I grab her ankle, pulling her down beside me. She lands with an "oof" and a burst of laughter that echoes across the silent yard.
I spread my arms wide. "I surrender!"
We lie there, catching our breath, watching snowflakes drift down from the inky sky. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold and exertion, her hair dusted with snow. In this moment, she looks more alive than I've seen her in weeks.
The quiet stretches between us, broken only by our breathing and the soft whisper of falling snow. Colette's eyes stay fixed on the stars peeking through breaks in the clouds. Something in her expression shifts, like she's a million miles away.
"You know," she says, her voice barely audible above the wind, "growing up wasn't exactly... ideal for me."
I turn my head to look at her, but she keeps staring upward.
"My father..." She swallows hard. "Let's just say he didn't exactly make anyone want to date men. He had a temper."
My chest tightens, and heat floods my body despite the cold snow beneath me. My hands clench into fists, and I have to force myself to breathe through the sudden rage building inside me.
"Did he hit you?" The words come out rough, almost a growl.
Colette stays quiet for what feels like forever, each second making my heart pound harder. Finally, she speaks, her voice so soft I have to strain to hear it.
"No. But he would beat on my mom."
The admission hangs in the frigid air between us, and I've never wanted to punch someone I've never met so badly in my life.
"Is that..." My throat feels tight, each word a struggle. "Is that how she died?"
I'd heard about Mrs. McAllister's passing a few years back, but everyone said it was an illness. I'd sent a card, feeling awkward and distant, not knowing what to write. No one ever mentioned...
"No." Colette's voice cracks. She brushes snow from her hair, still not meeting my eyes.
"The drinking got her in the end. Dad took off during our senior year, and Mom.
.. she just fell apart. She had no job, no skills—he'd never let her work.
The depression hit her hard, and she found comfort at the bottom of the bottle. "
The snow continues falling around us, but I barely notice the cold anymore. I remember Colette during that time, how she'd stopped participating in class discussions, stopped raising her hand. I'd thought she was just stressed about finals.
She takes a shaky breath.
"I couldn't leave her like that.” Colette continues.
“Everyone else was heading off to college, starting their lives, but I.
.. I stayed.Got a job as an aide at Brookking High, took online classes at night for my teaching credentials.
Someone had to pay the bills, make sure she ate, clean up the.
.." She trails off, and I can fill in the blanks myself.
I'd been such an idiot back then. While I was off playing hockey and living my dreams, she'd been here, shouldering burdens no teenager should have to carry.
All those times I'd teased her about being an overachiever, how she always had her nose in a book, the way she kept everyone at arm's length – it wasn't because she was stuck up.
She was holding her world together by sheer force of will.
"I didn't know," I whisper. "Colette, I'm so sorry. I should have?—"
“It’s fine." She sniffles with a humorless laugh. "I don’t know why I’m telling you all this…”
I reach out and wrap her hand in mine. It’s ice cold from throwing snowballs with no gloves. “I’m grateful you told me.”
Her hands feel like ice in mine. "Come here," I murmur, pulling her to her feet.
Snow clings to her hair, her shoulders, her cheeks – I brush it away with gentle sweeps of my fingers.
She's shivering, the blanket doing little to ward off the cold.
Without hesitation, she steps into my chest, wrapping her arms around my waist. I envelope her in my embrace, trying to share my warmth.
"Thank you for listening," she whispers against my sweater.
I respond by squeezing her tighter, knowing that any second, we’ll have to go back inside to warm up by the fire, breaking this magical moment. Before I let it end, I press a chaste kiss at the crown of her head, then pull back.
But she tilts her face up to mine, the moonlight catching in her eyes, making them glisten like stars. My breath hitches in my throat at the invitation I see there.
With my heart thundering against my ribs, I cup her face in my hands and lean down, tentatively pressing my mouth to hers. Her lips are soft, tasting faintly like hot chocolate. They’re cold from the snow, but warming quickly under mine.
The kiss is gentle, tender – everything I've wanted to show her since high school but never knew how. My whole body feels alive with the sensation of finally, finally kissing Colette McAllister properly.
She makes a small sound in the back of her throat and presses closer, her fingers curling into my jacket like she never wants to let go.
I cup her face in my hands and deepen the kiss just enough to make her sigh.
Her tongue brushes mine, tentative but eager, sending sparks down my spine.
My head spins with the realization that this is real - I'm actually kissing Colette McAllister under the stars, and she's kissing me back like she means it.
Like maybe she's wanted this as long as I have.
Everything about this moment feels right – the quiet snow falling around us, the way she fits perfectly against me, how she kisses me back with equal parts sweetness and heat.
The kiss deepens, and my whole world narrows to this moment – the soft press of her lips, the way her fingers clutch my sweater, how perfectly she fits against me.
The rest of the world fades away until there's nothing but this – just me and her and the soft whisper of snowflakes landing on our shoulders.
All I can focus on is Colette, and how right this feels.