Chapter 19 Dean
DEAN
It’s been almost a week since the break-in at Noelle’s shop, and the house hasn’t felt the same since.
Most days she drifts between rooms like a shadow, barefoot with her hair tangled, drowning in one of Richard’s old sweatshirts that hangs off her like she’s a little kid again trying to keep warm when nothing else helps.
She barely eats. Half the time, the plate I leave outside her door comes back untouched, cold to the touch hours later.
When she does come downstairs, she moves slowly like the weight of it all has carved itself into her bones.
The shop used to be her sanctuary. Now she flinches at the mention of it.
Even Eli’s laughter, normally the one sound guaranteed to perk her up, doesn’t seem to break through whatever fog she’s trapped in.
She hides behind small smiles that don’t quite reach her eyes, murmuring excuses about being tired and disappearing again in her room.
I’ve seen people shut down before, but watching it happen to Noelle hits different.
She’s always been the one holding everything together, the first to laugh, the first to make sure everyone’s okay.
Seeing her crumble like this makes my heart hurt.
Richard pretends not to worry, but I catch him checking on her every change he can, trying his best to coax her out of her spiral.
Callum and Grant have been quieter too, hovering near the hallway that leads to her room, probably fighting the same useless urge I am to fix things.
I don’t know if it’s exhaustion or avoidance that has her drifting so far away from us.
Every time I pass by her door, I want to knock and say something, anything, to pull her back into the light.
But what do you even say to someone who’s had their world turned upside down?
Who’s just been reminded how unsafe this town can really be?
At night, sometimes I hear her crying softly when she thinks everyone’s asleep.
I grip the edge of the counter and tell myself to stay put, because if I go to her now I don’t trust myself to leave her alone.
And with Richard around, there’s no telling what he’ll think if he catches us.
I suppose the only saving grace in all of this is Richard letting us crash here until it’s sorted out.
We were supposed to return home by now, but we’ve been able to stretch out vacation days, working from the hotel, and managing our affairs through technology so we can stay longer.
Every night the three of us take turns commuting between the hotel and their place, making sure someone’s always nearby.
At least one of us stays up until dawn, nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee, staring out the window for headlights that never come, waiting for the sound of tires crunching on hard snow that thankfully hasn’t happened yet.
But this morning, something’s different.
When I walk to the kitchen to grab something to eat after a shower, Noelle’s already there.
She’s sitting at the dining room table still in one of Richard’s sweatshirts.
The light from the window catches on her face, and for the first time in days she doesn’t look like she’s drowning in her pain.
She’s still quiet, but there’s a flicker of life behind her eyes that wasn’t there yesterday.
So, I take a chance.
I slide into the chair across from her and offer what I hope passes for an easy smile.
“What do you say we get out of here for a bit? Go Christmas shopping over at the strip mall. The stores are probably hell this close to the holiday, but…might be nice to see something other than these walls for a change. Plus I haven’t gotten anything for Eli yet. Got to top my racecar gift.”
She looks up, blinking slowly at me while trying to process the idea of outside.
For a second, I think she’ll say no.
It would be easier to stay cocooned in the safety of the house, to keep the world out and wait for time to pass until the cops call with news.
But then her shoulders drop a little and she gives me this small, tired smile.
“That sounds nice. I could use a distraction.”
It’s the most hopeful thing I’ve heard from her in days.
So that’s what we do.
I promise to keep it simple—just stopping by a few stores and maybe grab a hot bite afterward.
She doesn’t know it, but I’d take her anywhere if it meant seeing that spark in her eyes again.
As we grab our coats, I feel the tightness in my chest ease for the first time all week.
Maybe this won’t fix everything, maybe it won’t fix anything, but it’s something.
And right now, that feels like a start.
We head out just after nine.
The morning air is cold enough to sting my cheeks, the air a sharp and bitter chill that makes your lungs ache on the first inhale.
Noelle pulls her hood up as we walk to the car, her hands tucked deep into the pockets of her jacket.
She moves a little cautiously before climbing into the truck, glancing over her shoulder once or twice, but she’s out here and that’s already a win.
The drive is quiet at first when we get going.
I keep the radio low on some soft old Christmas station that I hum under my breath as we drive.
Every now and then I catch her watching the world blur by out her window.
Her reflection in the glass looks distant and tired and a little thoughtful.
I want so badly to reach over and put my hand on her knee, to give it a tight squeeze before telling her I’ve got her.
It would be so easy to with how close we are, but then again it terrifies me to think about her shoving my hand away and rejecting me.
By the time we pull into the strip mall’s parking lot, the entire place is packed.
Strings of lights hang from every lamppost dotted along the sidewalk, the store windows glow with reds, golds, and greens.
There’s laughter spilling from a nearby cafe at the end of the plaza as people pour in and out, the scent of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts drifting through the cold when we climb out of the car.
It’s complete and utter chaos, but underneath it feels nostalgic.
Noelle’s eyes track a group of kids running past us while we head to the first store front, all of them holding paper cups of cocoa that spill onto the ground and leave trails following after them.
She smiles slightly, half of it hidden under the scarf pulled up to her chin, but at least it’s something.
“I say we hit up two stores then grab something from that chocolate store that has the line wrapped around the building,” I say lightly, shoving my hands in my jacket pockets.
Noelle’s mouth twitches. “Just admit your sweet tooth is getting the better of you.”
I laugh. “Guilty. But can you blame me? This place smells like every glutton’s wet dream.”
We start walking, weaving through the crowd. I let out a soft breath when we step into one of the stores, the warm air wafting over us and shaking the chill from my bones.
Every few minutes she stops to look at something: a display of little trinket-sized ornaments, a rack of plush scarves, a little stand selling “gifts for him.” I don’t rush her.
I let her take her time, watch her fingers brush over the edges of things while taking it all in.
She ends up lingering in front of a display of children’s books.
Her expression softens as she flips one open, scanning the pages.
“Eli used to love this series. I used to read it to him before bed.”
“Then you should get it for him,” I say.
She hesitates, then nods. “Yeah. Maybe I will.”
We move from shop to shop like that, quiet and unhurried. Slowly, she starts to talk more.
Nothing deep or heavy, just little things like how she’s looking forward to wrapping Eli’s gifts next weekend, how she’s been thinking about taking us all to the winter festival the day after New Year’s Eve.
How she’s thinking about repainting the shop once it’s safe again.
Each word feels like her stitching a piece of herself back together one at a time.
When we finally stop for lunch at the cafe, I find us a small corner booth.
She sits across from me, her cheeks flushed from the cold and her hands wrapped around a mug of hot coffee topped with a mountain of cold foam.
“This was a good idea,” she admits after a while, voice quiet but sincere.
“Yeah?” I lean back, pretending to play it cool though relief slices through me like dowsing my cold hand under hot water to unthaw it.
“Yeah.” She looks out the window at the snow falling, her reflection overlapping with the lights outside. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
My hand tightens around my own mug, slight fear creeping in. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
When she turns back to me again, her eyes are slightly shimmering with tears. “I wanted to apologize.”
For the life of me, I can’t even fathom what the hell she feels guilty enough to apologize over.
For being down about what happened?
It’s understandable.
For being a ghost in her own home?
Also understandable.
Her life has changed drastically in the past few weeks. If she had been acting like everything is normal, I’d be even more concerned.
“Noelle, whatever it is—”
“About Eli,” she interrupts me, shutting me up instantly.
She looks down into her coffee then, refusing to make eye contact with me.
My heart thuds hard in my chest, the fear from earlier turning a little more sour.
I’m not bitter about her hiding the truth from me—far from it, actually.
I get it, I really do.
I just wish she would’ve said something sooner so I could’ve, we could’ve, protected her.
“I…” She huffs a soft laugh, though it doesn’t at all sound genuine. “I thought by keeping him a secret from you guys, it would make everyone’s lives easier. Guess I was completely wrong about that, huh.”
My head shakes. “Don’t do that to yourself. You were scared. I get it.”
Her hand tightens around her mug again. “Still…now you guys are all dragged into my mess. I got Eli involved with Jared because I was trying to replace the father figure I wanted him to have. I should’ve…”
“Noelle, stop.” I reach over and grab her hand, squeezing until she lifts her eyes to look at me.
“Don’t do that to yourself. ‘What if’s’ are going to drive you insane.
You did what you thought was best at the time, that’s all that matters.
Eli is safe and healthy. You did good. It doesn’t matter that we didn’t know. We know now, and we’re here for you.”
Her chin trembles. “Why don’t you hate me?”
Oh god.
Her words slice right through me.
My heart squeezes painfully tight, like it’s trying to force back all the useless guilt I’ve been carrying for her, all the anger I wish I could actually take out on her stupid ex.
How could she even think that?
I can’t sit there another second. I shove my chair back and slide around to her side of the table.
The legs of the chair scrape softly against the floor, and before she can protest I’m beside her.
The moment I wrap my arms around her shoulders, she folds. She melts against me, small and slightly shaking, pressing her face into my chest.
Her hand grabs at my shirt in a tight, desperate grip like she needs something solid to anchor her.
“It’s okay,” I murmur, one hand finding the back of her head, the other tracing slow, steady circles along her spine. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Noelle. You don’t have to keep apologizing for surviving.”
Her breath comes out in shaky bursts against my chest. Every sound in the cafe fades out—the clinking of cups against plates, the hum of conversation, and the faint Christmas music playing overhead.
It’s just her clinging to me like she’s been holding everything in for too long and me keeping her grounded through it all.
“I wanted to tell you all, I really did. I promise,” she chokes out, voice muffled.
“You did,” I tell her firmly. “That’s all that matters.”
For a long moment, she doesn’t move. I keep holding her, rubbing her arm in small circles until the tremors finally fade.
She stays pressed against me, her cheek resting against my shoulder, and I let her because as much as she needs this honestly so do I.
When she finally leans back, her eyes are glassy but calmer. “Thank you.”
I’m so tempted to kiss her right in the middle of this damn cafe.
It’s ridiculous, inappropriate even because people might see us, but the thought hits me so hard it nearly knocks the breath out of me.
There’s something about this moment that makes it impossible to turn away.
The vulnerability, the quiet strength in the way she’s still here, still trying even after everything that’s happened to her.
She doesn’t know it but she’s the bravest person I’ve met, and I can’t help wanting to protect that with every damn fiber of my being.
“I’m not going anywhere, okay? You don’t ever have to do this alone again,” I murmur, barely hear above the noise around us.
She nods, and the tiniest smile pulls at her lips. That’s all it takes for the ache in my chest to double. “Thank you, Dean. That means the world to me.”
I force myself to sit back and give her space to breathe before I do something neither of us can take back.
But as she reaches up to brush the last tear from her cheek, her fingers on her other hand graze mine, it’s enough to make me wonder how much longer I’ll be able to keep pretending this is just about keeping her safe and ignore the burning desire to have her, all of her, damned the repercussions.