Chapter 23 Grant
GRANT
It’s been less than two hours since I woke up to that Christmas text from Noelle.
The message is still burned to the back of my eyelids, flashing every time I blink.
I didn’t even hear my phone go off last night, only caught the faint glow of the screen when I rolled over still half-asleep.
Grabbing it without thinking this morning had left me unsuspecting for what I’d soon find.
One glance at the text was all it took to knock the air out of my lungs.
I’d tried calling her over and over again, refusing to accept that being immediately sent to voicemail had meant I’d been blocked. It took Callum trying her too to realize she’d cut us all off.
She didn’t even give us a chance to respond, just cut the cord and walked away before any of us could stop her.
I get why she did it, I really do.
She’s scared.
Embarrassed.
Torn between loyalty and love for both us and her father and the weight of what all of this has done to her family.
Even if that’s true, it still feels like she reached inside my chest and tore my heart out.
I rake a hand through my hair, dragging it over my face as I exhale slowly.
My thoughts won’t stop spinning.
What if she’s not okay?
What if Richard said something to make her believe that this was the only way out?
What if she’s sitting alone right now, crying, blaming herself for all of it?
The thought alone makes my hands clench.
Dean’s voice cuts through the silence from the other room. “This is bullshit.”
A few seconds later, Callum says, “She’s scared. She thinks she’s protecting us.”
Protecting us…
Yeah, that sounds like her. Always taking on the weight of everyone else’s pain even when it breaks her in the process.
I stare at my phone again, thumb hovering over her name even though the number’s useless now.
The message thread is still there, filled with weeks’ worth of conversations since we arrived in town.
Some funny, some light-hearted, most of them small pieces of a connection that never should’ve existed but somehow became the most important thing in my life.
I scroll through the old messages anyway to torture myself.
Her sending a picture of Eli baking cookies.
Me teasing her about burning the next batch.
The way she’d text late at night when she couldn’t sleep, asking how we all were, if we were staying warm…
It’s all so painfully normal.
Dean finally appears in the doorway between the rooms, his hair disheveled. “We need to go see her. We can’t let her cut us off like this.”
I stand, restless, crossing over to the window.
Outside, the town looks peaceful.
My reflection stares back at me in the glass, tired eyes, a clenched jaw, and the haunted expression of a man who’s lost something he can’t even admit out loud how much he cares about.
Dean speaks again. “Listen. I’m going over there to talk to her. You guys can come with me or stay here, I don’t care. But I’m going over there.”
“You really think that’s a good idea?” Callum asks.
I catch Dean’s reflection moving in the glass. His arms raise in exasperation, slapping against his thighs with a sharp clap. “Who cares? I’m not letting her flee town without talking to her. I’m not letting her slip through my fingers again.”
It’s raw and impulsive and exactly Dean.
He’s always been the one who moves first and apologizes later when it comes to the people he cares about.
That part of him is infuriating and necessary in equal measure.
Callum sighs, the sound full of resignation but he doesn’t argue.
Frankly, neither do I.
Part of me wants to make plans, rationalize the trip over there, call ahead and check that Richard isn’t around before we arrive.
To do every sensible thing we should before we go into this blindly.
Another part of me just wants to get in the car and drive until the town is behind us and Noelle is just a figment of my memory.
As cruel as it sounds, it would be easier.
But then again, love is never easy, is it? Instinct wins out in the end.
It always will.
I push myself away from the window. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Callum eyes me warily. “Just like that?”
I shoot him a look. “You can stay here if you want.”
His lip twitches up into not quite an amused expression but close to it. “And let you two have all the fun? Nah.”
We bundle up into our jackets and boots and head out.
Outside, the wind bites through my jacket but the cold clears my head enough to think in short, sharp bursts.
Contacting Noelle like this, or rather ambushing her, is either going to be the best decision we’ve ever made or the worst.
There’s no middle ground anymore.
It’s either reconciliation or total implosion.
Dean takes the driver’s seat without a word, his jaw clenched tight as he starts his car.
The windshield fogs up immediately when the car starts and he swipes the defroster on with a little more force than necessary.
His knuckles are white against the steering wheel as we get going, tendons standing out under the skin.
I can tell from the way he takes each turn that he’s barely holding himself together.
None of us ever planned for this.
None of us ever thought we’d have to fight to stay in her life.
That we’d be the ones walking the fine line between loyalty to our friend and love for a woman who’s carried our child and trying not to lose both.
We were supposed to be the ones who made her world safer, not the ones tearing it apart.
The ride over is suffocatingly silent.
The only sounds are the rhythmic hum of the tires over the road and the faint rattle of change in the cup holder every time we hit a patch of slush.
Callum’s in the backseat tapping two fingers against his knee in a restless, uneven rhythm.
His eyes stay fixed on the world outside his window.
The closer we get to Noelle’s street, the tighter my chest feels.
When we finally pull up in front of her house, I draw in a deep breath, holding it until it burns when I exhale.
Thankfully, there’s no sign of Richard’s truck in the driveway.
Dean kills the engine and leans back in his seat.
The house looks quiet from here, the curtains drawn over the front windows, blocking the view inside.
There’s a wreath on the door, simple and homemade, that looks just as old as the house does.
None of us move.
Dean’s hand is still on the gearshift, frozen in place as he stares ahead at the door.
Callum leans forward to rest his arms over the back of the bench seat.
“We sure about doing this?”
Dean exhales through his nose. “We have to. If we don’t, she’s gone for good.”
He’s right. We all know it.
I glance back at the house.
Somewhere inside, she’s probably sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket with Eli in her lap, trying to convince herself she made the right decision as they celebrate Christmas alone.
Is she thinking about us too? Hoping we’ll show up despite her trying to push us away?
“Alright,” I say, more to myself than anyone. “Let’s go.”
When Dean opens his door, the cold rushes in again, making me shiver.
We step out one by one, boots crunching on the snow, our breath ghosting in front of us.
Reaching the top step on the porch, we huddle together, our hands tucked into our pockets.
Dean reaches for the door first.
For a long second, his hand just hovers in the air a few inches from the wood.
I can see his breath fogging in front of him, see the hesitation flicker across his face because we all know there’s no going back once he knocks.
When he finally does, I hold my breath.
The faint sound of footsteps stops behind the door.
The knob turns, the jam parting from the frame slightly then a little face appears.
Eli.
He blinks up at us a few times before sucking in a short breath.
“You finally came!” he says, voice bubbling with excitement.
His hair is a mess of dark curls sticking up every which way like he just woke or abandoned getting his hair untangled just to answer the door.
His pajamas are wrinkled, covered in tiny reindeer leaping across the fabric.
His cheeks are flushed pink and his grin is big enough to break the tension hanging in the air.
God, the sight of him almost hurts.
For a heartbeat, it’s like everything’s normal again.
Like the world hasn’t cracked open beneath our feet the past few hours.
Like we’re just stopping by on Christmas with our arms full of presents and jokes, ready to spoil him and his mom like always.
That ache deep in my chest tightens.
Seeing him like this, happy and oblivious, makes me realize how much I’ve missed it.
Missed them.
The laughter.
The easy warmth.
The feeling of belonging somewhere.
Dean crouches a little, his voice soft. “Hey, buddy. Were you waiting for us?”
Eli’s whole face lights up. “Yeah!”
Before any of us can react, he launches himself forward, wrapping his little arms around Dean’s neck with all the strength his small frame can muster.
“Mom said you were too busy to stop by today, but I knew you’d come anyway! You have to on Christmas!”
Dean laughs softly. He shifts to catch Eli properly, his big hands steadying the boy before lifting him easily off the ground.
Behind them, I can see the soft, golden glow of the Christmas tree spilling through the doorway from the living room.
The lights blink lazily: reds, greens, and golds reflecting off ornaments that shimmer faintly in the dim light.
Somewhere deeper inside the house, there’s the low hum of music playing, an old Christmas classic.
“Yeah,” Dean murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Eli’s head before standing upright with him still in his arms. “We wouldn’t miss a holiday like this for the world.”
Eli’s head falls against his shoulder, grinning proudly. “I knew you’d come…”
“Guess I owe you one for believing in us.”
When we step inside, the warmth wraps around us instantly. The air smells sugary-sweet from something baking in the kitchen.
The living room looks like Christmas exploded.
The tree is surrounded by opened presents, torn bits of wrapping paper neatly stuffed into a bag by the corner.