Thirty-Three
Winter
By New Year’s Eve, my mother is back to staying at the house overnight. So tonight, Saint is hosting all of our friends at his house. He’s finally revealing that the house is ready. Everyone thinks the contractors just finished their work; the only ones who know the truth are Saint and me.
It’s not a party, per se, more like hanging out with all our close friends.
Saint and I arrive at the house early and push the furniture back a bit in the living room to maximize the space.
Royal comes by an hour early to bring food he made before he returns home to clean up. I didn’t think he looked dirty, but what do I know? When he returns later, he has Reign, Ella Mae, and Nora—who is still in town visiting—with him.
We start snacking on the food, and I’m about to take a bite of cheese and a cracker when I hear a knock on the door.
Saint and Royal are in the middle of arm wrestling, and bets have been placed on the winner, so I answer the door myself.
Pulling open the door, I’m surprised to see Cypress on the porch.
“Cy, is everything okay?” My first thought upon seeing him standing on the porch is that something happened and Mom sent him here to get us. Did she call, and we missed it? I pull out my phone before he says anything and activate the screen, but there are no calls or texts.
“Nothing is wrong. I’m just here for the party,” he replies, looking confused.
“The party?” I ask, still slow to understand.
“Yeah, the party. I was invited, after all,” he says snippily when I don’t move from the doorframe to let him in.
While I’m still processing, I hear, “Cy!” called from inside. Nora comes to the door, and I’m quickly moved out of the way as she grabs my brother’s elbow and pulls him into the house.
I follow them back inside, staring in confusion. When I get back to the living room, they are standing off to the side, talking about something too quietly for me to hear.
Saint waltzes up to me with a smug smirk on his face. That look could melt me. But we aren’t alone. If we were, I’d be dragging him to his bedroom right about now, or maybe just stripping down right here.
When he gets over to me, he proudly announces, “I won the arm-wrestling contest.”
“Don’t listen to him, Winter,” Royal yells from the other side of the room. “He cheated.”
“I did not cheat.” He rolls his eyes.
Royal gets sidetracked by something his sister and Ella Mae say.
“What’s this about cheating then?” I tease.
“He thinks I cheated because he got distracted.”
“What distracted him?” I ask with a raised brow.
“He was busy watching Ella Mae when she walked out of the bathroom wearing that party dress she changed into.”
I turn and notice that Ella Mae did, in fact, change out of the clothes she was wearing earlier and into a sparkly dress. It’s nothing too fancy, but it does look pretty, and it is a bit low cut in the front.
“I see.”
Then we both laugh.
“They still don’t know that we know, do they?” I ask.
“Not a clue. They think they’re so sneaky,” he says.
“Are we better at hiding it, do you think?”
He crosses his arms. “Not a chance. I think if anyone were really looking, they’d know.”
His words rock me. Have we been doing all this sneaking around for nothing? If they all know, why has no one asked any questions about it, or at least mentioned they knew?
I make an excuse to walk away. I need a minute to think.
After a while, board games are brought out, and the TV is turned on to one of the channels that will be featuring the midnight countdown.
Before I know it, it’s time to yell the TEN…NINE…
I walk to the kitchen. Not sure why, but I just don’t feel like being in the living room with the group of our friends, knowing that soon I’m going to hurt more than just myself.
Before the countdown gets to ONE, Saint enters the kitchen as well. Just the two of us are standing in the kitchen as the clock strikes midnight.
Everyone in the living room is blowing into those noisemakers in celebration. Saint approaches me, cornering me against the counter.
“Happy New Year, Winnie,” he whispers before kissing me.
His lips press to mine in a kiss that is far from chaste. His tongue sweeps in, and I am helpless to follow his lead, twining mine with his in a dance that would leave even the coldest person with a fever.
A noise comes from the hall right outside the kitchen. We break away quickly, Saint taking a step back, and I grab a water bottle that was on the counter, pretending it’s why I’m here.
“Found it,” I mumble as I turn and see Royal entering the kitchen.
In reality, the water bottle I’m holding isn’t mine. I’m not even sure who it belongs to.
I hightail it out of the room like it’s on fire. I glance over my shoulder as I’m about to turn the corner, seeing them standing together talking. Saint is staring at his feet while he’s talking, but Royal sees me and gives me a look I can’t quite decipher.
I’m left wondering what that was about when I get back to the living room, but I don’t have long to dwell on it.
“Where’d you go?” Reign asks me. “You missed the ball drop.”
I hold the water up in excuse. “I really needed a drink,” I reply as I set the random partially drunk water bottle onto the coffee table.
“Bummer, there was a really good fireworks display they showed when it turned midnight,” Nora adds.
When Royal and Saint come back a few minutes later, Royal heads over to a wireless speaker in the corner and sets up a playlist he says he curated specially for the occasion.
Within minutes, the group of us is dancing, having the time of our lives.
This is the stuff I missed desperately while I was in New York.
There, I barely knew anyone, just another face in the crowd.
I’d made friends over the years while I was there, but nothing like this, and they didn’t always stay long.
Reign twirls me around before a different song starts, and Nora starts jumping to the beat, everyone else joining in.
I’m going to miss this.
We dance for at least another hour, but I know my time is running out. I don’t need to feign a yawn because a natural one comes out all on its own.
“I think I’m going to head out,” I tell everyone while we have the music paused for a snack break.
Everyone breaks out in boos and nos.
I shrug, looking sheepish, as if this is an innocent situation of just being too tired.
I hug the girls and even Royal, but Saint follows me to the door.
“Can you stay here tonight?” he asks me.
I look away, out into the dark.
“I’m really tired. I’ve been exhausted for days. I think I’ll head home and sleep in tomorrow.”
He tries to talk me into staying. He’s concerned about my safety, driving in the wee hours of the night, in the pitch dark, on a holiday that tends to have more drunk drivers than any other, out to the farm.
It takes a couple of rounds of back and forth, but I finally convince him that I’ll be fine.
“Text me when you make it to the house.”
When I don’t reply fast enough, he lightens his tone. “Please, Win. I need to know you made it back safely, or I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”
The concern in his eyes has me breaking, “Okay. I’ll text you. I promise.”
No one is around but us, so I leave with a tender kiss on his cheek, lingering longer than I should.
I walk quickly to the car before I can change my mind, before I convince myself to stay.
The drive to my family home takes longer than usual. I hit two police checkpoints on the drive. Neither is an issue for me since I didn’t drink any alcohol tonight, and would never drive under the influence, but it still adds around twenty extra minutes to the drive.
When I finally pull into my parents’ driveway, I turn the car off and grab my things, seeing a text already waiting from Saint.
Saint: Did you make it home?
I type out a quick reply as I sneak inside, not wanting to wake my mom or Douglas.
Me: Just got in.
Then, for added deceit, I snap a picture of my bed and send it to him.
Saint: Good. Night Win.
Me: Night.
Now that he thinks I’m home to turn in for the night, I plug my phone into the charger on the nightstand so that it’s ready to go.
I change into leggings and a baggy shirt, something I can comfortably sleep in and travel in.
I pull my suitcase out and drop it onto my bed.
I don’t even bother to fold things neatly. I just grab all the clothes I came with and toss them into the suitcase.
By the time I’m zipping the bag after having to shove things down and battling the zipper, I’m full-on crying.
Nothing about this feels right. I don’t want to leave. I really don’t. But I don’t have a choice.
When my lawyer had a trip to Denver scheduled, he swung by Yule to meet with me at the coffee shop to talk about my options, and he insisted I need to be at this meeting with my agent and publisher.
It feels even worse to ghost everyone, but I’m such a mess emotionally, I know if I had to tell anyone I was leaving, I’d cry my face off and never make it to the airport.
I have to do it this way.
I roll the suitcase across the room and park it next to the door. Line a pair of boots next to it so I can easily find them in the morning.
Climbing into my bed, I grab my phone from the nightstand and set an alarm for 4:00 a.m. It won’t give me much sleep, but my flight is at six, so a little sleep will be better than none.
As I lie there in the dark, willing myself to fall asleep, I can’t turn my mind off, and I can’t stop the tears that accompany the horrid feeling in my chest. It feels a lot like heartbreak.