Page 41 of When We Are Complete

“Thanks,” she says after a few minutes as the fire gains strength and heat.

“Don’t mention it.” And I mean it. I let the fire’s glow wash over me. “Your jacket’s soaked through. You should take it off and let it dry before you catch a cold or something worse.”

Kelly hesitates, but she doesn’t argue. As she peels it off, my pulse throbs in my throat. Every part of me wants to reach out, to pull her closer, and that shirt clinging to her just makes it worse.

It’s just a simple white shirt, but the details of her lacy bra are clearly visible through the wet fabric. I try not to notice. Really, I do. But suddenly all I can think about are her pebbled pink nipples in my mouth.

I start taking off my own wet layers, before dragging the wooden chairs closer and hanging our clothes over the backs, close to the fire.

“Here.” I toss her a spare T-shirt from my bag. “Put this on before you freeze.”

“Thanks,” she says, turning away from me and unbuttoning the shirt, letting it fall to reveal the familiar, pale curve of her back.

She’s so fucking beautiful in every possible way, and the crotch of my pants grows tight at the sight of the smooth expanse of her skin. I drag my eyes away, stripping off my own wet shirt and replacing it with a dry one, and we sit in front of the fire again, sharing the trail mix.

“Hey,” I say as we huddle close to the flames, “how’s your family doing?”

“Ant and Eddy are doing well. They’re both married now with kids.” She pauses, her expression going what I can only describe as blank. “And I guess you haven’t heard. Mom passed awayabout six months back. Cancer.” She speaks so matter-of-factly that it takes me a moment to process her words.

“Jesus, Kelly. I’m sorry. I hadn’t heard. I’ve been so busy with work and Adele and I’m kind of out of the loop when it comes to town news. If I’d known, I would have said something earlier. Shit. I can’t believe no one told me.” Actually, it’s not that much of a surprise. The boys know Kelly’s a sore spot for me.

Still, I can’t believe it. Kelly’s mom. I remember her—always busy, always on the go. She was a workaholic, running her business like a machine, with impossibly high standards—especially for Kelly. It was no secret that she expected perfection, and I always wondered how Kelly felt with those impossible expectations.

Memories hit me. Kelly’s mom always came home in a rush, heels clicking down the hallway, her face set in that focused expression that told you she was already ten steps ahead.

One afternoon in particular comes into sharp focus. I was just hanging out in their kitchen while Kelly finished up some homework. We’d just grabbed a snack, laughing over some stupid joke, when the front door swung open, and her mom walked in, bags over her shoulder, a few loose papers sticking out from under her arm.

She glanced at me, nodding hello, before her eyes zeroed in on Kelly. “Kelly, did you get the results from your history test?”

Kelly straightened, her expression going from relaxed to wary in seconds. “Yeah, I got an A-minus.”

Her mom’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “An A-minus? You knew how important that test was. What happened?”

Kelly looked down, fiddling with the hem of her T-shirt. I could see the shift in her demeanor, the way her shoulders tensed. “I made a couple of silly mistakes, that’s all.”

Her mom sighed, setting her bags on the counter. “Well, silly mistakes are going to cost you. You need to be more diligent. I don’t want this happening again.”

I sat there, an outsider in that moment, watching the way Kelly’s face tightened, her usual spark dimming under the weight of her mom’s words. And the worst part was, she didn’t even argue—she just nodded.

After her mom left the room, I reached over, nudging her shoulder. “Hey, an A-minus is still pretty damn good.”

“Not good enough for her, though,” she said quietly.

But despite all that, her mom was never unkind. She loved her family, even if she didn’t show it in the softest ways. I remember the few times I saw her smile at Kelly, a rare break in the armor. And Kelly lived for those moments. She always wanted to make her mom proud. It hurts to think of her gone, knowing how much grief Kelly must be carrying now.

I glance across at her and she shrugs, the motion stiff. “It’s life, right? People die. You just have to keep going.”

Shadows dance across her pretty features, and it’s clear she’s pushing it all down—her pain, her grief—as though she’s an island. It’s classic Kelly, tough as nails, refusing to show weakness even when it’s eating her alive. I fucking hate seeing her in pain and not being able to fix it.

“Come here,” I say, shifting closer, an arm instinctively going around her shoulders. She hesitates for just a moment before leaning into me without a word, her head finding the crook of my neck. It’s been years since I’ve held her like this, and the familiarity of it slams into me hard.

We sit there, by the fire, letting the heat and the crackling of the fire do all the talking. For a moment, the world outside this room—with its troubles and its ghosts—doesn’t exist. There’s just the fire, the warmth, and the girl who still has my heart.

Chapter 23

Kelly

Maybe it’sthe storm outside that makes the inside of this cabin seem a world away from everything else, including our past. Maybe it’s the deep aching pain whenever I think about Mom, but the moment he pulls me closer, I finally give in to all the incessant tug of my tangled emotions.

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