Page 79 of When We Are Complete

For a long, cold moment, I let myself just stand there, but then I see Mom’s face again, telling me to pick myself up, shake myself off, and start all over again. The only difference between winners and losers, is that losers give up. Maybe it’s too late to fix it all, but I can still save something. I can stilltry.

“Okay, Kelly, one thing at a time.”

I start with the closest structure—a portion of the main stage lying on its side, one corner splintered and sharp, as if something had torn right through it.

I press my shoulder against it, shoving with all my might, but the structure refuses to budge, its weight dead and unyielding. Helplessness twists in me, sharp and relentless. I’m staring at a reflection of my own life—something that once stood strong, now barely holding together, and a bitter laugh escapes, swallowed up by the wind’s relentless howl.

“Get a grip. You’re a Charleston. Self-pity is not helpful right now.”

The wind cuts through my gloves, my hands aching as I reach down to grip another broken piece. Each one I manage to turn upright is both a small triumph and a reminder of defeat, because no matter how much I right these fallen pieces, toomuch has been damaged. There’s no way this festival will ever look like what I’d envisioned, what the mayor expected.

What I’d hoped for.

So I could finally makehermemory proud.

The sky is darkening fast, thick clouds gathering low and heavy, a warning that the storms are coming back. My breath catches, and despite everything, a pang for Jake hits me. I try to summon that calm confidence he gets when pressure builds. He sees me as someone strong, capable, someone with a plan, someone who knows how to make things happen.

He has this idea of who I am: the straight-A student. The successful event planner. Kelly Fucking Charleston.

I straighten. Square my shoulders. I’m not done yet.

Chapter 45

Jake

I wakeup with a dull ache pounding in the back of my skull from too little sleep and too much worry. Peeling my eyes open, I force myself from the warmth of my bed.

Looking outside, the aftermath of last night’s storm isn’t looking great. The front yard is littered with broken branches, twisted and piled, skeletal debris. A few larger limbs have split off and lie half-buried in the snow.

The fence has taken a beating, leaning awkwardly, and one whole section looks as though it’s barely holding on, sagging under the weight of snow and wind damage. Trenches and drifts of snow pile haphazardly against anything in their path. Small bushes lie flattened, almost buried under mounds of icy powder.

Beyond the yard, the street is visible, a line of snowbanks, vehicles covered in snow, and fallen shrubs and mailboxes that give the whole scene an eerie, deserted feeling. Everything looks fragile and battered, and I wonder how much more the stormwill cost us—repairs, cleanup, and then trying to get the festival itself across the line, if anything can even be salvaged.

Rubbing the weariness from my face, I grab my phone off the nightstand. I tap out a quick message to Kelly. “Morning, beautiful. Will call soon. Miss you.” I linger over the screen before hitting send, wishing we were together and I could just take her mind off all this storm-induced stress.

Next I send a text to Lucy, and she replies straight away, letting me know Mom and Dad are okay.

I pocket the phone and head down the hallway, the floorboards creaking. Adele’s door is slightly ajar, and I knock gently before pushing it open. She’s curled up in her bed looking at something on her phone, the screen’s glow the only light in the darkened room, her brown hair a tangled mess. Tiger is asleep at the foot of her bed.

“Hey, kiddo,” I say softly as I lean against the bedroom door frame, trying to find the right words to break through the tension that’s been there since yesterday.

She doesn’t look up. Everything about her posture screams,Leave me alone.

“How are you doing this morning?”

“Fine.” The word is cold, clipped.

I hesitate, the wall between us is solid, almost unbreakable. “You’re mad at me. About what I did. But I couldn’t just stand by and let those boys treat you like that. It’s not right.”

“You could’ve talked to me first,” she says.

I rub my hand over my face, sighing. “You’re right. I should’ve talked to you. I just—” I pause, grasping for the right words. “I just wanted to fix it for you, so those boys wouldn’t keep hurting you.”

Finally, she turns, fixing me with a glare that’s equal parts anger and hurt. “Do you even get what you’ve done?” she snaps. “Everyone will think I showed you those messages.”

“Adele, this is not on you. None of it.” I step a little further into the room, but she pulls her knees in closer—she can’t get far enough away from me. “I just wanted to protect you. I’m your dad.”

“Maybe I don’t need protecting,” she says, and there’s such a weight to her words, such hurt. “At least not like this. I’m not a little kid. We could have talked about the best thing to do. But now you’ve ruined everything.”

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