Page 10 of Winter in Kentbury
Which is ridiculous, isn’t it? I’ve had other relationships since him. But none of them ever felt the way it did with Holden.
“If it’s getting worse, you might want to speak to someone about it,” I say softly as I resist the urge to reach across and squeeze his hand.
“Maybe I’ll look into it. You’re cute when you’re concerned, you know that?” he asks in a flirtatious tone.
“Holden, this isn’t funny. This is your health we’re talking about. I’m just worried about you.”
His eyes soften as he looks at me, a grin spreading across his face. I know that look—he’s about to say something, and knowing him, it’ll probably be a smartass comment that’ll make my cheeks burn.
“You’re worried about me?” he asks softly, his grin fading as his gaze turns serious. “You don’t even know me, remember?”
Great, I think, feeling the heat rise in my face. This is what I get for trying to act like a grown-up, for trying to handle this whole reunion calmly. Now it’s coming back to bite me. And not in a good way, either. Though, there is a way he could bite me . . . No, Jenna, stop. Don’t take those thoughts anywhere risky. Sex is not on the table.
“I cared about you then,” I say, voice barely above a whisper. “And I still care enough that I don’t want you to end up as another statistic. Just . . . please talk to someone if things get worse.” I look away, embarrassed. “You’ve got to take care of yourself.”
“Alright, alright,” he says, lifting his hands in mock surrender, though I catch the faintest hint of pink in his cheeks. “I get it.”
Even with his gaze lowered, I can see something in his expression—a flash of vulnerability, or maybe just the way his face softens. Is he embarrassed? I can’t tell.
“Are you just saying that to shut me up?” I ask, narrowing my eyes, trying to gauge if he’s really taking this seriously.
He lets out a soft chuckle. “No, I’ll think about it. But only if you do something for me.” His voice drops, a subtle challenge lingering there.
I raise an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Why did you pretend not to know me?” he asks, his voice quieter, almost hesitant.
The question hits me harder than I expected, and I feel myself scrambling for words. Why did I pretend not to know him? My mind goes blank, a mess of emotions that I can’t quite piece together.
I do know him.
I know his face.
I know his laugh.
The way he used to look at me like I was the only one in the room. But that was years ago. Back when he was my whole world and didn’t even know it.
“I-I . . .” The words catch in my throat, lost somewhere between my mind and the knot forming in my stomach.
What can I even say? That I thought pretending he was a stranger would make all of this easier? That I’ve been terrified of letting him back in, of feeling the pull I’ve spent years trying to bury?
Because the truth is, from the moment I saw him again, every feeling I thought I’d left behind came rushing back, sharp and unrelenting.
“Are you mad at me?” he asks suddenly, his voice almost too soft.
“Um . . .” I manage, my heart pounding so loud I swear he can hear it. My throat is dry, words slipping away before I can form them.
Because yes, I’m mad. I’m beyond mad—I’m raging. He left me, just like everyone else. No, it was worse than that. He didn’t just leave me; he didn’t even want me. He looked at me that night, saw everything I was, everything I could be—and turned away. Like I was nothing. Like he couldn’t wait to forget I existed.
But I can’t bring myself to say any of it.
His gaze sharpens, his eyes searching mine as if he’s trying to dig up everything I’ve buried. “Are you mad about . . . the lastnight we spent together?” His voice is low, steady, but the way he asks—it’s like he knows. Like he’s trying to break through every barrier I’ve put up since the moment he walked out of my life.
And I can feel it, the hurt creeping up, the ache clawing its way back to the surface.
“I don’t—” I start, but he cuts me off, his voice pressing, unrelenting.
“You’re really going to lie again? Pretend you don’t remember?” He leans forward, his gaze piercing, holding me captive. “You don’t remember our kiss? The way you looked at me like I was your whole damn world?”
