Page 11 of Winter in Kentbury
I feel the breath leave my lungs, the memory of that night crashing over me like a wave. Slipping in, fast and vivid.
We were at the lake that night, his truck parked under the cover of the old oak tree, the moon casting silver light over the water. I remember the way the air felt—warm, but with a cool breeze that hinted at fall. We’d been talking, laughing over something silly, neither of us ready to say goodbye, not yet.
Then, suddenly, the words stopped, and a quiet fell between us, heavy and charged. He looked at me, his green eyes darker, searching, and before I knew it, he was leaning closer. My heart had raced, anticipation flooding me, and then his lips brushed against mine, tentative, hesitant.
The kiss was soft at first, a featherlight touch that made my skin tingle, every nerve sparking to life. But then he pressed closer, his hand moving to my cheek, his mouth insistent, deepening the kiss in a way that stole the air from my lungs.
It was a kiss that felt like a promise. Like he was carving himself into my memory. By the time we pulled apart, I was trembling, breathless, my heart pounding so hard I could barely think. I couldn’t hold back the words that had been sitting on my tongue for what felt like forever.
“I love you, Holden.”
The words slipped out, soft and vulnerable, like a secret I’d been keeping. But his face changed—just slightly, but enough. His hand fell from my cheek, and a tight smile replaced the warmth in his eyes.
“Jenna . . . you can’t.” He’d hesitated, and I could see it, the way he was searching for the right words to let me down. “I’m leaving, remember? Going to the Air Force. I can’t give you . . . I don’t feel the same.” He looked away for a moment, then back at me, his gaze colder, distant, as if he’d already left. “It was just a kiss, Jenna. A goodbye kiss. The kind I’d give any girl. Nothing more.”
Each word cut deeper, twisting the knife. I felt my heart drop, the sting settling somewhere too deep to reach. All those nights I’d spent dreaming, hoping, feeling that maybe he felt it too—all erased in an instant, reduced to “just a kiss.”
I had felt something shatter then, a raw ache spreading as his words sunk in. All that hope, all that feeling I’d held for him, suddenly felt like a wound. I wanted to disappear, to take back my confession, but it was too late. I’d laid my heart bare, and he’d left it out in the open, exposed.
He’d pulled back, saying something about timing, his age, me being just a child. Something about how it wasn’t fair to me. But I barely heard him. I’d already felt myself pulling away, turning inward, the sting of his rejection sharper than anything I’d ever known.
The memory fades, and I’m back in Holden’s living room, feeling that old ache twisting through me, a familiar pain I’ve carried for years. It presses in on me, unshakable, like the ghost of everything we’d left unsaid.
“Well?” he asks, his voice softer now but still unrelenting, as if he’s determined to pull the truth out of me.
I don’t know how to respond, I don’t know how to tell him that I’m still angry—that part of me has never stopped beingangry. The hurt, the betrayal, it all just came rushing back the moment I saw him. And the worst part? It never really left. Maybe it’s been there all along, waiting for him to come back and unravel it.
“It’s okay to be honest, you know,” he says, his voice low, a bit rough. “I know what I did was pretty fucked up.”
I let out a bitter laugh, unable to hold it in. “Isn’t that just what men do?” My words are cutting, but I can’t stop them. “Some ‘crazed’ teenager practically throws herself at you, and you just . . . take her heart and toss it aside. Just a kiss, right? A goodbye kiss any girl could’ve had.” My chest aches with the memory, and I look away, forcing myself to breathe, to keep it together.
A flash of pain crosses his face, his jaw tight as he looks down at his cup, holding it so tightly I wonder if it might shatter. He’s silent for a moment, then he looks up.
“You think I didn’t feel anything for you?” he says, his voice trembling just slightly, but every word cuts through the room like a blade. “You think I didn’t feel something every time I was near you? You think I didn’t burn for you the way you burned for me?” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “There were so many times I wanted to make a move, Jenna. But I was scared. Scared of ruining your life, scared of what it would mean for both of us if I did make a move and still left. I didn’t want you to wait for me, not knowing if I was going to make it back to you. And look at me now . . . I’m here but battling through each day.”
I swallow, heart pounding. His words are hitting me hard, each one peeling back a layer of the anger I’ve held on to for so long.
“You . . . you really felt the same?” My voice comes out softer than I’d intended, barely a whisper. “Then why didn’t you ever say anything? You made me feel like it was one-sided, like I was some fool with a crush on a guy who barely noticed me. Youkissed me that night, but you left without a word. How was I supposed to know?”
He looks down, his shoulders sagging slightly as he stares into his cup, as though he might find the answers there. “I was scared to say anything. And when I knew I was leaving for the Air Force, I thought it would be better if I kept my distance. I didn’t want to make you wait around for someone who might never come back. I thought staying quiet was better than making promises I couldn’t keep.”
I feel the old bitterness creep in, the sting of those unanswered letters, every word I’d poured out to him that went into silence. “I wrote you,” I say, my voice trembling as I try to keep the emotion from spilling over. “I wrote you so many times, and every letter went unanswered.”
His head snaps up, and I see something like shame flicker across his face as he meets my gaze. The silence stretches, heavy and raw between us, like he’s trying to find the words that won’t make this worse. But the truth is, there’s nothing he can say that’ll hurt me more than he already has. I’ve been hurt so deeply that I’m not even sure what healing would feel like.
“I know you wrote me,” he says finally, voice rough. “I thought . . . I thought if I wrote you back, it would make things harder for you. That it would only hurt you more if I kept you tied to me. But I never wanted to hurt you, Jenna. And if I could go back and fix everything, I would.”
“You staying quiet did nothing but make the pain worse, Holden,” I say, each word heavy with the pain I’ve buried. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, but you did. I tried so damn hard to forget you, to let it all go. But it never worked.”
I stand up, feeling the room closing in on me, and walk over to the window, staring out at the snow that’s still falling steadily, turning everything outside into a blur of white. It’s like thestorm’s swallowed the world, and I don’t know when—or if—it’ll let us go.
Holden is quiet behind me, the tension thick enough to feel. I still don’t know how long this storm will last, don’t know if I’ll be able to make my delivery on time or if the flower shop can survive another disappointment.
“I know,” he says softly, his voice pulling me back. “I was a coward for not answering your letters. I wish I’d handled things differently. Maybe if we didn’t have so much history, things would be easier now. Maybe we’d be able to start fresh.”
I nod, keeping my gaze forward. “Maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe if none of that had ever happened, we wouldn’t be here like this.”
Holden doesn’t respond, just moves away, heading over to the fireplace and adding another log. He stares into the flames, his jaw clenched, refusing to look my way, and I can feel the weight of everything left unsaid. When he finally glances at me, guilt fills his expression, and I know he’s carrying every one of my unanswered letters, every unspoken word, like a burden he can’t set down.
