Page 13 of Winter in Kentbury
I shake my head. “No. I think after that night, he realized he’d gone too far. When I found him with her, I just packed what I could and left. I went back the next day to get the rest of my things. Turns out, he moved her in right after I left. All I can say is, good luck to her.”
Holden shifts closer, his hand resting near mine, hovering like he’s not sure whether to reach out or hold back. His voice drops, low and steady. “If he’d hurt you . . . he’d have had to answer to me. That’s not a threat, Jenna. It’s a promise.”
“You’re cute,” I say, trying to brush off the sudden seriousness, but my voice comes out softer than I meant it to.
There’s something fierce in his tone, a protective edge that catches me off guard. I want to laugh it off, to tell him I don’t need anyone’s protection, not anymore. But a small part of me, the part I usually keep buried, feels a flicker of relief, a quiet reassurance in knowing he still cares.
I pull the blanket tighter around myself, trying to hide the shiver that runs through me, though I’m not sure if it’s from the chill settling in the room or the intensity in his gaze. Somehow, his presence has always had this strange way of making me feel safe—even now, after everything.
Holden notices, inching closer, and for once, I don’t push him away. The fire’s been going strong, but the cold from the storm is seeping in, and I feel it down to my bones. He pulls the blanket around both of us, his arm brushing against mine, and the warmth from his body is a comfort I didn’t realize I needed.
“I hate that you went through that,” he murmurs, his voice low. “If I’d known . . . God, Jenna, if I’d been around, maybe?—”
“Maybe what?” I ask softly, glancing up at him. “Maybe we would have been different? Maybe you would have stayed?”
He looks away, his expression clouded. “I don’t know. But I do know I wouldn’t have let you go through that alone.”
We sit in silence, watching the flames flicker and pop, and I feel something shift between us, something that’s been left unsaid for too long. I don’t know if it’s regret, or nostalgia, or the lingering feelings we’ve both tried to ignore. Maybe it’s all of it, tangled up in the years that separated us.
Holden gives a slight nod, his face half-lit by the flickering glow, shadows dancing across his features as his eyes meet mine. For a heartbeat, time seems to slow, and I catch something raw in his gaze—a quiet storm that matches the one raging outside. A chill races up my spine, an old feeling reawakening deep inside me. I can’t help but laugh, a shaky chuckle that barely masks the ache lingering between us.
“Still the same protector, huh?” I murmur, smiling softly, trying to ease the tension curling between us. But the memories resurface—the way he walked away back then, the empty years we’ve spent apart, the time we lost. He’s looking at me now like I’m something precious, something he thought he’d never hold again.
I exhale sharply, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “You wouldn’t . . . seriously kill someone over me, would you?” My tone is half-joking, but my heart is racing as I wait for his answer, feeling suddenly exposed under his intense gaze.
His expression darkens, and he glances away, his jaw tight. “I’ve . . . I’ve killed for a lot less, Jenna. And it haunts me. Every damn night, it haunts me. The things I’ve seen . . . the things I’ve done.” His voice drops to a whisper, rough and filled with regret. “Sometimes, I don’t even feel like a good person anymore.”
A pang strikes deep within me, his words wrapping around my heart and squeezing it painfully. The thought of him lying awake at night, haunted by memories he can’t escape—it makes me want to hold him, shield him somehow. Gently, I reach out and place my hand over his, giving his fingers a comforting squeeze. His warmth seeps into me, grounding me, and I wish he could feel the peace I’m trying to give.
“I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, Holden,” I whisper, running my thumb over his knuckles, feeling the roughness of his skin. “But . . . you don’t have to bear it alone. Maybe . . . maybe it’s time to talk to someone. I meant it when I said I don’t want to lose you.”
He says nothing, just looks down at my hand resting on his, as if he’s trying to memorize the feeling. His gaze lifts, and our eyes lock, an almost unbearable closeness settling between us. He inches closer, his breath warm against my skin, so close I can feel the tension radiating off him.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, his voice rough, desperate, as his face inches closer.
“Stop what?” My voice wavers, but I can’t look away, my heartbeat thrumming in my ears.
His lips graze mine, featherlight, and my pulse skittering wildly. “I’m giving you the chance to stop me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with longing.
But I don’t. My hands find his face, trembling as I pull him closer, my lips meeting his in a kiss that feels both familiar and foreign, like rediscovering something I’d lost. The kiss is soft at first, a tentative brush of lips, but then his arms wrap around me, pulling me in as his mouth deepens the kiss, raw and unrestrained. When his tongue skims my bottom lip, seeking entrance, I surrender to him, letting him in, letting himtake.
When we finally pull back, breathless, he’s watching me, his eyes filled with something that borders on panic. I can see it—the doubt, the uncertainty flooding his gaze. My own heart is racing, overwhelmed by the thrill and the terror of what we just did. What does this mean? Have we crossed a line?
I scoot away, wrapping the blanket tighter around me, the warmth not enough to calm the sudden rush of emotions spiraling through me. Silence settles between us again, thick and heavy. I’m terrified to speak, terrified to break whatever fragile truce this kiss has created. He’s just as still, wrestling with his own turmoil, his gaze fixed on the fire as if he’s seeing something far beyond the flames.
The storm outside intensifies, the wind howling, but inside, it’s eerily quiet. I busy myself in the kitchen, hands shaking as I make sandwiches, the mindless task grounding me even as my thoughts whirl. We eat in silence, the tension simmering just below the surface. I rinse the dishes in the sink, my mind replaying the kiss over and over, unable to escape the feel of him, the way his mouth moved against mine.
After a while, Holden’s voice breaks the silence. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long,” he admits, voice strained. “I’m sorry for everything, Jenna. For all the time we lost. But I’m not sorry for this.”
He crosses the room in two strides, reaching for me. Before I can protest, his lips are on mine, urgent and demanding, his hands wrapping around my waist as he pulls me closer, deepening the kiss until I can’t think, can’t breathe.
His fingers trail along my spine, igniting sparks that ripple through me as my hands roam his body, feeling the strength beneath his shirt. A quiet moan escapes me, and his lips press harder against mine.
When he finally pulls back, he leans his forehead against mine, both of us breathing heavily, caught in the intensity of the moment. His voice is barely a whisper, a confession sharedonly in the dark. “You’re everything, Jenna. More than I ever imagined.”
I want to believe him. Standing here in his arms, with the fire crackling beside us, it feels like maybe, just maybe, we could make this work. But as his words settle, a tremor of doubt creeps in. Can I trust him not to hurt me again? Could I survive losing him a second time?
The questions linger as I look into his eyes, still holding him close. Although the storm continues to fall outside, there’s also a storm brewing inside me. And I realize that no matter what happens, I have already fallen.
