Page 21 of A Season of Second Chances
"That must be hard." I can't imagine how difficult it must be to be in his situation.
A lock of his hair falls in front of his face, and I reach over to push it out when he answers. "It is, but I knew what I was getting into. I wouldn't have changed anything. She's the best thing that's ever happened to me." He adds on a soft whisper. "Besides you."
I close my eyes and swallow roughly. "Winter, I..."
A finger presses against my lips. "Don't say anything. I have something for you."
"You shouldn't have, I wasn't able to make you a crown before you interrupted me," I smile, chuckling when he opens his mouth in shock.
"I would've loved a crown."
"I know."
My stomach is nervous as I wait to see what he's gotten me.
My stomach is nervous as I wait to see what he's gotten me. He disappears into his office behind the front desk, and I can hear him moving things around. When he comes back, he's holding a small wrapped box, the paper covered in silver snowflakes against a dark blue background. It's beautiful, and he's clearly upped his wrapping game.
"I didn't know if I'd ever get the chance to give this to you," he says quietly, handing it to me. His fingers brush against mine, and the touch sends electricity up my arm. "I bought it a few months ago. I saw it and thought of you, and I couldn't not buy it. I don't know what I thought was going to happen with it, but I kept telling myself I did it for old times sake."
My hands shake as I take the box from him. "Winter, you really didn't have to…"
"When you showed up in the ditch, I knew I had to." His eyes are so intense, so full of something I'm afraid to name. "Please, just open it."
I sit down on the couch near the fireplace, the one where we've spent so much time over the past few days. He sits next to me, close enough that our knees touch. I can feel the heat of his body, smell the pine and cedar scent that clings to him from working around the lodge.
Carefully, I unwrap the paper, trying not to tear it even though I know that's silly. Inside is a white box, plain and simple. I lift the lid, and my breath catches in my throat.
It's a snow globe.
Not just any snow globe, but one that looks exactly like the ones Winter used to give me when we were teenagers. Inside is a tiny scene of a couple ice skating on a frozen pond, surrounded by snow-covered pine trees. The base is made of dark wood, and there's a small brass plaque that reads "Pine Ridge - Where Love Comes Home."
My vision blurs immediately, tears filling my eyes so fast I can barely see.
"Do you remember?" Winter's voice is soft, almost silent, it's so hoarse. "I gave you your first one on our six-month anniversary. You said you'd never gotten something so thoughtful before."
I do remember. I remember every single one he gave me. There was the one with the couple dancing, the one with the Christmas village, the one with two people sitting under a tree. I kept them all on a shelf in my bedroom, and when I left, I packed them carefully in a box. They're still sitting in my apartment in Indianapolis, wrapped in newspaper, tucked away in my closet because I couldn't bear to look at them but couldn't bear to throw them away either.
"I remember," I whisper, my voice breaking as the memories wash over me. "I remember all of them."
"I stopped at seven," he continues, and I can hear the emotion in his voice too. "The number we'd gotten to before you left. I always wondered what the eighth one would have been."
A sob escapes my throat before I can stop it. "Winter..."
"Hey, hey, it's okay." He sets the snow globe carefully on the coffee table and pulls me into his arms. I go willingly, burying my face in his chest as the tears come harder. "I didn't mean to make you cry."
"It's not…" I can't even finish the sentence. My body shakes, years of regret and longing and loss pouring out of me. His hand rubs circles on my back, the same way he used to when we were young and I was upset about my parents not understanding me, or after he got out of juvie that one time he stole a car.
"I kept them all," I finally manage to say, my words muffled against his shirt. "Every single one you gave me. They're in my apartment. I look at the box sometimes and wonder what my life would be like if I'd stayed."
His arms tighten around me. "Joy..."
"I was so stupid." The words pour out of me now, ten years of them building up and finally breaking free. "I thought I needed to leave to become someone, to matter. My parents were so focused on success and money and status, and I believed them when they said Pine Ridge would hold me back. That you would hold me back. You'd been in trouble, and it scared me. Us being so serious scared me. It all did," I try to explain.
"You weren't stupid," Winter says firmly, pulling back enough to look at my face. He cups my cheek with one hand, his rough thumb wiping away my tears. "You were eighteen and trying to figure out who you were. We both were."
"But I hurt you. I left you, and I hurt you, and I've regretted it almost every single day since." I hiccup, trying to catch my breath. "Every relationship I've had since has failed because they weren't you. There weren't many," I scoff. "But they failed. Every accomplishment felt empty because you weren't there to share it with. I built this whole life that looked perfect on paper, and it's been so lonely, Winter. So unbelievably lonely."
He doesn't say anything for a long moment, just holds me, his forehead pressed against mine. I can feel his breath on my face, warm and steady.
