Page 28 of A Season of Second Chances
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I reach for it, hoping irrationally that it might be him even though he's just downstairs. It's Alex.
Alex: Expect a meeting on Monday morning about the Patterson account and you dropping the ball.
Dropping the ball? I almost laugh, except it's not funny at all. I've been snowed in at a lodge in my hometown, falling in love all over again with the boy I left behind, playing house with his daughter, and wondering if I've wasted the last ten years of my life.
I toss the phone back onto the nightstand without responding and go back to packing.
What was I so excited about when I left Pine Ridge ten years ago? I try to remember that girl, the one who couldn't wait to get out of this small town, who thought the world was waiting for her with open arms. I remember feeling trapped, suffocated by my parents' expectations and the limitations of small-town life. I remember thinking that love wasn't enough, that Winter and Pine Ridge would hold me back from becoming whoever I was meant to be.
And who did I become? A marketing manager who works sixty-hour weeks and goes home to an empty apartment. A woman who has plenty of money in her bank account but nobody to spend it on. Someone who has achieved every goal she set for herself and feels emptier than ever. I've fucking turned into my parents. The people I tried to get away from.
I sit down on the bed, hugging a sweater to my chest. The tears come harder now, and I don't try to stop them.
The truth is, I don't remember what I was so excited about. Proving everyone wrong?
But what did it get me? Approval from my boss? A nice apartment? The satisfaction of knowing I made it?
None of it matters. None of it fills the hole that's been growing in my chest since the day I left.
A knock on the door makes me jump. I wipe hastily at my face, trying to compose myself.
"Come in," I call out, my voice rough.
The door opens, and Winter steps inside. He's dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, his hair slightly damp like he just showered. He looks tired, dark circles under his eyes that tell me he didn't sleep any better than I did.
"Hey," he says softly, closing the door behind him. "I came to get your suitcase. Your car's been pulled out of the ditch. I can take you there whenever you're ready."
"Oh." I swallow hard. "That was fast."
"Yeah, the tow truck got here about an hour ago." He pauses, taking in my face, the suitcase, the obvious evidence that I've been crying. He reaches out, but I brush right past him. "Joy..."
"I'm fine," I lie, standing up and grabbing the last few items to stuff into my bag. "Just finishing up packing."
He doesn't call me on the lie, just stands there watching me. The silence is thick between us, heavy with all the big feelings we're experiencing.
"I can come back if you need more time," he offers.
"No, it's okay." I zip up the suitcase with a finality that makes my stomach turn. "I'm ready."
But I'm not ready. I'm so far from ready it's not even funny.
Winter crosses the room and picks up my suitcase like it weighs nothing. He heads toward the door, then stops, turning back to face me.
"Joy, I need to say something before we go downstairs."
My heart is pounding. "Okay."
He sets the suitcase down and takes a step toward me. "I'm sorry about last night. Not about what we did, but about pushing you afterward. About asking you to stay when I had no right to."
"You had every right," I whisper. "You just asked for something I'm too scared to give."
"I know." He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch gentle. "And I get it. I do. But I need you to know something before you leave."
"What?"
He takes a breath, and when he speaks, his voice is raw with emotion. "I forgive you."
The words hit me like a physical blow. "What?"
