Page 31 of A Season of Second Chances
I watch Joy freeze, her hand still on the car door, her eyes wide with shock. The words I just said hang in the air between us, and I'm not sure if I've just made the biggest mistake of my life or the bravest move I've ever made.
Probably both.
The snow is melting under the morning sun, dripping from the trees, the sound of water hitting the ground the only noise for what feels like an eternity. She's not moving. Not speaking. Just staring at me like I've grown a second head.
"Winter, I..." she starts, then stops. Her hand falls away from the car door.
"You don't have to say anything," I tell her quickly, my heart hammering in my chest. "I just needed you to know. Before you left. Before I lost my chance to tell you."
She takes a step toward me, then stops. Her face is a mixture of emotions. Shock, fear, what i think is hope. "You can't just say something like that and expect me to…"
"I know." I run my hand through my hair, a nervous habit I've never been able to break. "I know it's not fair. I know you have a life in Indianapolis, a job you've worked hard for. I'm not trying to manipulate you or make you feel guilty."
"Then why did you say it?" Her voice cracks on the last word.
"Because it's true." I take a step toward her, closing the distance between us. "Because I've spent ten years trying to convince myself I was over you, trying to build a life that didn't include you, and then you showed up here and in four days you turned everything upside down. And I realized I never stopped loving you. I just learned how to live without you."
Her eyes fill with tears. "Winter..."
"But I don't want to live without you anymore," I continue, the words pouring out now that I've started. "These past few days, watching you with Alana, laughing with you, being with you? It showed me what I've been missing. What we've both been missing."
"It's not that simple," she whispers. "I can't just…"
"Why not?" I challenge. "Joy, what's waiting for you in Indianapolis? Really? You have a job here, I promise."
She opens her mouth, then closes it. I can see her struggling with the answer.
"I can't promise you perfect," I tell her, taking her hand in mine. "I can't promise you that it'll be easy or that we won't have to work at it. But I can promise you that I will love you with everything I have. That Alana will love you. That you'll be part of a family that wants you, not for what you accomplish or how much money you make, but just for being you."
"Winter, stop." She pulls her hand away, and my heart sinks. "You're making this so much harder."
"Good." I know I'm being unfair, but I can't help it. "It should be hard. This decision should be hard. Because it matters, Joy. We matter."
She turns back to the car, and panic floods through me. She's going to leave. After everything, she's still going to leave.
"I have to think," she says, her hand back on the door handle. "I need time to process all of this."
"How much time?" The question comes out more desperate than I intended.
She doesn't answer, just stands there with her back to me. I can see her shoulders shaking, and I realize she's crying.
"Joy, please. Just tell me what you're thinking."
She spins around, and the anguish on her face nearly breaks me. "I'm thinking that I'm terrified! I'm thinking that the last time I made a decision about us, I got it completely wrong, and I'm scared I'll do it again. I'm thinking that I don't know if I'm brave enough to give up everything I've worked for on the chance that this might work out."
"It's not a chance," I insist. "It's a choice. And it's not giving up everything, it's choosing something better than what you have now."
"How do you know it's better?" she demands. "How can you possibly know that?"
"Because I know you," I say again, more firmly this time. "I know that you're dying inside in that life. I know that you're lonely and unfulfilled and searching for happiness you'll never find there. Because what you're looking for isn't in Indianapolis, Joy. It's here. It's always been here."
She's crying harder now, her hands covering her face. "You make it sound so easy."
"I'm not saying it's easy. I'm saying it's worth it." I pull her hands away from her face, forcing her to look at me. "Tell me something. If you could have any life you wanted, with no fear of failure or judgment or making the wrong choice, what would you pick?"
She stares at me for a long moment, tears streaming down her face. "That's not fair."
"Answer the question."
