Page 26 of A Season of Second Chances
Afterward, we lie tangled together, her head on my chest, my arm around her shoulders. The fire has burned down to embers, and the room is filled with a comfortable darkness.
"That was..." Joy trails off, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my skin.
"Yeah," I agree, knowing exactly what she means.
We're quiet for a long time, both of us lost in our own thoughts. I should probably go back to my own room, check on Alana, maintain some kind of boundary so that I can survive when she leaves. But I can't bring myself to move. Not yet.
"Winter?" Joy's voice is small in the darkness.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For tonight. For the past few days. For everything."
I press a kiss to the top of her head. "You don't have to thank me."
"I do, though." She shifts, propping herself up on one elbow to look at me. "These past few days have been the happiest I've been in years. Being here with you and Alana, feeling like I'm part of a small family. I didn't realize how much I missed it until I had it again."
My heart clenches. "Joy..."
"I'm not saying this to make you feel bad," she continues quickly. "I'm saying it because you deserve to know. You deserve to know that leaving tomorrow is going to be one of the hardest things I've ever done."
"Then don't," I say before I can stop myself. "Don't leave. Please stay."
She closes her eyes, and a tear slides down her cheek. "I wish it were that simple."
"It could be." I sit up, bringing her with me, not wanting to let her go. It's ripping my heart out to let her go. "Joy, it really could be. You could stay here, with us. We could figure it out together."
"My life…"
"Could be here…"
She's shaking her head before I even finish. "It's not that easy, Winter. I have responsibilities, commitments. I can't just walk away from my entire life."
"Why not?" I challenge, my voice harder than I mean for it to be. "You did it before."
She flinches like I've slapped her, and immediately I regret the words.
"I'm sorry," I say quickly. "That wasn't fair."
"No, you're right." She pulls away, reaching for her shirt. This quiet moment between us ruined. "I did walk away before. And look how that worked out."
"That's not what I meant." I grab her hand, stopping her from getting dressed. "Joy, please. I'm not trying to fight with you. I'm just trying to understand."
"Understand what?" She turns to face me, and there's anguish written all over her face. "That I'm terrified? That the thought of staying here and building a life with you and Alana is everything I want, but also everything that scares me? That I don't know if I'm brave enough to take that risk again?"
"Again?" I shake my head, confused. "Joy, you left. You walked away from the risk. I'm the one asking you to take it. There were no risks for you before."
"And what if I do?" Her voice breaks. "What if I stay, and we try this, and it doesn't work? What if I'm not cut out to be a stepmom? What if I resent giving up my Indianapolis? What if you realize I'm not the person you remembered, and you regret asking me to stay? We don't know each other like we used to. Being around one another for a few days isn't the same as months and years."
"That won't happen."
"You don't know that." She's crying openly now. "Winter, you can't promise me that. Nobody can."
She's right, and I hate it. I can't guarantee her a happy ending. I can't promise that everything will work out perfectly if she stays. Life doesn't work that way. We're proof of that.
But I can promise that I'll try. That I'll do everything in my power to make her happy, to make this work.
Before I can say any of that, though, she's pulling away, finding the rest of her clothes in the darkness.
