16. Winter

SIXTEEN

WINTER

T he night before he left with Veronica, Rio delivered the leather Moleskine journal I kept in the nightstand at my apartment. In it, Veronica left me a note. It’s several pages long, but I haven’t managed to read it.

I can’t bring myself to do so.

What I have been able to do, however, is clutch it to my chest as I sobbed for so long that I developed a headache.

Veronica is gone.

Good to her word, she left shortly after our argument in the kitchen. She didn’t say goodbye. She didn’t let me kiss Summer one last time.

Veronica’s mother and father are currently sailing around the island of Crete. Along with Rio and Jared, Veronica and the baby plan on meeting her family in Mykonos. From there, Veronica and her family will leave to hide away in the South of France.

Rio will stay with Veronica, and Jared will return to the compound.

I should feel a little comforted that Rio will look after her. I like him, and I know he’ll keep her and Summer safe.

But I can’t help but cry into my satin pillowcase because she’s gone, and I don’t know for how long or if I’ll ever see her again.

Pulling on the tools that Genevieve and I developed over the last several years, I roll out of the bed and amble toward the courtyard with Kitty trailing behind me. My hair is a mess, jumbled at the top of my head in a tangled ball that I’m sure will take me at least an hour to unknot.

I try not to think of my mother’s horror at me walking outdoors in my house slippers and pajamas.

I sniff as my mother’s face flashes before me.

She prepared me for so much, but she didn’t prepare me for love.

Is this what love is supposed to be like?

I take in a deep, deep breath when I settle on the bench with Kitty in my lap and roses surrounding me. Closing my eyes, I go through one of the routines Genevieve taught me back when I was in the hospital all those years ago.

Three things I can smell.

Roses. Freshly cut grass. Sap from the trees.

Three things I can feel.

The breeze as it rushes past my face. The stone bench beneath my bottom. Kitty’s fur beneath my palm.

Three things I can hear.

The birds chirping. The rustle of the leaves in the wind. Footsteps.

I crack my eyes open, orienting myself in the direction of the noise.

Amelia Brigham stands at the entrance with one hand on the doorframe as she looks at me with a questioning gaze.

“You’re more than welcome to join me,” I say to her, trying to fix my face into something like a smile. “I don’t own the place.”

In fact, I don’t own anything at all anymore. Everything I have, except for Kitty and this journal, has come from Hunter.

That thought is...unsettling.

Amelia smiles and walks over to me. In the morning light, I can tell that she’s moving a bit more stiffly than she usually does. She generally walks with a slight limp, but she’s moving now as if injured.

“Are you okay?” I ask once she’s close enough to sit next to me.

“Yeah,” she says with a small grunt as she lowers herself to the bench. “Just troublesome joints.”

I hum in reply and turn to watch the birds flit from branch to branch. A butterfly floats around a fragrant violet butterfly bush, and I’m reminded of the trip Veronica and I took to Dichotomy a lifetime ago.

It feels like a lifetime ago.

And since then, she’s had her baby, we’ve discovered that the owner of the shop was not who he said he was, and Veronica is gone.

I bite my lip so I don’t cry.

“I’d hoped he’d love someone as much as he loves you,” Amelia says, and it’s the wrong thing to say because the tears I’m trying to hold back fall.

“I love him so much that I don’t know what to do about it,” I say, just letting the tears roll down my face.

Amelia is quiet for a moment, then she says, “You don’t have to tell me all that happened, but can I say something?”

I nod, telling myself it’s okay to look at her, because maybe she won’t judge me for how out of control I am right now.

“I’m not sure that I even know what love is, but I know what it’s not.”

I look down when she says those words.

“Are you going to tell me that our love isn’t right?” I ask. I examine my nails, searching for a place to bite them that I haven’t already made bleed.

“No, not at all, Winter,” she says instead.

I snap my head back up.

Her smile spreads, and I freeze when she places her hand on mine.

“Love isn’t neat or simple. Love isn’t without ebbs or flows. Love isn’t just for perfect people.” She squeezes my fingers a fraction.

“Hunter has gone through so much. Much more than I think he’ll ever confess. And that’s okay. Sometimes, people need to hold their pain in a way that makes it manageable so they can survive. I think you understand that, though,” she says.

I nod in response. Of course she’s right. I pushed Hunter. I pushed him beyond where he was ready to go, and in the brightness of the sunrise, I can see just how goddamn irresponsible that was.

Therapeutically, it was the wrong thing to do. I caused harm to Hunter by not taking into account what he needed so that he could come to me and trust me.

Maybe that’s why he’s stayed away for so long. I was trying to strong-arm him into trusting me, so it’s no wonder why my actions resulted in the opposite outcome.

If the shoe were on the other foot, what would people be saying about him?

I tug on a piece of dry skin on my lip with my teeth.

“He’s been hurt. You’ve been hurt. But neither of you are broken beyond repair. Things can always be mended, even if they fit together a little differently than they did before.”

I can’t say anything to her words because I know if I do, I’ll just collapse and sob all over her. So I continue to bite my lip and nod.

“Your heart isn’t wrong. Listen to it,” she says.

With one final pat, she adds, “Have you eaten breakfast yet? You need your strength. You’re growing my grandbaby in there.”

I let out a small chuckle, and she squeezes my hand again.

So many men have hurt this woman—her father who traded her, her first husband, and then Benjamin Brigham—and yet she’s still out here comforting me, reminding me that love can work.

Love can be safe.

“How did you figure it out?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

“Figure what out?” she replies.

“What love isn’t. Have you been in love then?”

Her smile turns sad. “Something like that,” is all she says in return.

She stands, cutting off the thread of conversation, and says, “I’ll have the chef make you a real breakfast. I heard that you’ve been existing on apples and Oreo cookies.” She lifts her eyebrow.

I give her a chagrined smile. “Yeah…” I say.

She smiles in return.

“Fifteen minutes, okay?”

I nod, and she leaves the courtyard.

What does your heart know, Winter?

Kitty huffs and settles more fully on my lap. He’s not on high alert, but he senses that I’m upset, so he patiently waits for me to come down.

One.

I know that Hunter and I have a lot to work through.

One-two-one.

I know that I have to come back to myself and figure out who I am again. Winter before Hunter doesn’t exist anymore, but I’m not sure who I am today. That changes now.

One-two-three-two-one.

I know that we’ll figure out the rest of this together.

A lick on my cheek brings me back to now, and I pet Kitty behind his collar.

“I’m okay, lovebug,” I say into his fur. “I really am.”

He hops down after a few minutes, and I tell him, “Off-duty,” to give him the freedom to explore. He gives me one of his trademarked side eyes for a beat, then he hops off to chase a butterfly.

I pull the journal from the oversized pocket of my robe and run my thumb across the blank cover.

I know that Veronica had so much to say in her goodbye letter, and now that I’m allowing myself to think about it…I know that not all of her assumptions about Hunter and me are wrong.

She’s correct that there have been so many lows in our relationship, but there have been so many highs too.

And the bottom line for me is this: I am happy with Hunter as my partner. It’s like the Universe knew that our two battered souls needed foils and thought it wise to bring us together. We both have rough edges and sore spots. We need to figure out how to help each other rather than trigger each other.

I open the cover of the journal, ready to read Veronica’s letter, but I stop at the entry I made more than a year ago.

Winter’s Life List

Genevieve gave me the assignment all those months ago to create a list of things that would make me feel like I’m living.

It felt impossible to come up with ten things, but I managed to write them after agonizing over my responses for entirely too long.

1. Explore U Street

2. Take a cooking class

3. See the latest art collection at the museum

4. Visit the Cherry Blossom Festival next spring

5. Kiss someone on New Year

6. Run in a marathon

7. Go sailing

8. Visit Paris again

9. Go on 15 unique dates

10. Have sex Make love while in love

Examining the list, I see that many of these things I’ve done since Hunter came into my life.

I’ve explored U Street. I haven’t taken an official cooking class, but the time Ella taught me how to bake Hunter’s favorite cake counts in my book. We went to artTech to view an installation of roses on our first date, and we most certainly kissed on New Years.

I close my eyes to savor the memory of how explosively we came together in that opulent bathroom. We consumed each other, committing to loving each other with everything within our broken souls.

I open my eyes again and skip them down the page to the last entry.

Make love while in love.

Even in our angriest moments or most needy moments, sex between us has always been more.

It’s been an expression of our hurts and fears. It’s been healing. It’s been connection. It’s been joy and pain and reconciliation.

Sex with Hunter has always been making love—literally co-creating love and growing it into something that’s beyond the two of us.

I put my hand to my stomach, over our growing child.

Veronica was right when it came to this part—Hunter pushed for a baby, and I acquiesced. I didn’t do anything to prevent it; instead, I just let it happen. But that doesn’t mean I was in the right place to consent to it.

And yet…Hunter made the decision. If I look at it closely through the lens of his control and his fear of losing me, I can see how he came to that choice.

It’s not the healthiest move on his part, to say the least.

Still, I can accept when I’m quiet and analytical, that I wanted to surrender to what Hunter wanted.

And is that really that bad?

Only if you lose yourself in the process, Winter. Only if you reach that point by turning yourself into a victim.

Kitty bounds over, skidding to a stop with a cricket leg poking out of his mouth. He drops it at my feet—an offering.

I reach down and rub his silky ear.

That’s the key. We can do whatever we want, be whoever we want together…as long as we know who we are as individuals too. As long as we honor ourselves.

“You ready, Winter?”

Amelia peeks her head from the doorway, and I close the journal, securing it with the attached elastic.

“I’m ready,” I tell her and walk back into the house, determined to find my future.