21. Winter

TWENTY-ONE

WINTER

B y the time Tuesday rolls around, I'm a mess.

I'm a mess not only because we got a random bout of continuous icy rain yesterday, forcing Kitty and I to stay indoors. Or because staying inside wouldn't have bothered me two months ago, but now it feels suffocating.

I'm a mess because the few days consisted of me falling in love with Hunter Brigham.

I'm aware that sounds crazy. And I know that I've never been in love at my big age of thirty years old, so how would I know?

But I know I'm two steps away from the edge of falling head over feet in love with H.

We text and talk on the phone all the time now. We talk about our pasts, likes, dislikes, and love for August. It feels good to have the space to think about what I say to him and his messages to me. In the relative safety of my apartment, I can smile and laugh and occasionally hop around the kitchen at something adorable that he says.

What can I say? I'm making up for lost time .

Or maybe you're being very naive and are about to get your heart pulverized.

My phone pings on the bathroom counter as I style my hair and do my makeup. I've chosen a white square neck blouse that highlights my cleavage and wide-leg wool pants in a burnt orange color. It'll pair nicely with my tan knee-length wool coat. My gold watch and dangly gold earrings to match finish off the outfit. Casual and comfortable enough to handle the frigid temps, professional enough for therapy, and sexy enough that if he decides to pin me against a wall and ravish me, he won't have much to fuss with.

Who even are you, Winter?

I pick up my phone.

I can't wait to see you. Just an hour until you're here.

I smile wide.

Me neither.

Cancel your Uber.

Why?

I have a ride waiting for you downstairs.

I raise an eyebrow. Ready to go anyway, I put on my coat and make quick work of harnessing Kitty. I got him a long-sleeved Christmas-themed sweater to wear and matching booties to protect his feet from the cold ground. Grabbing my bags, we head out the door. When I reach the lobby, I immediately notice the shiny G-wagon idling outside the automatic doors of my apartment building.

A man I've seen at Amelia Manor waits for me .

"I assume you're here for me?" I ask as if the sign he's holding wouldn't be enough notice. I shake my head and text Hunter.

You are too much, H.

The man opens the door, and I slide into the back of the car.

I want to make sure you arrive safely. No more Ubers for you.

I roll my eyes.

Okay, Dad.

It's never really been my thing, but if you wanna call me Daddy, I wouldn't object.

I laugh, and the man in the driver's seat glances back at me.

I'll see you in a bit, baby.

"What's your name?" I ask the driver.

"Mario, but everyone calls me Rio, ma'am," he replies.

"Oof, ma'am. Please call me Winter."

Rio looks to be in his late thirties, maybe a little older, but not by much. He's tall and has a lean build, but he looks like he could more than hold his own in a fight. He's dressed in all black, just like I've seen the other security staff wear around Amelia Manor.

"Yes, ma'am," he says, and I chuckle.

We drive a bit before I realize I entered the vehicle without completing my ritual. And I didn't count the steps on the way down. Nor did I complete my ritual of locking my front door over and over.

The realization doesn't cause me overwhelming anxiety. And that in itself is mind-boggling. I pet Kitty's fur to ground myself against the revelation. I don't feel the compulsion to have Rio turn around so I can lock my door again. Nor do I want him to stop so I can check the tires.

I just want to get to Amelia Manor.

Wait until I tell Genevieve about this.

We pass the ride in a comfortable silence, and before I know it, we're pulling up to the estate.

Murder hornets, rather than butterflies, take up residence in my belly.

Standing at the front entrance wrapped in a wool coat and a dark gray scarf is the person I long to see. H.

When I exit the car, he nods to Rio and waits for him to drive off before grabbing my hand and bringing me closer to him. I look around to make sure we're alone, and he gently grabs my chin, forcing my eyes on him.

His gaze is soft. "Hey," he says.

I smile. I breathe. "Hey," I say in reply.

Still holding my chin, he brings his head down to mine and kisses me.

If anyone else were looking at the scene, they'd likely say it was a tame kiss. But for me, it was anything but.

Even though his lips are gentle on mine, the riot of emotions the simple action evokes causes me to skip toward that precipice gleefully. And when he ends the kiss and puts his forehead on mine, holding me close as if I'm important to him, I swan-dive over the edge.

My heart is gone—packaged up and hand-delivered to none other than Hunter Brigham.

I step back, reluctant to part but needing to add some space .

"You know I'm here to work, Hunter," I say with mock annoyance.

He smiles even brighter.

"I know," he says. "I'd like to join you for the session with August if that's okay."

Now it's my turn to beam.

"Of course, but only if it's okay with August," I reply. Hunter has attended a few of our sessions in the past, but it's been tough to get August to be as open when his father is there as he is when we're alone.

"I'll see you inside." I move around him to enter the house but stop short when I spy Ella's face pressed against the glass.

"Oh, shit," I say and jump when I feel Hunter's hands on my shoulders behind me. He sees her, and Ella waves through the glass front door.

"Well, we are out here for everyone to see. Might as well let them see, right?" Hunter says, and I whirl around on him.

"Hunter, this could be bad if people found out. We talked about this. We can't be out officially until after August's therapy is done or I reach the end of my practicum."

"I won't tell anyone!" a voice pipes up. Ella's head sticks out a crack in the front door. She's smiling from ear to ear, and I look up at Hunter in time to see him roll his eyes.

"Ella. Discretion, please," he says. She pops her bubble gum in reply.

Shaking myself, I step around them to find August. I locate him in the game room. He's playing the game I brought and, from the looks of it, dominating it.

"Wow, you've gotten up there, Augs."

August doesn't take his eyes off the screen but takes his right hand to tap the quick-fire button for "thanks" without looking.

I sit in the gaming chair beside him and wait until he finishes the current level. Kitty goes to his usual spot. He knows when we're in this room, he's off duty. He takes his chew toy, and I grin when it starts squeaking rhythmically.

August puts the controller down without my asking and picks up his tablet.

"How was your weekend?" he asks, and my eyebrows shoot up, caught a little off guard. August rarely asks about my day or anything like that. Those types of details aren't usually very important to him.

"It was good. Restful, with all the rain we got."

"Yes, that is how I was able to get up to level fifty-eight," he says. "I was hoping we could do something."

I sit up straighter in the chair, curious about his sudden shift in topic. "Oh? What do you have in mind?"

He taps his cheek for a few seconds, his face a mask of concentration, before tapping on his tablet.

"I was hoping we could make pizza. But not pre-made pizza. We could go get the dough and sauce and toppings."

"Sure, August. That sounds cool. Why do you want to make pizza, though?"

He looks away from the tablet, tapping his cheek again.

"My mom and I used to make homemade pizza together."

I don't say anything to that, waiting for him to add more. When he doesn't, I ask, "How often did you make pizza with her?"

"A few times a month, usually on Fridays." He pauses. "When Mom found foods I liked to eat, we tended to eat them a lot. Pizza was always fun to make, and she said it felt fancy to spin the dough in the air like in the movies."

I smile at him. He puts his tablet down.

"Can I come?" Hunter's subdued voice comes from the doorway of the game room. He stands there in obvious discomfort, moving from crossing his arms to putting them in his pockets and then back to crossing his arms.

August looks in his general direction before tapping his cheek several times. He turns to me .

"Would that be okay, August? If Hunter joins?" I keep my face friendly and open.

"I would really love to make pizza with you, August." I glance past August to where Hunter stands in the doorway. Hunter's face is open, emotions plainly warring on his face. But as the seconds tick on without a reply from August, Hunter's face smooths, his mask up again.

Oh, Hunter. You have to stay open, love.

August doesn't say anything right away. He turns his head in Hunter's direction and then back to mine. Finally, his gaze returns to the screen in front of him, and he blinks. After a full minute, he picks up his tablet and says, "Bring your wallet."

Hunter grins.

We pull into the parking lot of the Wegmans just as the clouds roll in. The weather forecast doesn't call for rain until later today, but it's already getting dark with heavy cloud cover. It's unseasonably warm at ten degrees above freezing, which saves us from the risk of sleet and freezing rain.

August instructed us to go to Wegmans, and only Wegmans, because that's where he'd go with his mom. He further demanded we go to his Wegmans back in Woodbridge. I think the long drive did us some good.

The trip was quiet, but not tense. Kitty sat in the back with August. He indicated interest in Kitty a few months ago. He told me he'd always wanted a dog, but his mother didn't like them. When I explained that Kitty is a service dog, he found the training process fascinating.

At the next session, he educated me on the topic of psychiatric service animals for a solid hour.

"Do you have the list, Augs?" I look in the back seat toward August. He's tapping away on his tablet and finally says, "Yes. We need flour, yeast, oil, tomato sauce, mozzarella, and pepperoni."

August's hand returns to Kitty's fur, petting him around the harness he makes quick work of putting on.

Kitty smiles happily.

"Easy enough," Hunter says. His eyes fix on August's reflection in the mirror. I don't think August notices.

August opens the door to exit, and we all follow him.

Outside the store, a man dressed in a baggy Santa suit rings a bell next to a donation bucket. When people walk past, he wishes them a Merry Christmas.

I search my bag for some spare change, but hear the man exclaim, "Thank you, sir! Merry Christmas!" When I glance up, Hunter slips a folded bill into the can.

"Don't mention it," Hunter says in a gruff voice. He turns to find me, and something in my expression causes a strange look to pass over his face. His cheeks turn pink, and I'm not totally sure it's from the cold.

I drop the quarters I found at the bottom of my bag in the can, and we walk inside.

"Do you want fresh pepperoni from the deli, August?" Hunter asks him while grabbing a small cart. August hands me Kitty's leash.

"No. We need the Hormel stuff."

Hunter and I look at each other. "Okay, sounds good," Hunter says.

The store is in full Christmas mode, and I feel a slight pang of concern that Christmas is almost three weeks away. I usually spend the holiday with Veronica—whether it's with her parents or alone in her townhome with James. But Veronica's parents are sailing around the globe right now as part of their retirement plan, and James is taking Veronica on a babymoon to a cabin for the holiday. I don't know what my Christmas plans are this year .

I stare at the back of Hunter's head. Hunter shouldn't factor at all into my plans, right?

Right.

Bing Crosby plays over the speakers, an old-timey Christmas carol. When we walk past the seasonal aisle, everything smells like cinnamon and cloves.

August waves a hand in front of his face, clearly displeased with the scent. Eventually, he skips down the aisle to get away from the olfactory assault.

As we follow August through the aisles, he picks up ingredient after ingredient with impressive efficiency. We're done shopping in ten minutes.

Hopping into a checkout line, we have everything loaded up on the belt when August says, "We forgot the active yeast!"

He slaps his head, vocalizing his upset, and Hunter gently grabs his arm, attempting to hold his hand.

The move must shock August, because he immediately stills. His face and body show signs of obvious distress, but I'll have to ask him later how he feels about the handholding.

"It's okay, I'll get it, August," Hunter says brightly.

August tugs his arm, and Hunter releases his hand.

Hunter's brows lower a fraction, but he's quick to correct his look. "Be right back," Hunter says in a calm tone.

"No, Hunter, you stay." I give him a significant look. "You stay here with August." He nods.

Picking up Kitty in a football hold and twirling around, I make a beeline for the aisle with the yeast. Spotting it, I reach for a packet on the top shelf. I snag it with my free hand and spin back around, bumping into a man.

I move around him and take a few steps down the aisle, saying, "Sorry!" but when I turn to face him, the words die in my throat.

The man's back is toward me, his head turned to watch my retreat over his shoulder. I only see half of his face—most obscur ed by his hood. But his eyes. The shape of them, the malevolent intent in his gaze…I know.

Adam.

It's only a glimpse, but it's Adam.

The man turns away and walks down the aisle as if nothing happened, and I stay there, rooted. Frozen.

You've got to move, Winter!

Kitty whimpers, wriggling in my arms to lick my cheek. I ignore his movements.

I jump and run to the checkout line.

August and Hunter have the items on the belt and are waiting for me. Hunter gives me a concerned look when I reach them.

I'm shaking.

"H-here," I say, throwing the packet on the conveyor belt and clutching Kitty to my chest so hard he yelps.

I don't know what to do with my body, and I don't realize that my teeth are chattering until Hunter's face materializes in front of me.

"Winter, what's going on?" His eyebrows are drawn down over his eyes. He puts a hand on my arm, and I jump back, knocking into the magazine display.

Glossy pages and chip bags fall to the floor.

"I'm sorry!"

Adam is in prison. Adam is in prison. Adam is in prison in prison in prison in prison—ADAMISHERE.

Inhalation is impossible with the constriction in my lungs, even though I'm starved for air. My vision tilts, and everything looks stretched and warbled. I can't focus. I can't orient myself in space. My tongue swells, blocking off my throat. Every scar on my body sears with remembrance.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," I yell. Or maybe I whisper. All I know is one second, I'm staring at Hunter as August paces with the grocery bags in his hand, and the next, I'm in front of Hunter's car with Kitty licking at my cheek .

Fat raindrops smack against my chilled skin.

"Breathe, Winter." Hunter's voice goes in and out. The car doors are open, and the engine idles while we all stand outside the vehicle.

I try to suck in a breath, but it feels like a band is tightening across my chest.

ADAMISHERE.

ADAMISHERE.

ADAMISHERE.

I bend over at the knees, dropping Kitty, unsure if I'm going to vomit or scream. I clutch my head, trying to calm my racing thoughts.

ADAM IS HERE. Suck in air.

Adam is in prison. Exhale air.

ADAM IS HERE. Suck in air.

You don't know that you saw him. Adam is in prison. Exhale air.

Adam is here. Inhale air.

Adam is in prison. Exhale air.

Adam is in prison. Breathe.

Adam is in prison. Release.

My hands shake as the adrenaline merges into mortification. I don't want to look at either of them. I'd rather die than look at either of them.

I plop myself on the cement bumper in front of Hunter's Mercedes, covering my face with my arms as I prop them on my bent knees. Kitty tries to wedge himself into my lap but fails, so he settles in front of me between my slightly spread legs.

I feel Hunter move and hear the sound of doors shutting. A moment later, a blanket covers my shoulders, and mercifully, the drizzle stops pelting me. I see Hunter standing over me with an umbrella from the cracks between my arms.

"You don't have to tell me what just happened right now, Winter ," he says. He looks around the parking lot. His eyes are narrowed, assessing.

I'm so embarrassed.

"But something here set you off. And I want to get you to a place where you feel safe. So will you get in the car? Or do you need a few more minutes? I'm good here either way."

I clear my throat. "I'm sorry," I say. My voice sounds strange in my ears.

"I…I have panic attacks sometimes. I haven't had a full-blown one in a long time, and I guess today was the day to end my streak." I try to go for a self-deprecating tone, but it just ends up sounding sad.

A sob breaks out of my throat. I lower my arms and look at him. At my movement, he looks down at me, and instead of a look of disgust, he's looking at me softly.

I cry harder.

"Sunbeam," he says softly. "Let's go home." He reaches a hand to me, and I take it.

Kitty stands too, staying close to my heel.

Instead of pulling me toward the passenger seat, Hunter holds my hand and asks, "Is it okay if I hug you?"

I nod.

Without a word, he pulls me into his arms, one hand still holding the umbrella. Protecting us from the elements.

I bury my face into his chest.

He doesn't say anything. He just holds me as the rain falls.