12. Orson

Chapter 12

Orson

Later that evening

As I lace up my boots, the chilling wind howls against the windowpane like a banshee warning me to stay indoors. But the restlessness in my heart drowns out the biting cold—thoughts of Winter, maybe tossing and turning just as violently as I am, perhaps equally haunted by our conversation at the café.

I slip into my thick coat and button up, searching the pockets for my gloves. The night is ink-black, the only light from the streetlamps casting halos on the freshly fallen snow, crunching under my boots with every heaving step.

The world around me is eerily silent, my breaths coming out in small ghosts that linger before dissipating into the frigid air. Every house I pass is covered in holiday lights and decor, ready to celebrate the happiest season, while here I am, with doubts clouding my heart, walking through snow to Winter's place.

Three blocks never seemed such a long distance as they do tonight. With each step, scenarios play out in my mind—each potential discussion, each possible outcome from warm embraces to doors slammed on my face. Somewhere nearby, a branch snaps under the weight of snow, startling me. It's amazing how easily things break under too much strain.

When I reach Winter’s parent’s place, I immediately head for the familiar hedge on the side of the house, hiding her bedroom window from view. Like an insane stalker, I peek under the blinds and see a faint light glowing in the darkness. Maybe she’s awake, thinking of me as much as I’ve thought of her since we parted ways earlier.

I knock lightly but firmly, a part of me hoping she’ll hear and answer quickly, another part terrified that she will. It only takes seconds before her light flicks on, and I feel relieved that I don’t have to wake her. Winter's blue eyes appear through an opening in the wooden blinds, narrowing when she realizes it's me. I’m unsure if she’s annoyed or adjusting her eyes to the night, but I hope it’s the latter. After a quick jiggle, Winter slides the window open and emerges from the darkness with sleep-rumpled hair and an oversized Mickey Mouse t-shirt, looking absolutely breathtaking.

We stare at one another for what seems like an eternity in mutual silence before courage and desperation fuel my voice.

“Winter... Can we talk?”

I place my hands on the ledge outside her window, clutching the cold frame to keep her from shutting me out. My breath fogs in the icy air, swirling into the space between us as I gaze at her stunned expression. The light from her room bathes her in a soft glow, casting long shadows behind her. Her eyes are wide with shock, or maybe anger—likely both.

"I can't believe you're here. We talked for hours this afternoon,” Winter hisses, trembling slightly from the cold or, perhaps, suppressed emotions. "What are you doing, Orson? What on earth are you trying to prove?"

I choose my words carefully for fear she’ll send me on my way before we’ve had a chance to talk. "Winter, please," I start, my voice low and pleading. "I just need five minutes. There's so much I need to explain, and I don’t want to wait another day to say it. I should have told you earlier today, but I didn’t want to upset you, and now it’s eating me up.”

Winter crosses her arms tightly across her chest, suddenly aware that my gaze has homed in on her pebbled nipples. "You think you can just waltz back into my life and expect me to listen? After everything that happened?" The hurt in her tone pierces through me like an icy blade.

I swallow hard, trying to suppress the emotions rising within me. "I know it's late and probably crazy of me to come here like this. But I couldn't sleep—I needed to see you." My voice cracks as I continue. "I'm not asking for forgiveness right now, only five minutes to explain." As I look at Winter, all I can see is the girl I fell in love with, now standing before me with walls built up around her heart.

Winter stares at me, and for an eternal moment, she’s silent. Then she sighs and steps back from the window, motioning me inside with a jerk of her head.

"God damn it, Orson. Climb in before someone sees you and thinks you’re a burglar," Winter give me space to enter, mumbling profanities as she crosses the room and sits on her bed. She tucks her legs under her and uses a pillow to shield her breasts, almost visible through her thin t-shirt. Every inch of her posture screams reluctance mixed with curiosity.

Thanking every lucky star, I awkwardly hoist myself over the sill and into the warmth of her room. It smells like something uniquely Winter—a crispness like freshly fallen snow and lavender.

"Start talking," Winter points to the edge of her bed and silently demanding that I keep my distance.

I rub my hands together, not only for warmth from the cold, but also from nervousness. Looking at Winter feels like looking directly into the sun: blinding and intense. But there’s no turning back. This is the moment to put right what went so wrong years ago.

"Winter, that night when things ended between us…” I pause as emotions threaten to choke my words before they even form. "There was so much more happening than you knew. I said I was auditioning and being considered for small roles. I told you I had an agent who was sending me scripts, but that was bullshit.”

Winter blinks rapidly, seemingly trying to process this new piece of information before her gaze turns to ice. “What the hell does that have to do with you giving me an ultimatum? Did you think I believed you? I knew you were embellishing the truth, but I wanted to support you and let you know I knew you could and would make it in Hollywood. If you were doing so poorly, you could have come to New York to be with me.” She raises her voice, then quickly drops the volume, seemingly afraid she’ll wake her parents.

"I wanted to tell you, to explain why… but everything happened too fast,” I continue hastily. "I wanted to follow you to New York, but you started talking about studying in Paris for the summer. Good things were happening for you, and I didn’t want to hold you back.”

“Hold me back? You never tried?—”

I cut Winter off, too ashamed to allow her to continue. “No, deep down, I wanted to hold you back. I wanted to keep you with me, clip your wings so you’d never be able to fly so high that I wouldn’t feel good enough for you. After I left New York, I realized what a jerk I’d been, but you wouldn’t talk to me. You never reached out, and I convinced myself you couldn’t wait to get rid of me. Every month, then every year, I wanted to reach out, but so much time had passed, there was never a time that felt right.”

She stares with eyes glazed, either stunned or hurt by confession. “And you think now is the right time?”

"I acted like a little shit, and you deserved so much better. I know I don’t have the right to ask for another chance after all these years," I say quietly, daring to take a small step closer to her stiff figure. "But I can't stay away any longer. I know I can mend what I broke."

Winter watches me closely—her guard is still up, but curiosity flickers deep within her icy glare. “Eight years is too long to fix things, Orson.”

“No, I don’t think it is. But it’s long enough to know you can’t outrun regret.” I reach out and take her trembling hand in mine, hoping she’ll give me an ounce of hope.

“It’s too late.”