15. Wynter

CHAPTER 15

WYNTER

The days felt strange without the military’s rigid clockwork guiding me. For once, I had to create my own rhythm—a blend of morning workouts, hikes, and moments spent reading, writing, and letting my mind settle into a new calm. It felt good, grounding, even if it sometimes left me restless. I’d also been ignoring Lisa’s calls, which had started early this morning. She could wait. I’d call her on my own time. Today was my day.

Before I knew it, I’d found myself outside Taran’s place, an unspoken pull drawing me here. On the porch, he was sweeping up a scatter of pine needles, lost in the rhythm of it, the easy motion of his arms. He looked up as I approached, that familiar, gentle smile tugging at his mouth. He didn’t look surprised—almost like he’d been waiting for me without knowing it. And maybe I’d been waiting to see him, too.

“Didn’t expect you,” he murmured, brushing his hands down his jeans, that soft flush on his cheeks from the chill.

I shrugged, my hands deep in my pockets, trying to ignore the way my pulse picked up just being here. “Didn’t want to be anywhere else,” I admitted, the words slipping out like they’d always been there. Like they made sense.

A quiet laugh escaped him, and he rubbed his arms as the wind kicked up, sending leaves skittering across the porch. I noticed his bare hands, pale and raw from the cold. Before I could think twice, I reached out, taking them in mine. His skin was freezing, and he startled a little, but didn’t pull away.

“You should’ve worn gloves,” I muttered, brushing my thumb over his knuckles, feeling the roughness of his skin. His eyes caught mine, a silent exchange passing between us, words we hadn’t dared say yet.

Taran didn’t let go. Instead, his fingers tightened around mine, his gaze steady, warm. And in that moment, with nothing but the cold air and his hand in mine, every worry, every doubt I had—about what I wanted, about where I was headed—seemed to dissolve. There was just us, standing there in the quiet, like we’d been here a thousand times.

Abruptly, Taran's grip tightened on my hand, drawing me into the sanctuary of his house. The door shut with a soft click behind us, sealing us away from the world outside. An inexplicable warmth permeated the space, and I inhaled deeply, trying to identify the unique scent that hung heavy in the air.

Taran spun around to face me, his eyes blazing with an intensity that made my heart stutter. And before I knew it, his hands were on my shoulders, pushing me back until my spine met the solid resistance of the door. He held my gaze captive for a moment longer before his lips descended on mine.

The kiss was explosive—raw and unfiltered passion unleashed after being suppressed for far too long. His fingers threaded through my hair, my beanie falling to the floor with barely a sound, even as Taran tugged me closer, as if he couldn't get enough of me. I reciprocated, pressing myself against him like we were two puzzle pieces finally clicking together.

"God, Wyn," he growled against my mouth. "I've been dreaming about this."

His words sent sparks shooting down my spine and I pulled him even closer by his waist until there was nothing but our shared breath separating us.

"Can’t wait to have you beneath me," I confessed breathlessly against his lips. "Just like in those dreams of yours."

His body shuddered against mine at my confession and I could feel him harden through our clothing—a tangible reflection of the desire, the want I had for him.

Our tongues tangled together in a dance as old as time itself; it was primal and erotic—an intimate exchange of taste and longing that left me craving for more, more, more.

My gloved hands found their way up to his neck, which was exposed despite his winter attire. My mouth followed suit, peppering soft kisses along the column of his throat before sucking lightly at the sensitive skin there.

"You taste so good," I murmured against his skin before nipping lightly at it with my teeth. His sharp intake of breath was music to my ears and I smiled against his neck, my heart pounding in sync with his.

His presence was an anchor in the tumultuous sea of my life, offering a sense of calmness I hadn't experienced in years. The weight of him pressed against me felt reassuring, grounding me.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I wasn’t scanning for threats, running through mental checklists of escape routes, or bracing myself against invisible blasts. I wasn’t escaping anything. I was chasing something instead—something solid, right here between Taran and me, something that had been waiting to ignite all along.

The front gate’s sharp creak shattered the stillness. Taran jerked back, his eyes snapping open as quick footsteps padded up the path. His gaze went to the door, panic flaring. “Oh God. It’s Rory.”

In a flash, we were scrambling, quietly swearing. Taran straightened his shirt, brushing at the collar, his face pale but trying to look calm. I reached down to snatch my beanie from the floor, tucking it quickly into my jacket pocket. Without thinking, I reached out and clasped Taran’s hand, wanting to guide him from the foyer into the living room before the door opened.

But we didn’t make it even a step before we heard the key slide into lock, freezing us both. The door swung open, and there he was—Rory, cheeks flushed from the cold, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, a bright grin lighting his face as he spotted us.

“Hey, Dad, Wynter! I’m home early,” he announced, smiling. “Camp got canceled—Matt’s mom picked us up. Some water main burst at the rec center, so they had to shut it all down.” His gaze shifted between us, eyes bright with excitement.

For a moment, relief settled over Taran. He gave a shaky smile. “Wow! Sounds like you had a day.”

I let out a breath, relaxing beside him. “Good to see you, buddy,” I managed, my voice steady, though my heart was pounding.

But then, as Rory’s eyes passed over our faces—first his dad’s and then mine— he stopped. A shadow passed over his expression, his smile faltering as his gaze shifted to Taran yet again.

The boy’s eyes narrowed, tracing the space between us. His eyes fell on our hands and my heart sank. Taran’s fingers jerked from mine as if burned, but Rory had already seen. He froze, eyes darting back to his dad. There was no need for words—he’d pieced it together in that quiet, devastating instant.

The air grew thick and now a storm brewed in his eyes. “You lied to me.” His voice cracked, raw with the betrayal that only a child could feel.

Taran’s face fell. Stepping forward, he said. “Rory, it’s not—” His voice was hoarse.

But Rory stepped back, shoulders squared, his face a mask of anger and hurt, blocking out any explanation. “No.” He shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “You lied.” He dropped his bag, spun on his heel, and bolted.

Taran’s face crumpled, his gaze locked on the empty space where Rory had stood moments before. He looked utterly shattered, his shoulders sagging under the weight of what had just happened.

I took a step closer, reaching out instinctively. “Taran, would you like me to talk to him?”

He lifted a hand, stopping me gently but firmly, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and regret. “No… Please. Just go.” His voice was soft, his gaze shifting toward the living room. “I need to… I need to be here for him.”

I froze, a knot forming in my chest. This was his son. I knew, deep down, he’d always choose Rory first. But it didn’t stop the ache, the way that one quiet request— just go —cut deeper than I’d thought possible. But it also fueled my admiration for Taran; the love he had for his son was unwavering, unshakable.

Taran moved toward the living room, his steps heavy, turning back to look at me one last time. “I love him, Wyn. He’s… he’s everything.” His voice cracked. “He has to come first.”

I nodded, swallowing down the sharp sting of those words. I understood—God, I did.

And then he was gone, following Rory inside the living room. I stood there, feeling the heavy ache that Taran’s absence left, and it settled into something more profound than pain. It was understanding—the kind that comes when you know that someone else’s happiness is more important than your own, and yet, you’d still give everything to be part of their life.

My hand drifted up, brushing over my lips, still warm from Taran’s kiss. But beneath that warmth, a realization hit, clear as the air around me.

I loved him.

The thought struck with the force of a blow, simple and undeniable. I hadn’t expected to find this again, hadn’t dared to hope for anything more than a quiet, steady friendship. But standing there, feeling the ache of him choosing his son over me, I couldn’t deny it. I loved Taran. The realization settled deep, rooted and undeniable, filling every inch of my being.

But what now? The thought circled, relentless. I knew where I stood—I loved him, fully and without question. And I respected that Rory would always come first; that’s what made Taran the man I loved. But even knowing that, I couldn’t help wondering if there would ever be room for me, too.