There’s a low hum from the other end of the line. “Guess we’ll have to see when we all get together, then. She’s still going to be there right? For the birthday party?”
“As far as I’m aware. She still lives with Richard. I can’t see her suddenly moving out in the next few days just to avoid us. Or staying at a friend’s place without it looking suspicious.”
Callum huffs softly. “Well, if she does that, then we have our answer, don’t we?”
True.
Still, the last thing I want is for things to be awkward between us.
“I’ll head over tomorrow to check things out. See if I can get her to talk to me instead,” Cal says.
“Alright. Let me know what you find out.”
8
CALLUM
The snow’s coming down hard outside, a relentless swirling curtain of white that blurs the edges of the world until it feels like we’ve stepped inside a snow globe.
Every breath stings, every gust cuts, the cold bites at my cheeks.
But even through it, there’s a warmth in my chest that the winter air can’t touch.
Noelle.
Her name pulses through me like a heartbeat, steady and inescapable.
Six years.
Six long years since that snowbound weekend at her dad’s house. Six years since everything changed and none of us had the courage to talk about it afterward.
The memory sits heavy inside me, a mix of guilt and want that’s never faded no matter how far I’ve run and how much time has passed.
Grant’s call yesterday had lit something under my ribs. A spark of unease along with a strange simmering anticipation I haven’t been able to shake.
The way he’d said her name, the weight in his voice…
I knew he was thinking the same thing I was.
That the past wasn’t nearly as buried as we’d all pretended it was.
Now, trudging through the knee-deep snow beside Dean, it feels like walking back into a memory I’ve tried to forget.
Dean’s unusually quiet.
That in itself says something.
His scarf is pulled tight over the lower half of his face, only his eyes visible.
They’re focused, scanning the near-empty street as the storm grows heavier.
The wind howls down the narrow avenue, carrying with it the faint jingling of a distant bell from one of the lamppost decorations lining the sidewalks.
“Maybe we should’ve waited it out,” Dean mutters, his breath fogging the air. “Feels like we’re walking straight into a whiteout.”
“Probably,” I admit, shoving my hands deeper into my coat pockets.
Coming out in the middle of what is quickly turning to be a blizzard probably wasn’t the smartest move, but staying coopedup in our hotel room for a minute longer would’ve driven me more insane than I already feel.
