Not closed.Just...guarded.
I nodded and retrieved my coat while he turned back to Aunt Ruth, offering another thank-you for dinner and a polite farewell to the girls.I barely heard their responses.
I followed Creed toward the door with uneasiness.Not because I was afraid of him—but because I didn’t know which version of him would walk away.
Outside, the night was silent, thick with the kind of stillness that comes with the first snowfall.Tiny flakes floated down from the dark sky, catching in my hair and dissolving on my cheek as we stepped onto the porch.
Creed didn’t speak as we walked toward his car, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his overcoat.His broad shoulders seemed even more imposing under the soft glow of the streetlights.
When we reached the driver’s side door, he stopped, turning to face me.The snow dusted his hair, catching in the strands like frost, making him look almost unreal.
But his eyes told a different story.They weren’t cold.They were conflicted.
“Creed—”
He lifted a hand, asking for space rather than silence.
“You’re not forgiven,” he said plainly.
The ache spread through my chest, sharp but honest.
“Not yet,” he added.“And I won’t pretend otherwise.”
The words weren’t punishment.They were truth.
“But I didn’t come to punish you,” he continued.
“Then why did you come?”I asked.
He exhaled, a visible loosening of restraint.“Because staying away felt worse than leaving.”
The admission landed heavy.
He stepped closer, the space between us shrinking without threat.
“I needed to see you in a place that wasn’t about power,” he said quietly.“I needed to remember what you look like when you’re...grounded.”
My throat tightened.
“I don’t know what to do with what I feel,” he admitted, his voice rough.“Because everything I was taught says control keeps you safe.”
His jaw flexed.“And tonight proved that control can also starve you.”
I didn’t reach for him.Didn’t apologize.Didn’t plead.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” I said steadily.“And I’m not asking you to choose me.”
His gaze snapped to mine.
“I’m asking you to stop pretending you don’t feel this.”
Snow fell heavier now, the world narrowing to the space between us.
Creed’s hand lifted—hesitated—then settled against my cheek.Not ownership.A question.
“I don’t know how to let myself feel this,” he murmured.“Because once I do, I don’t get to decide where it stops.”
I leaned into his touch.“You don’t have to control the ending,” I said softly.“You just have to stay.”
