I find a duffel bag and her bright pink roller suitcase in a closet and set them both on the bed. It’s not much space, but these are all the bags she owns. I know, because I had to buy them for her in my plight to have her come visit me in Vancouver. She hasn’t left town since.
The duffel I fill with every piece of clothing I can stuff into it, which thankfully means most of what she owns. I guess her minimalist tendencies work in my favor for once.
The suitcase I take my time with, weighing importance against sentimentality. Noelle keeps her most important documents in a fireproof case in her bedroom closet, so finding those is easy. Then I move on to the smaller things, like the pictures of her and her dad and her grandparents, the collar of her late dog she cherishes, and the photo books she spent weeks working on.
It’s strange, reducing someone’s life to a single suitcase, debating the parts worth keeping. I can come back, of course, grab anything I might have missed. But anything I leave behind runs the risk of being destroyed in the storm still ahead.
This is the ultimate test. Either I get everything right, or I have to come to grips with the knowledge I don’t know Noelle as well as I think I do.
I can’t afford to get it wrong.
Chapter fifteen
Noelle
Cole’sbeengonefortwo hours now, and if he doesn’t walk through that door in three minutes I think I might throw up.
This house is too big, too quiet without him in it. He might not be the chattiest, but his presence fills the room, and with him gone there is nothing but cold air and the supernatural silence of a snow-dampened world.
I haven’t had this much time off in years, and I’m not sure what to do with it. Passing the time is slightly easier now that the power is back on; I drink my Jasmin tea, watch some terrible television shows he’s got on his DVR. After being cooped up this long, though, I need to do something to feel productive again, even a little.
My shower is hot yet unsatisfactory. Every time I try to imagine Cole’s hands on my skin I’m reminded he’s not here, that he’s out there risking hypothermia and further injury. The thought of him being in any sort of danger kills the mood faster than any dead bug could.
His towels are soft and warm, though, and the stock of floral-scented lotions he put out for me makes my skin silky soft.
Cole’s bedroom is bigger than my entire apartment, and yet it has a strangely cozy feel to it. A large ornamental rug covers most of the floor, and his bed is nearly twice the size of mine. The large windows that sit above it look out over the snow-capped forest and are draped with heavy, deep blue curtains. I walk straight to his dresser and rummage through his clothes, pulling out his thickest sweater and a pair of sweatpants.
I should probably put out a bundle of dry clothes for when he gets back. I mean, it’s the least I can do, considering he’s out there risking his life for me.
Again.
I pull out another sweater and pair of sweatpants before moving onto socks. I’ll grab him two pairs, just to be safe. If he doesn’t want them, I will.
It takes some searching and an unfortunate run-in with his underwear drawer for me to find his socks. In true Cole fashion, each pair is neatly folded and carefully placed instead of just thrown in, though one side of the drawer looks slightly off; it’s less neat, organized. Almost chaotic. I start taking out the rolled up pairs, thinking it’s just a stack of underwear he somehow placed in the wrong drawer. But as my fingers graze the surface my breath catches in my throat.
A small, flat wooden box with the lock snapped open sits right before me, taunting my willpower.
I shouldn’t look; Cole is my best friend, I shouldn’t snoop through his things. But something keeps my gaze laser-pointed on that lock, and before I can stop myself I’ve lifted the lid.
The air is sucked out from my lungs when I rifle through the stack of yellowed envelopes. Some are old, dated up to a decade ago, while the latest is dated just last week.
And they are all addressed to me.
Why would he write me letters only to never send them? We made a pact to never keep secrets from each other, a pact that we’ve honored no matter how embarrassing. I know everything there is to know about Cole Martin, from the depth of his ambition to which teammate he once had a sex dream about. What could possibly be bad enough he’s afraid to tell me?
I am a terrible, horrible friend for even entertaining the thought.
But I have to find out.
Fiddling with the envelope of the most recent letter, which isn’t sealed, I pull out the torn piece of paper.
Tears crowd my eyes at the first sentence, making it impossible to read.
My darling Noelle,
It’s been 285 days since I ignored my doctor’s advice and moved back to Sleighbell Springs to be with you, and 179 days since you and Henry broke up. I could have admitted my feelings for you every day since then, but really, I have lost hope I ever will.
You are a light in this cold, dark world, and I cannot afford to lose the one thing that makes my life worth living. It would be selfish of me to try and drag you into my lifestyle, knowing it wouldn’t get you the undivided attention you so much deserve.
