I’d seen it a million times. After every fight, every family crisis, every time she was pissed. Our freezer would fill with labeled containers, the house would smell like a restaurant, and I’d wonder where in the hell she found the energy for it.
I planned to leave her to it. Take a hot shower and thaw out my frozen everything, giving her the space to work through whatever she needed to work through. That was our pattern—I’d retreat to the garage or the clubhouse, she’d retreat to the kitchen, and we’d orbit each other like suspicious planets until the immediate crisis passed.
I had just turned toward the hallway when she inhaled so sharply, I heard it over the rattling vent hood.
When I looked back, her shoulders were shaking. If I hadn’t been paying attention. I would have missed it entirely. But I saw it. Saw the white-knuckle grip on the wooden spoon, saw the way she held herself too rigid, too controlled.
She wasn’t pissed off.
She was hurt.
My feet moved before my brain caught up, crossing the kitchen in three strides. She didn’t look up, even when my shadow fell across the counter.
I could have done the tough-guy thing and waited her out, arms crossed, pretending I’d come in for coffee. But there was something about the way she shook—like she was fighting it, trying not to let her body betray her—that reminded me too much of the days after we lost Levi, when I’d find her in the most random places. The pantry. Our closet. The laundry room. Every time, she’d offered a perfectlyplausible explanation, but now I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been trying to hide her grief from me. Trying to be strong for everyone in the family.
I didn’t say anything—my words had already fucked up enough between us in the past twenty-four hours. I just wrapped my arms around her from behind, pulled her back against my chest, and held on.
She resisted at first, but when I didn’t let go, she stopped fighting. Her weight sagged back against me, her resistance crumbling as tears rolled silently down her face.
“I’ve got you,” I murmured into her hair, tightening my arms when she started to shake harder. “You’re safe, baby. I’ve got you.”
One hand came up to brush the tears off her face while the other remained locked around her waist, keeping her upright when her knees began to buckle. She turned in my arms, burying her face against my chest, and I could feel the heat of her tears soaking through my cold shirt.
For a minute, all she did was cry. Silent, ugly, honest. The kind of sobbing that came out in quick gasps. I rocked her a little, just enough to remind her I was there.
“Been carrying this too long,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended. “Too damn long, Kels.”
The stew bubbled behind us, likely needing to be stirred, but I didn’t move. Not when she was finally letting me hold her like this, finally letting me see the cracks in that perfect facade. Not when I finally had the chance to be something other than another source of pain in her life.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “This is pathetic.”
“It’s just us. Let it out. I ain’t going anywhere.”
And I meant it. I wasn’t sure when she’d stop shaking. But I knew I wouldn’t let go until she did.
Her tears came harder now, followed by a low, keening sound. The kind of pain that had been building behind that perfect control for months, maybe years. I held her tighter, one hand stroking her hair while she soaked my shirt with two years’ worth of suppressedgrief.
“The girls,” she choked out between sobs. “They’re not coming, Teddy. Our daughters aren’t coming for Christmas.”
I’d been so focused on navigating whatever was happening between Kelsey and me that I hadn’t fully processed that they weren’t going to make it.
“And I can’t even blame them,” she continued, the words escaping in bursts between shuddering breaths. “Why would they want to come here? Watch their parents treat each other like enemies, or worse, strangers? Pretend everything’s fine when nothing’s been fine for years?”
“Kels—”
“I’m so damn tired of being angry at you.” The admission came out broken, raw. “So tired of existing in the same space but never actually being together. And now I feel like I’m just—just a walking landmine.”
I couldn’t exactly argue. I’d been treating her like unexploded ordnance for years. Circling, never daring to dig beneath the surface. Now she’d finally detonated, and it felt like the only honest thing that had happened since Levi.
“I know I’m not Perfect Kelsey anymore.” Her fingers twisted in my shirt, holding on like she expected me to pull away. “I know I fall apart at the worst times. That I say the wrong things and push when I should pull, and—God, I’m doing it right now. Falling apart on you when you probably just want me to get it together and?—”
“Stop.” I pulled back enough to look at her face, using my thumb to wipe away the tears that kept coming. “Just stop, baby.”
Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, her nose running. Nothing perfect about her right now. But watching her finally let go, finally showing me the mess underneath all that control—something clicked into place in my chest.
How many fights could we have avoided if I’d just held her like this? If I hadn’t retreated every time shit got complicated? If she hadn’t hidden behind her picture-perfect facade?
We’d been so goddamn stubborn, both of us. So convinced we had to handle our grief alone, that showing weakness would somehow break us worse than we already were. But maybe the breaking was thepoint. Maybe we needed to shatter completely before we could figure out how to put the pieces back together.
