“Give me her number,” I answer, grinding my teeth the more I think about everything Ashton told me. “I need to talk to her.”
There’s such a long pause that I have to peel the phone away from my face to make sure the call didn’t drop.
“Did you fall asleep?” I ask, frowning.
But then Emaly says, “Who?”
“Don’t play dumb with me right now, Em,” I warn her, not in the mood for games. “I know you have her number, and I need it. Ashton fucked up, and I need to make sure she’s okay.”
That wakes my wife up quickly. Probably because she hates Ashton. Or maybe because she simply adores Winter. “Okay. Is she all right? I’m texting you the number now. Do I need to kick the he-devil’s ass? Because I will. I’ll use my flight miles just to hit him where it hurts and then fly back to Cali.”
“Get in line,” I mumble, glancing at the message she sends with the number. “Got it. I’ll call you later.”
“Is she—”
She doesn’t finish her question before I hang up and dial the new number while driving a little too quickly down the interstate.
I don’t think Winter is going to pick up when I hear a quiet, “Hello?” come from the other end of the phone.
I’m not sure why the sound of her voice has my muscles easing into the seat, but it does. Even the exhausted tone that sounds heavy and forlorn makes me glad to hear it at all. “Are you home, sweetheart?”
Winter is quiet for a second, the subtle sound of a sharp breath being inhaled the only thing filling the space. Then, “Thomas?”
“Are you home?” I ask again, gripping the wheel tighter. My throat bobs when I hear the faintest sniffle from her end. “Ashton called me and told me…a lot. I need to make sure you’re okay.”
Once again, I’m met with silence. I know she hasn’t hung up because I can hear her choppy breathing. Is she crying? My foot presses down on the accelerator.
“You don’t—” Her words get muffled and hoarse, and it makes me want to beat the shit out of Ashton more than I already do. He isn’t the one who caused the accident, but he didn’t do her any favors by walking into her life like this. “You don’t have to come. I’m fine.”
All I say is, “I know you are.”
But there’s an incessant need inside of me to make sure she’s all right, and I won’t label what it is yet. I don’t expect her to tell me about her past. Ashton told me enough. It makes more sense why she’s so close to people in the community. Why Bev and Vinnie consider her and her sister one of their own.
Winter needed them. Her sister needed them. She’s passionate about Fairbanks because they helped them put some of the pieces back together.
I pull up to the front curb of her apartment building and waste no time putting the car into park. “I’m coming in. What number is your apartment?”
Another sniffle. “Thomas—”
“What. Number?”
Apparently, the seriousness in my voice makes her realize I’m not playing around. She knows I’ll knock on every single door until I find the right one.
“Two,” she whispers defeatedly. “It’s on the first floor to the righ—”
That’s the only words she gets out before I’m barreling in the front door the second someone opens it and veer off in the direction of apartment two.
I hang up the phone, bang on the door twice, and wait impatiently until there’s a subtle click of the lock before the wood cracks open.
Winter’s face is damp and tear-stricken, and her eyes are red-rimmed and swollen. It’s all I need to see before nudging the door open, backing her inside, and wrapping her in my arms.
At first, her body is stiff against me. Like she can’t believe I’d hug heragain. But the second she accepts it, she melts into my chest, and I can feel the tears soak into my T-shirt. I kick the door closed, run my fingers through her hair, and murmur, “I’ve got you.”
I don’t know how long we stand like that.
Me holding her.
Her crying.
