But I don’t mind. Not at all.
“We don’t have to talk about it,” I begin softly, combing my fingers through her hair and resting my chin on the top of her head. “But we can if you want to. There’s no pressure.”
It takes her a few moments to collect herself and pull away, using her wrist to wipe at her cheek. “Why are you here, Moskins?”
I shake my head, suddenly hating her using that name. “It’s Thomas to you.”
Her throat bobs with a swallow, and she closes her eyes and rubs them with the heels of her palms. “What are you doing here, Thomas?”
I release a quiet breath. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m checking on you.”
She cracks her eyes open, and there’s an emptiness there I want to fill. “I’m not your responsibility. Or your friend. You don’t need to do that.”
I lift my hand and swipe the pad of my thumb over her cheek to capture a fallen tear. “Just because you aren’t my responsibility doesn’t mean I can’t make sure you’re okay.”
Her eyes narrow, and the sadness coating her glassy gaze morphs into anger. “Is this a game to you? I’m not particularlyin the mood to deal with your hot and cold ass. You’re giving me whiplash.”
My jaw tics. “Does it look like I’m playing? The second Ashton called me today, the only person I wanted to see was you. Do you think I like feeling this way?”
She throws her hands up. “What way? And why should I give a shit howyoufeel right now?”
She’s right.Fuck.She’s right.
I hold my palms out in surrender. “I’m not trying to make this about me. I just wanted to see you. Not because I feel obligated, but because despite every fiber of my being telling me I shouldn’t, I give a shit.”
Speaking that truth aloud lifts a weight from my chest that I didn’t know was sitting there for so long.
Winter’s lips part, but nothing comes out as she stares at me. She’s as confused as I am about whatever lingers between us.
Not friendship. Whatever we’re classified as goes beyond that. We’ve crossed lines. Played with fire. And maybe this is us paying the consequences of those actions.
Feeling more than we signed up for.
Being vulnerable when we don’t want to be.
We hold each other’s secrets. Not to trade, sell, or give away. We hold them so we can finally fuckingbreathe.
Winter doesn’t say a word as she walks over to the small couch pushed against a wall. She drops onto it and brings her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them.
I follow her in, not sitting, but standing a few feet away to give her space.
She says, “I was thirteen when they died.”
I’m silent as she stares down at the floor and squeezes herself for comfort. The information she’s offering me straightens my spine, and I cross my arms and ball my hands into fists as she keeps going.
“I found out about the accident hours after they were found by a bystander driving home from work. There was so much damage to the car, the police said the driver that hit them would have been going twice the speed limit when they made impact.” Her eyes close, and a shiver rocks her body. “The first time I saw the photos was at the trial.”
I push off the wall and kneel in front of her, wanting nothing more than to touch her. To comfort her. To be there in some way. But I force my hands to remain by my sides, fingers clenched into balled-up fists.
She shakes her head as more tears flow down her face like a waterfall. “You want to know the worst part? The first responders on the scene said they didn’t die right away. They said that both of my parents were alive. In rough shape, but alive by some miracle. By the time they got the jaws of life there to c-cut them out of the car, my father was dead. Mom was…” She shakes her head, lips quivering. “During the trial, they showed photos of footprints from a third party leading up to the driver’s side, where my dad was trapped by crushed metal. Those same footprints were seen leaving the scene. The person who hit them left them to die, Thomas. Adam Burgessleftthem there. Two innocent people who just wanted to come home to their teenage daughter.”
My throat bobs as her voice cracks, and she squeezes herself tighter.
Ashton doesn’t talk about his family, and I never gave a shit enough to ask about them. He wasn’t hired to divulge personal information about himself, even if he was always up my ass trying to get info on me. Maybe I should have pressed. I should have cared enough to wonder why he was so tightly lipped about his past when he had roots here.
“I didn’t know,” I tell her. “About any of it. I didn’t know my agent had a personal connection to you. That his brother did that to your family.”
Her eyes open, narrowing into slits. “But you asked me about him. You wanted to know if I knew him. You obviously suspected something.”
