Winter in Kentbury (Kentbury Tales #6)

Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Holden

I lie on the couch, Jenna curled up close to my side, her breathing soft and even as she sleeps. There’s a small, contented smile on her face, and I can’t help but reach out, brushing a lock of hair away from her cheek. The temptation to kiss her again tugs at me, but I hold back, knowing that my touch might wake her.

As I watch her, a familiar ache settles in my chest, growing heavier with each heartbeat. The woman lying beside me deserves someone whole, someone good, someone far better than the man I’ve become.

I’ve done things in the military I can’t unsee, can’t undo. There’s a darkness in me that doesn’t belong anywhere near someone like her. She deserves a life of light, not shadows, and certainly not the scars I carry.

But as I look at her, so peaceful, I wonder what I’m supposed to do now. How do I explain that this can’t last, not when everything in me screams to hold on?

Outside, the storm has finally started to ease, the wind quieting as the snow settles in soft drifts. I feel a pang of sadness, knowing that as soon as we leave, this fragile, intimate world we’ve created will vanish. Whatever we have here is ours alone, untouched by the outside world, but I know it can’t last. It never could.

“Hey, princess,” I murmur, my voice gentle as I run a hand along her shoulder. “Time to wake up. The storm has let up. We should head out while we can.”

She stirs, stretching, her eyes slowly blinking open as she takes in my face. A sleepy smile touches her lips, and I can’t resist smiling back even though everything inside me aches. I can’t let her see the turmoil, can’t let her see how much I want to stay here in this moment with her forever.

“Oh, is it morning? The storm is finally letting up?” she asks, rubbing her eyes as she sits up. “Maybe I’ll actually get the flowers to the venue on time after all.”

She stands, grabbing her clothes, and heads to the bathroom to get dressed. I move around the room, gathering our things, picking up her scarf from the floor, and memories of what we shared last night flooding my mind, each one more vivid than the last.

The way she felt, the way she tasted, the sound of her voice whispering my name—God, I want her again. But I know better. I can’t give in to that need. She deserves more than what I can give her.

While she’s in the bathroom, I slip outside, shoveling a path from the front door to the truck, clearing out as much snow as I can. The roads will still be a mess, but at least I can make sure we’ll be able to pull out of the driveway. I finish the path just as she steps out, dressed and ready to go, her face softened with a look I can’t quite read.

Does she regret it, or is she as reluctant as I am to leave this strange, stolen time we had together?

We climb into the truck, and she settles into her seat, her gaze fixed out the window. The silence between us is heavy, weighted with everything we haven’t said, everything we felt in that house but are too afraid to put into words now. I feel her pulling away, the distance growing as the miles tick by, and it hurts more than I can admit. I want to reach out, to say something to bridge the gap, but I don’t even know where to begin.

“Thank you, Holden,” she says softly, her voice barely louder than the hum of the engine. “For everything.”

Something about the way she says it hits me hard, like a goodbye wrapped in polite gratitude. I want to shake her, to tell her that this doesn’t have to be the end, that there’s more here if she’ll just give it a chance. But I stay silent, my grip tightening on the steering wheel. I glance at her from the corner of my eye, noticing the way she presses herself against the door, her gaze never wavering from the passing scenery. She’s retreating, walling herself off, and I don’t know if I’ll ever break through again.

Finally, I clear my throat, breaking the silence. “Jenna . . . I need you to know something.”

She glances at me, her eyes guarded, as if she’s bracing herself for whatever I’m about to say. “What is it?”

I take a deep breath, the words sticking in my throat. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been good at this, at saying what I mean. But I need you to know that what happened last night . . . it wasn’t just a moment for me. It was . . . everything. And I want you to understand, even if I don’t deserve you, that I’ve wanted this—I’ve wanted you—for a long time.”

She doesn’t respond right away. “Holden,” she says softly, her voice wavering, “I don’t know what happens next. I’m scared.”

I pull over to the side of the road and as I put the truck in Park I say, “I’m scared too.” And before I know it, I’m leaning over, capturing her lips in a kiss that’s softer, but no less desperate than last night. She kisses me back, her fingers threading through my hair as she pulls me closer, and in that moment, the world outside the truck fades away, leaving only the two of us, wrapped in the warmth of each other.

As we finally pull apart, our breaths mingling in the cold air, I realize that there’s a future for us after all. I just need to get help and make sure I can be the man she deserves.

The wedding is only a few hours away, and all I want is to get her there on time. I know how much is riding on this job. Losing the flower shop would destroy her, and the thought crosses my mind to just send her the money she needs, anonymously, to keep it afloat. But I know Jenna—she’d figure out it was me in no time and send it right back. So I toss that idea aside and keep driving, jaw clenched against the awkward silence filling the truck.

Unable to bear it any longer, I reach over and turn on the radio. Immediately, I regret it. The song that starts playing is our song—the one that played the last night before I left town. I can still remember the feel of her hand in mine, the way her smile made everything else fade away. I should’ve done something then, but I’d been too afraid, too stupid, to risk losing the friendship. Funny how that worked out—I ruined it by doing nothing. With a sigh, I reach to change the station, settling on a classic rock channel. Black Sabbath fills the truck. Safer ground.

“That was a really good night, you know,” Jenna says, her voice breaking the silence. “Except for when you basically told me to fuck off.”

“Yeah. It was one of the best. Definitely a top ten.” I nod, keeping my eyes on the road. “Look, I know I messed things up back then, and I’m sorry. But things feel . . . right. Better. I want this. I want you.”

The air goes still as I wait, heart pounding. I don’t know what I expected her to say, but it sure as hell wasn’t what came out of her mouth.

“Holden, I want what I want as I said before. I just don’t know if we can. Especially if neither of us are not willing to move on from the past.”

The words hit like a gut punch. My hands grip the wheel, knuckles white, as I swallow the lump forming in my throat. After everything we shared back at the house, I didn’t expect this. But I can’t let her see the hurt—it’ll only make her feel guilty. I force my voice to stay steady, trying to keep the tremor from seeping through.

“Why?” I ask, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye. “You said you wanted to put the past behind us. You said you wanted to trust me again. Was that a lie?”

She doesn’t answer right away, just stares out the window, fingers twisting in her lap. “I’m sorry about what I said back there. I shouldn’t have led you on like that. It was a mistake.”

I know what she’s doing—trying to protect herself, trying to put up walls before I can break them down. But I don’t believe her, not for a second. I’ve seen the look in her eyes when she thought I wasn’t looking. I’ve felt the way her hand lingered on mine, as if she needed me just as much as I need her. Still, I don’t push her. I know her well enough to know that any pressure will just make her retreat further.

“I don’t think you were leading me on, Jenna,” I say, my voice quiet but firm. “I think you meant every word. I think you’re just trying to find reasons for why this won’t work.”

I watch her from the corner of my eye, hoping for any sign that she’ll respond, that she’ll admit what I know she feels. But she doesn’t blink, doesn’t react, doesn’t give me anything to hold on to. The silence stretches between us, thick and unyielding. I want to pull over, to shake her until she lets herself feel what’s there between us, but I know that’s not how this works.

I grip the wheel tighter, focusing on the road ahead, the snow blowing across it in icy sheets that make every mile feel like a battle. But with each mile we put between us and that house, my heart aches a little more. Once we get to the venue, I’ll have to walk away from her. Again.

And this time, I’m not sure I’ll have the strength to do it.

“I’m sorry, Holden. I really am,” she says softly, her voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.

I don’t respond, don’t even look at her. Instead, I reach over and turn up the radio, letting the music drown out the silence, drown out the hurt. She shifts, taking out her phone, her eyes fixed on it as though it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

Maybe it’s harsh to shut her out like this, but right now, it’s all I can do to keep myself together. I tell myself I’ll be fine once we reach Silver Pines. Maybe by then, I’ll have a handle on this mess.

But as we drive, my heart pounds with the desperate hope that she’ll change her mind, that she’ll take my hand, look me in the eyes, and admit that she still wants this.