[Reluctant Hearts 01.0] Caged in Winter

by Brighton Walsh

  The truth is, I want to be alone. I’m not sure I can handle letting someone in to help when the person I actually let see a blink of the real me let me down. Exactly like I knew he would. It’s too much, too much, too much for one night.

  I stuff my hands in my pockets and keep my head down as I hustle to the stop. It’s my own fault—these stupid expectations I set without even realizing it. My one rule in life has always been don’t count on people—don’t have expectations because then you’re never let down. Never disappointed.

  And by the hollow feeling in my stomach, it’s clear I had them for Cade whether I was aware of it or not.

  It’s a good reminder. A timely reminder. I have sixty-six days left, and getting mixed up with a boy like Cade is the last thing I need.

  Last night after telling him my name, I went home high on nerves and anxiety. I fell asleep to the image of him under the streetlight. Dreamt about what it’d be like to have him for mine. To open up to him like I’ve never done with anyone else. When I woke up in the middle of the night, panting and sweating with a scream lodged in my throat, that should’ve been enough warning. I’m not meant to form lasting relationships. To forge friendships based on respect and trust.

  I’m meant to get through life on my own.

  I’m meant to be alone.

  Seven

  cade

  I walk into The Brewery four hours earlier than normal. It’s stupid, really. It’s not like she’ll be able to leave with me or to hang out while she’s working. I don’t know why I do it. Why I don’t just wait until midnight, propped against the brick wall like always, but I want to see her. After two days of not being able to come by, suddenly it’s like I can’t wait any longer. I want to see the flush on her cheeks and the fire in her gray-green eyes and her hair a crazy, riotous mess piled on top of her head. I want to get lost in her husky laugh and see those bee-stung lips form my name.

  There are a handful of tables occupied, a few scattered people at the bar, and a couple waitresses milling about, but not the one I want. I spot the older lady behind the bar whom I’ve seen walk out with Winter before, and I head that way.

  “What can I get’cha, honey?”

  “Nothing to drink, thanks. I’m actually looking for Winter. Is she in back?”

  She stares at me for a moment, and I instinctively stand a little taller, though I don’t know if that helps my cause. Most of the time when people see me, they’ve already formed an opinion of me based strictly on my size or the metal through my eyebrow or the tattoos running down my arms. They don’t take a moment to talk to me, to find out what kind of person I am before I’m stamped as a bad seed. As someone who likes getting rowdy, who causes trouble.

  With the exception of some stupid-ass instances when I was a teenager, I’ve never been that kind of guy.

  Instead of answering my question, she says, “You’re the one who’s been walking with her…keeping an eye out for her after work.”

  It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She lifts her eyebrows at my formality. “That’s good. What you’re doing, I mean.” She looks away from me and continues wiping down the bar top. “Winter, she’s…tough. She’s been working here for over a year, and she’s never so much as let me give her a ride to that bus stop. She doesn’t take a lot from other people…doesn’t ask for anything if she can help it.”

  I nod, soaking up any bit of information she can give me. While I’d love to get all of this from Winter, she isn’t exactly forthcoming.

  “I don’t know much about her—none of us do. But she shows up on time, she does her job, and doesn’t cause trouble. She’s a good girl, but she’d spit nails if she ever heard me say that.”

  I smile, already picturing the indignation erupting on her face.

  “I don’t know what you two have going on—like I said, she doesn’t tell me anything—but I just needed you to know. Be careful with her. In all the time she’s worked here, you’re the first person who’s ever come in here looking for her. I don’t think she’s got anybody watching out for her.” She tips her chin up and stares straight into my eyes. “Well, I am.”

  My mood suddenly somber, I nod, my eyes serious as I meet her gaze, understanding the warning she’s giving me.

  She studies me for another moment before she nods and turns away, grabbing a couple beers for the waitress who’s waiting at the end of the bar. “Anyway, she’s not working tonight.” She looks at me over her shoulder, her eyebrows raised. “She was the last two, though.”

  I rub my hand over my face and into my hair, blowing out a breath. “Yeah, I couldn’t make it.”

  “Maybe next time you can’t make it, you call her, huh?”

  My arms fall to my side. “That’s the thing…I don’t actually have her number. Or her last name.” I can’t even fault this lady when she shakes her head and looks at me like I’m a fucking idiot. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to give me either, would you?”

  “How do you think Winter’d take that?”

  Even though I don’t like her answer, she does have a point.

  “Yeah, you’re right.” I nod and push away from the bar, my hands in my pockets. “Okay. Is she working tomorrow night?”

  “Better come by and see for yourself.” She returns her attention to the register, her back to me, and I take that as my cue to leave.

  Once I’m rumbling down the street on my bike, I replay the conversation we had. I knew from the beginning that Winter kept her cards close to her chest, worked hard to keep people out. I wondered if it was just me, though. If she was that way because of how we met. But after talking to the lady from the pub, it’s clear that’s just how she is. Winter’s a closed book. A journal with a thousand entries, shut tight and padlocked.

  And I can’t wait to crack open her pages.

  winter

  When I was thirteen, I thought I caught a lucky break. I was living with the same family for a year—nearly twice as long as any other place I’d been since going into the system. They were nice. Normal. The woman was a receptionist at a dental office, her husband a manager at a department store. There wasn’t any alcohol. No drunken nightly fights. No doors slamming, no screaming or swearing. There weren’t six other kids vying for attention or food. No bugs in my room, crawling in my bed, dirt in the bathtub, or mold in the corners. There were always clean clothes in my drawers and healthy lunches in my backpack.

  For the first two months, I was constantly on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Kids like me—nearly grown kids with sullen dispositions—didn’t get placed with families like that. They wanted the babies or toddlers or pretty little girls with pigtails and ruffle socks. They didn’t want hormonal thirteen-year-olds who hated the world.

  I thought they were crazy for taking me in. For keeping me. But the days ticked into weeks and the weeks ticked into months, and when the year anniversary of being placed there came and went, I knew it was different. I got comfortable in the routine. I let my guard down, just a little. I started to care about them.

  I found out the reason they took in a foster child was because they couldn’t have children of their own. It was that night, when I was sitting at the top of the stairs listening to a conversation they were having in the living room, that I thought…I thought everything was going to be different.

  Through overheard, whispered words, I learned they wanted to look into having me placed with them permanently.

  Permanently.

  I’d never had permanence my whole life. Even when I was with my mother, everything was fleeting, people and places and apartments mere flashes in the memories of my childhood. Nothing stuck. Everything was disposable. Even people. Even me.

  But this…this was different. It was something to be put in the foster home as a place keeper. Almost like rent-a-kid. It was another thing altogether to want to get rid of the yellow tape and keep me. I was scared and uncertain and nervous. But above all, I was
hopeful.

  Hopeful.

  A month later, I was back in a temporary group home, and the couple I’d strung my dreams on were happily expecting their first baby after eight years of nothing but futile attempts.

  I was a mountain of emotions then, bubbling with teenage angst and topped with the uncertainty of what my place with them was going to be. But in the end, it was the hope that killed me. That glimmer of possibility that maybe my life would turn out different than I thought it would. That the path my mother had set me on when I was seven could have a different ending. That I’d taken a detour, and I might end up someplace so much better, so much brighter than I’d originally thought.

  And just like that, that glimmer of light was extinguished, brushed away, and swept under the rug. Like I hadn’t heard those words. Like I hadn’t been hanging everything I had on the possibility of something more with someone else. With a family.

  Realizing you’re the only one you can count on is a painful lesson to learn, and not one easily forgotten.

  Yet somehow, after only a week at Cade’s side, I did. A total of seventy-five minutes spent in each other’s presence, and he managed to make me forget.

  I shake my head, forcing myself back to the books in front of me. The words on the pages blur, though, the code looking like a foreign language more than it ever has before. For two hours, I’ve been trying to focus on my homework, forget about seeing that bare wall outside The Brewery again last night. Pretend he didn’t ignite a shred of light that grew and developed into the tiny wings of butterflies fluttering around in my stomach.

  He didn’t. He didn’t.

  I get two nights a week when I can focus solely on homework. Two nights when I’m not working, and I’m wasting one of them thinking about shit I have no business thinking about. I pack up my things, shoving my books and laptop in my bag before I heft it over my shoulder, my head down as I walk toward the front of the library. I’m nearly out of the building, the cool metal of the door against my fingertips, and I hear it.

  That deep, rich voice that I’ve only heard for a handful of minutes but is burned into my memory. In my dreams, he says my name over and over again, just like he did the other night at the bus stop, and I want to slap him and gag him and bottle the sound to keep it forever. I close my eyes, hearing it repeat, a whisper growing stronger until suddenly it’s right there.

  “Winter.”

  Eight

  cade

  Her back is rigid, her shoulders tight, hands clenched at her side—everything about her body language is screaming at me to leave her the fuck alone. But I can’t back away.

  “I, um—” I clear my throat. “I went by The Brewery tonight to see you, but the lady behind the bar said you weren’t working.” Winter remains silent, so I keep rambling. “I’m sorry I didn’t come by the past couple nights. I had—”

  She holds up her hand, stopping me. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. You had to do whatever you had to do, and that’s cool. I’ll see you around.”

  And then she’s gone, pushing through the door and jogging down the steps until all I can do is scramble after her, no thought to leaving behind my bag and books scattered across the table Jason and I were sharing.

  “Wait. Winter! Wait…” I take the steps two at a time and quickly make up the distance between us, stopping to stand in front of her. I have my arms held out to the side, as if I’m approaching a scared animal. Which she might as well be.

  Instead of stopping like I hoped, she dodges me, shifting to the side and ducking under my arm before she’s cutting kitty-corner across the grass and toward the nearest bus stop.

  I hesitate only briefly, looking back to the library, then to where she’s getting farther and farther away from me. With a curse, I take off after her. Jason was roaming the library when I spotted Winter, so he’s probably wondering where the hell I am. I don’t even have my phone on me to text him. Hopefully he’s got enough common sense to watch my things and stick around until I get back.

  When I’m closer to her, I call out, “Hey, wait. Winter, please. Will you let me explain?”

  “You don’t have to explain anything.”

  “Obviously I do. It’s pretty clear you’re pissed.”

  “I’m not pissed. Why would I be pissed? You’re just some guy who showed up every night, uninvited, and trailed me to the bus stop. That’s it.”

  I grab her wrist, pulling her to a stop. Her entire face is a mask of indifference. Everything except her eyes. “It was more than that and you know it.”

  “What I know,” she says as she pulls her arm free, that fire in her eyes blazing, “is that I’m going to miss my bus. Good-bye, Cade.”

  She turns and walks away just as the bus pulls to a stop against the curb, and she increases her gait, quickly climbing the stairs and disappearing inside. I don’t hesitate as I follow her, hopping on the bus before the doors can close. I fumble with my wallet and shove some money into the slot at the front before I head to where she’s sitting, all the way in the back.

  When I take the seat across the aisle from her, my body turned toward hers, elbows braced on my knees, she doesn’t even look at me, her attention focused out the window. “Some people would consider this harassment, you know,” she mumbles.

  “I like to call it using my resources. I have your undivided attention for however long it takes to get to your place.”

  Her silence greets me, but I barrel on. “I know you said you don’t need an explanation, but I want to give you one. You deserve one. I didn’t forget, okay? Or just say fuck it and decide to not come back. I wouldn’t do that.

  “I just…I had stuff I couldn’t get out of. School and work and family stuff. I had to use the weekend to get caught up. I already don’t have enough hours in the day to do all the shit I have to and still take care of what I need—” I shake my head, clenching my fists as I stare down at the floor, knowing she doesn’t need to have my burdens unloaded on her. “Never mind. That’s not what I want to say. Fuck.” My shoulders slump, head dropping as I scrub a hand quickly over my hair, blowing out a frustrated breath.

  “You only do that when you’re nervous.”

  I snap my head up, meeting her gaze in the reflection of the window.

  “Rub your hand over your hair, I mean.”

  I can’t help it. I smile. Because her noticing my stupid tell means she’s been noticing me, and that whatever we have between us isn’t just in my head. “Yeah, well. You make me a little nervous.”

  She remains quiet, and I can’t tell if her lips quirk up on the side at my admission, or if it’s a trick of the light. She’s definitely not going to make this easy for me, but after everything I know of her, I expect nothing less.

  “I’m sorry, okay?” I try again, pouring as much sincerity in my voice as I can. “I’m sorry, and if I had your number or your last name, I would’ve called you or found your number to do so. I would’ve let you know I wasn’t going to be there. And I didn’t know if I’d get you in trouble if I called the bar looking for you. After everything that happened that first night, I didn’t want to chance it.”

  “I already told you—you don’t owe me an apology or an explanation.”

  “That’s bullshit, and you know it. Even if we didn’t quantify this…this…whatever the hell it is, that doesn’t mean I’d be a complete asshole and just bail. I’m not like that. I don’t bail on people. I especially don’t bail on girls I’m coaxing into letting me make dinner for them.”

  After a minute of heavy silence, she expels a deep breath and says, “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Okay, I accept your apology.”

  “Damn, I was hoping that was going to be, ‘Okay, I’d love for you to cook me dinner, Cade.’”

  She’s still facing the window, but I can see when she rolls her eyes, and this time I know I don’t imagine the curve of her lips in the reflection. “You’re awfully sure of yourself for a guy freezing his ass off, ru
nning after a girl he doesn’t know onto a bus. You don’t even know where we’re going.”

  I glance down, realizing I’m in short sleeves, my coat left behind with everything else at the library, and I didn’t even feel the chill of the early spring night. Shrugging, I say, “It was either grab my coat or follow you. And I don’t care where we’re going. I didn’t hop the bus for a ride around town, Winter. I’m here for you.”

  She hums, but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge what I said. By centimeters, she curves her body away from the window and toward me, and it’s almost like witnessing ice melt. Little by little, the hard shell of her is fading away. I watch her as she watches me, her eyes tracking from my face, down, down, down, and if she’s put off by my tattoos, nothing in her expression shows it.

  After a minute, she says, “Your girlfriend won’t mind that you’re chasing after girls you barely know? Trying to get them to agree to dinner? Looks like you’ve been together a long time…”

  My brow furrows as I try to follow what she’s saying. “My girlfriend? What—”

  Winter reaches out, tracing the letters on my forearm before she pulls away, and—Jesus—I’d give almost anything to feel her hands on me again. Dazed, I look down to where her fingers blazed a trail on my skin. Haley’s name and her birthday sit interspersed with other designs weaving in and out.

  I chuckle, running my hand over where she touched. “Um, no. She won’t mind.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Well, I do. Guys in relationships are off the table.” She shrugs, glancing down at the tattoo again before meeting my eyes. “Too bad…I was going to say yes.”

  winter

  A slow smile spreads across his face, his eyes dancing. There’s nothing sweet about his expression. It’s the look of a predator capturing his prey. And as much as the idea rankles me, I can’t ignore the flare of excitement that grows low in my belly, the awareness he makes me feel in my body.