Page 47 of Wynter's Second Chance

He nodded, but didn’t speak, his gaze still fixed outside. It was clear he was holding something back, but I wasn’t going to push him too hard—not just yet.

I reached over and adjusted the blanket around him, making sure he was warm, then let the silence settle between us. I needed to give him a minute, just to breathe, to settle.

Once I was sure he was warmer and calmer, I asked quietly, “Why did you come here, Rory?”

He didn’t meet my eyes. Instead, his hand slid into his jacket pocket, pulling out crumpled papers. He fiddled with them nervously, smoothing out the edges, like it mattered.

“I’ve got thirty-seven survey forms,” he muttered. “Everyone loves Dad’s baking. They think he’s great, and I wanted to do something... anything for him.” His voice cracked on the last word. “I thought if I could show the bank how good he is... I could help him get the loan. He deserves it, you know?”

He handed the forms to me, his hands trembling slightly. It wasn’t just about the forms, though. I could see it in his eyes—he was trying to fix everything, but didn’t know how.

I took the papers, not really sure how to respond. There was so much care in his gesture, so much good intention, but... but he was in way over his head.

“You should’ve asked for help, Rory,” I said, my voice softening as I tried to find the balance between understanding and showing him the seriousness of what had just happened.

I paused for a moment, my gaze on him, making sure he understood that I wasn’t angry at him for trying, but I couldn’t ignore how dangerous it had been for him to just go off like that. The snow was heavy, the roads unpredictable. I couldn’t even imagine what might’ve happened if I hadn’t found him.

“You have no idea how worried your dad’s been. And not telling anyone where you were going? That’s... that’s scary. Do you realize how close you came to getting lost out there in that weather?”

Rory didn’t look up, his shoulders hunched in that way that made him seem smaller than his twelve years. Guilt was writtenall over him, but it was more than just the consequences of his actions—it was the weight of having tried so hard, and yet still not getting it right.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice so small it barely registered above the hum of the engine.

The words hit me harder than I expected. I couldn't just let him shrink into that guilt, not when I could feel the depth of his good intentions. I reached over, pulled him into a gentle hug. His body stiffened for a second, surprised, but then he relaxed, curling into me. He was trembling, whether from the cold or the storm of emotions I wasn’t sure. But I held him, my hand rubbing his back in slow, soothing circles.

“You were trying to help. I know that. But sometimes things don’t go the way we plan, and that’s okay. What matters is that you’re safe.”

I could feel the heat from his face against my chest, the way his breath hitched every now and then. He was trying to be strong, but at twelve, strength was often about allowing yourself to break a little. He didn't have to be tough right now.

He sniffed.

I hugged him a little tighter, not caring if the truck was parked on a snow-covered street. “You did a brave thing, coming out here to help your dad. I get it. But you can’t just disappear, okay? You’ve got to let people know what you're doing. That’s how we keep each other safe. Do you understand?”

He nodded against me, his arms slowly wrapping around me, clinging to the comfort like he was afraid to let go. The tightness in my chest loosened a bit, and I let the moment stretch out longer than usual.

“Just don’t carry this all alone,” I whispered into his hair. “You’ve got your dad. You’ve got me. You’re never alone.”

His head tilted back, and I could see the remnants of guilt in his eyes, but there was something else there too—a flicker of relief.

“I won’t do it again,” he promised quietly, his voice thick with unshed tears, each word trembling with emotion.

I pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes, my hands still resting on his shoulders. “I know you won’t.”

We sat there for a moment, the cold creeping into the truck through the small cracks in the windows, but neither of us moved. I could hear the faint rustle of his coat, the soft sigh he let out. His body was still a little tense, but there was something lighter in the air now, something more peaceful.

Finally, I pulled out my phone and dialed Taran's number. Relief ran through me as the call connected. The second it rang, I knew what I had to say.

“Taran,” I said, my voice calm but full of reassurance. “I found him. He’s okay. Just... wait. We’re coming home.”

CHAPTER 21

TARAN

I couldn’t believe Wynter was taking this long to bring Rory home. Every second that ticked by was another knot in my stomach. My hands gripped my phone like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to the world. I needed answers. My heart was pounding in my chest, my mind racing with every possible scenario, none of them good.

Where the hell were they?

I ran my fingers through my hair, pacing the living room, the clock ticking louder and louder in my head. My thoughts spiraled. If Rory felt that strongly about Wynter that he’d run away, that was it. There would be no way forward with us. I couldn’t push him to accept something he wouldn’t. I wanted to be with Wynter, more than anything, but not at the cost of Rory’s happiness. If my son wasn’t okay with this…

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