Page 72 of When We Are Complete

But there’s this nagging thought I can’t shake: what if I can’t handle this? And worse—what if Jake realizes it, too?

Chapter 40

Kelly

I makemy way slowly through the icy streets, gripping the steering wheel. The wind howls, blowing drifts across the road in front of me, and when I finally reach the festival grounds, I’ve arrived at a ghost town. Everything’s blanketed in white, the lighthouse barely visible through the snowfall, its outline towering ominously against the storm clouds overhead.

I step out, pulling my beanie lower, the cold slicing right through the layers. I can barely make out the installations through the falling snow, structures that looked strong just days ago now seem fragile, vulnerable. Everything I’ve been working toward is at the mercy of this storm.

The wind picks up, whipping snow across my face, stinging my cheeks. I’m standing there, unsure of where to even start, when headlights cut through the snow. Jake’s truck pulls up beside me, and he hops out, his face half-hidden by his jacket collar and hat, his eyes narrowed against the cold.

“Hey,” he calls out, moving closer. He wraps his arms around me and kisses me.

Relief surges through me, my anxiety quieting for the moment. “Thank you for coming. You shouldn’t have though, I’ve got this. You’ve got a ton of other stuff to do.”

“I’d do anything for you, Kel. If you need me, I’m there.” Without missing a beat, he turns to his truck and grabs a pile of tarps and bungee cords. “Let’s start with these tarps, get anything the boys didn’t get tied down. Then we’ll try to shift what we can so it’s more sheltered. A lot of the stuff will be too heavy for us, but we’ll do what we can.”

We move together through the snow. Jake takes charge, tying down tarps, hammering stakes deeper into the frozen ground, shifting pieces so they’re better protected from the wind. His hands work fast and sure, his expression all determination.

He’s a machine, his every thought zeroed in on fixing, securing, protecting. And while he’s here to help, there’s a pang of isolation as I watch him.

He glances over, his eyes meeting mine for a beat, and he offers a quick, reassuring look. “Once these are all secured, we’ll have done all we can.”

I try to keep out of the way. He’s doing what he does best—fixing things.

“Hey,” Jake says, glancing over as he finishes tying a knot. He steps closer, lifting a gloved hand to brush a strand of hair from my face, his touch lingering. “You’re worried, but try not to be. You don’t have to deal with all this on your own once the storm is over. I’m here. And look, maybe we won’t deliver exactly what the mayor wanted, but she’ll understand. We’ve done what we can.”

I hold on to the comfort in his words, but my smile is tight, stretched over emotions churning in my chest. “Thanks. I really appreciate everything you’ve done here. I’m just worried thatthe storm is going to take everything.” I look away, staring at the half-secured installations, the snow falling thicker by the second, the wind snapping around us. And byeverything, I mean me.

Jake reaches for my arm, his voice gentle. “The work you’ve done—it’s already impressive. This storm won’t erase that.”

I bite my lip. I want to tell him all the crazy thoughts going through my head—the worry that I’m not enough, that this was a chance to prove myself, to really make Mom proud, and that the storm is threatening to tear it all apart. But instead, I just nod.

What I need to say—I’m scared, I’m overwhelmed—those thoughts stay trapped inside, tangled in my fear of falling apart in front of him. Part of me wishes he could see it, that he’d reassure me and hold me and tell me there’s nothing to be scared about.

But a bigger part of me is glad he can’t see it, that he doesn’t see my weaknesses.

“We should get out of here.” His eyes are steady as they tick to mine. “I’m putting snow chains on your car, then we’re both leaving. I need to do a few things for Patrick before I pick up Adele and get her settled at home. I want you to head home. I’m not arguing with you on this one. You need to go as soon as I’m done.”

I open my mouth to protest, but the words die on my lips as he starts working on the snow chains, quickly fitting them to my car. Once he’s done, he leans forward and kisses me so sweetly, his gloved hand finding my shoulder. “Please. Go home, where it’s safe. I’ll call you later. I promise.”

“Okay,” I say softly. He’s right—the snow is coming harder and faster and for now, there’s nothing else we can do. Maybe when there’s a lull in the storm, I can come back and see what else can be done. “Thank you for coming out.”

“Of course.” He makes sure I’m buckled up inside my car, before stepping back to wave me off.

I pull away slowly, and a few minutes later, he’s following me through the snow. When we reach his turnoff, he waves. I give a quick wave back.

As I drive, I’m the only one on the road. The snow picks up, blanketing everything and making visibility a challenge. There’s that now familiar tug and I make a small detour, stopping in front of my old family home. There are lights on inside, but every corner of this place seems haunted, filled with memories of my mother, my childhood, and her expectations. My hands grip the wheel as I watch the snow pile up around the gate and along the walkway.

How you do anything is how you do everything.Her voice whispers to me, clear as if she were sitting right beside me. That old mantra she’d drilled into me, the standard she lived by.

“There’s no point even trying unless you’re aiming for excellence,” she’d say, a look in her eye that demanded nothing short of perfection.

I sit there for a long moment, the cold creeping into the car, thinking about why I came back here in the first place, how this was my chance to finally make her proud. My hand presses to my heart, counting out each beat, willing it to slow, to fall into a manageable pattern.

But the festival, the relationship I’m trying to build with Jake—it’s balancing on the edge of ruin. The festival will fall apart and he’s going to see the real me, the one that fails, that could never make Mom proud, not really. And it’s all on me—I should be doing more, finding ways to hold it all together.

My mother’s words come back to me, her praise that somehow always sounded like a challenge: “You were always my strong one.”

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