“I need some air,” I interrupt, jumping to my feet. “I’m sorry. I just need some air.”
Rushing from the living room, I pull my coat from the coatrack, swinging it over my shoulders as I race through the door. It slams shut behind me, thethudechoing into the quiet winter night.
Power walking down the driveway, I hang a left when I reach the end and walk up the road, needing to clear my head. Tears cascade down my cheeks as I let my feet guide me to nowhere in particular.
It’s not that I didn’t want the Stokes family to understand why I did what I did. I planned on telling them eventually, or maybe even explaining it to them tonight, in my own way.
But instead, Miller let the words slip from his mouth.
When I finally pay attention to my surroundings, I’m not surprised to find I’m back at the farm, standing under the Ryan Family Tree Farm sign. With a heavy heart, I stare at Miller’s last name, wondering how this last week of my life became so crazy.
There’s a thick chain around the gate and I can’t get in, so instead, I take a seat on the stump next to it, resting my elbows on my knees as I lean my head into my hands. I just need a minute, then I’ll go back.
I replay everything in my head, picturing the look on Tina’s face and the confusion on Tim’s. This family has been nothing but good to me, and I feel like the worst person in the world for deceiving them.
How could Miller tell them about my family?
It was an accident. I try to reason with myself.He didn’t mean to tell them when I wasn’t ready.
My tears continue to fall, the wind cold against them, causing a shiver to run through me. My nose is frozen and runny, thanks to the waterfall of tears I’ve cried.
The sound of footsteps crunching in the snow alerts me to someone else’s presence, and as I look up, I see Millerapproaching. His hands are in his pockets, and he walks closer with tentative steps, probably trying to gauge how upset I am.
When he reaches me, he drops to his knees in the snow and grabs my face with his glove-covered hands. “I’m so sorry, I overstepped. I fucked up. I’m so sorry.” He kisses me urgently, then pulls back and continues to apologize. “I didn’t mean to. It just slipped out. I wanted them to understand.” His kisses are frantic, and this time I can’t tell if the tears are coming from me or him. “Can you forgive me, Snow Angel?Please. I’m so sorry.”
“I just feel like such a horrible person,” I sob, and he pulls me closer in his arms.
“You’re not.”
“But I’m a liar. Do they hate me?”
“No, of course they don’t hate you.”
“Did you tell them the whole story?” My heart sinks as I ask. Part of me hopes he did, so I won’t have to relive it, but the other part fears their pity. I don’t want them to forgive me based on guilt about what happened to my family.
“I did. I had to, Zee. I’m sorry. After you left, the three of them were throwing questions at me faster than I could keep up, so I explained everything. They’re worried about you, but they know not to ask you about it. They’ll wait till you’re ready to tell them.”
“They don’t hate me?” I repeat my earlier question, my brain unable to focus on anything else or move past the agonizing thought of them being mad at me.
Miller squeezes my hands and dips his head until he’s in my line of vision, forcing me to look at him. “No Elizabeth, they don’t hate you. They’re just worried and they’re trying to understand.”
“Okay.” I nod my head, listening to his words as he brushes the tears from my cheeks. “Okay, that’s good.”
Miller and I stay in this position until I start to relax more. It takes a few minutes for my heart rate to return to almost normal, and I feel like I can breathe again. He gives me the time I need, and doesn’t try to move or rise from where he kneels, even though I know the snow has soaked his pants.
When I finally look at him without tears in my eyes, he squeezes my hands again. “It’s freezing cold out here. Want to go in the tent to warm up?”
I shake my head, letting out a small laugh. “No, that’s okay. Wouldn’t want to knock down any more trees.”
“Probably a good choice. I’m not sure anymore of my firs can take a beating. They’re already looking a little rough this many days after Christmas.” His hand reaches up to brush my cheek. “Do you want to go back to the house?”
I shake my head again, looking past him at the snow that begins to fall. “I don’t think I’m ready. I just feel like such an imposter. Part of me wants to go back, and hope for the best. But the other half of me wants to run away to your cabin and hide.”
“We can do that, if you want. Potato would probably be happy.”
Just then, the sound of snow crunching beneath footsteps draws both of our attention. Behind us, Tim, Tina, and Lincoln come into view.
Standing, I thrust my hands in the pockets of my coat, absolutely mortified that they’ve all followed me out here in the cold.
