I looked at Maddox, who was now digging through his dresser for what appeared to be thermal underwear, muttering something about Maya’s ruthless approach to winter combat. He caught me watching and winked, completely unaware that my entire future was balanced on a knife’s edge.
You said we have until Friday, right? I’ll let you know by then.
I turned off my phone and tossed it onto the bed. Whatever happened, whatever choice I ultimately made, I needed this. One perfect snowball fight. One afternoon of stolen kisses and hot chocolate.
One day to pretend the only thing that mattered was the way Maddox Sullivan looked at me like I was something precious and worth keeping.
Outside, the snow continued to fall, blanketing Legacy in pristine white.
And for now, that was enough.
#ToastTrauma #SolenneOrSullivan #StayOrGo #OneMoreSnowDay
20
#SNOWMUCHTOHOPEFOR
MADDOX
The Legacy CommunityBall Park looked like it had been taken over by an elite alpine warfare regiment. If the regiment had been run by five-year-olds with a sugar kink.
The SERA team had transformed the place into what could only be described as organized chaos—thermoses of hot cocoa and bags of leftover marshmallows and candy canes were lined up on picnic tables like soldiers, hastily built snow forts lay scattered across the field, and the sound of laughter echoed off the mountain beyond us.
I stood at the edge of the parking lot, camera bag slung over my shoulder, taking in the scene. Foster Blake, his boyfriend, Tommy, and a couple of the SERA guys were already locked in a heated battle with some of the high school kids, while Rosie Marian directed traffic like a tiny, bossy general in a purple parka.
And there, right in the middle of it all, was Adrian Hayes.
He was wearing what he claimedwas the latest craze in winter hats—a “Nordique Chasseur with ultra-luxe earflap detailing” that would have made anyone else look like a cross betweenSherlock Holmes and Kyle fromSouth Parkbut somehow just made Adrian look hotter.
He shrieked with laughter as someone nailed him square in the ribs with a perfectly aimed snowball, and something inside my chest loosened, a knot I hadn’t even realized was there unraveling as I watched him stumble backward, arms windmilling dramatically before he toppled into a snowbank. His hat popped off and he laughed again, clear and bright.
God help me, but I could see it. All of it. Family holidays with Maya rolling her eyes at our ridiculous snowball fights. Lazy Sunday mornings with Adrian wrapped in one of my old flannels, complaining about the coffee while secretly loving every minute of it. Hot cocoa by the fire after days like this, his cold feet pressed against my calves under a blanket.
A life that felt full instead of just functional.
“Maddox!” Maya’s voice cut through my daydreaming. “Get your ass over here! We’re picking teams, and I refuse to be stuck with Adrian. He’s already proven he can’t throw for shit.”
“I heard that!” Adrian called from where he was attempting to extract his hat from the snowbank and jam it back on his head. “And for the record, that was a tactical retreat!”
“Your tactical retreat looked a lot like getting your fancy ass handed to you,” Maya shot back, grinning wickedly.
I made my way across the field, dodging stray snowballs and trying not to smile too obviously at the banter flying between them. They’d developed an easy sibling-like relationship over the past week, all affectionate insults and shared conspiratorial looks. It made that distracting wanting in my chest grow even stronger.
“Alright, alright,” I announced, setting down my camera bag and pulling out the equipment. “Before anyone gets seriously injured, let me get some footage. This is supposed to be content, remember?”
“Buzzkill,” Rosie muttered, but she was already posing dramatically with a snowball cocked and ready to throw.
I spent the next twenty minutes capturing what had to be some of the most genuine content Adrian had ever been part of. No careful poses or strategic lighting—just pure, unfiltered fun. Adrian getting absolutely demolished by a fourteen-year-old’s surprise attack. Maya building a snow fortress that would make military engineers weep with pride. Foster and his boyfriend Tommy engaging in what could only be described as indecent snowball warfare.
“Teams!” Maya announced once I’d gotten enough establishing shots. “Maddox, you’re with me, Rosie, Robyn, and Foster. Adrian gets Alex, Tommy, Jasper, and…” She scanned the group. “Marco, if he ever shows up from that emergency call.”
“This seems deeply unfair,” Adrian protested, brushing snow off his absurdly expensive jacket. “I’m being discriminated against for my obvious athletic superiority.”
“Your what now?” I couldn’t help asking.
“I told you I was a three-time prep school snowball champion,” he said with mock dignity. “Remember? I’ll have you know these hands are weapons of mass winter destruction.”
The laughter that escaped me was unexpected, and I saw Adrian’s expression soften as he caught it. There was something in his eyes—warm and pleased and just a little sad—that made my chest tighten.
