Page 85
To live in a world of if-onlys never brought peace. But changing his present to alter his future would.
“I’ll do my best to help her,” he said humbly, “and to convince her to stay.”
“Thank you, son,” Dad said. “I’m sure your words hold much more weight than mine do when it comes to Winnie.”
Matthew didn’t bother to ask Dad why. Instead, he stood, said goodnight, then headed down the same hallway Winnie had.
He wished he could go to bed right now, but he had one more stop to make on this apology train, and it was the worst one yet. He drew a deep breath.
Let’s get this over with.
Matthew found Winnie’s room with the door unsurprisingly shut. He hesitated a moment as he raised a hand to knock, rustling coming from within her room.
Was this really what he wanted to do, try to convince Winnie to stay? There was no going back if he did. He’d have to deal with any disagreements or arguments that came up. More than that, he’d have to try to solve those disagreements and arguments.
But when Dad’s words about Winnie’s situation drifted into his mind, and the image of her slumping down the hallway, shoeless and shoulders low, filtered in next, he settled firmly on his decision.
Yes, this was exactly what he wanted to do.
He knocked. The rustling silenced inside her room, but there was no response.
Matthew wouldn’t accept that. He knocked again.
A few seconds later, she answered. “Who is it?”
Her voice sounded harried, as if she’d just been interrupted doing something important. He had an inkling as to what exactly that was.
“It’s Matthew,” he responded.
Silence met him again. No rustling, no response.
“I just wanted to talk for a minute,” he continued, hoping his soft tone would convince her to open the door. “Preferably face-to-face, if you’re willing.”
Another few seconds passed by in silence, then footsteps sounded, and she finally opened the door.
Matthew stood frozen to his spot as he took in the sight of her. From the moment he’d seen Winnie in that Aston Martin, she’d been so put-together. Even when she’d been wet from the rain, she’d been pristine—her clothing, her bun, her makeup.
And now? Now, her dark, silky hair fell down past her shoulders in crooked waves from the bun she perpetually wore, and her skirt and shirt had been replaced with gray sweats and an oversized sweater with a large, red “U” on it. Her eyes no longer wore makeup, and the whites held a tint of red, hinting at the tears that had been shed that evening before he’d arrived.
She looked positively in disarray.
She looked positively…irresistible.
“Yes?”
Her words brought him back to the present. Clearing his throat, he looked away. “I just…wanted to see how you’re doing.”
“I think you can tell how I’m doing.” She waved a hand in front of herself.
That didn’t do Matthew any favors, as he just took to staring again. What was the matter with him? It must be the shock of seeing her in such a different light. Physically and figuratively. She just looked so perfectly approachable. He supposed that was better than how she normally looked—so perfectly unattainable.
His eyes shifted to behind her, and he caught sight of her suitcase half-filled on her bed. “You’re packing already?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Your dad gave me the weekend to decide if I wanted to stay, either to work at Foxwood or with the festival again. But I figured I may as well get out of everyone’s hair and leave without doing either.”
Matthew didn’t know where to begin.
“So, why are you really here?” she asked, walking back into her room, though she left the door ajar.
