Chapter 128 The Waiting Game

Chapter 128 The Waiting Game
The New Year’s Eve celebration at the Winslow Estate was a far cry from the polished galas of years past. Instead of stiff silk and catering staff, the Great Room and the cleared terrace were filled with the smell of slow-cooker chili and the chaotic noise of eight children. We were dressed in heavy knits and denim—the "Winslow-Vance uniform" for a winter night spent hiding from the world.

Despite the cozy layers, I felt a chill that wouldn't go away. Rhys wasn't here. He was supposed to have been back hours ago, and every time the wind rattled the heavy oak doors, my heart did a painful stutter-step.

"He’s fine, El. He’s probably just hunkered down waiting for a salt truck."

I turned to find Owen leaning against the terrace door. He held two mugs of spiked cider, offering one to me. I took it, the warmth of the ceramic seeped into my frozen fingers. Outside on the snow-dusted lawn, Jace and Aaron were supervised by a few security guards as they helped the older kids—Garret and Skylar—light Roman candles that hissed neon streaks into the purple sky.

"You’ve been staring at that driveway so hard I’m surprised the snow hasn’t melted," Owen teased, though his eyes held that familiar, protective softness.

Being only two years apart, Owen and I had always been a unit. My skipping two grades in middle school meant that by the time we hit high school, we were walking the same halls and sitting in the same honors trig classes. While Jace and Grant were already established "big brothers" on the varsity teams, Owen and I were the ones trading notes and navigating the social minefields of teenage life together.

"I just have a bad feeling," I admitted, leaning my shoulder against his. "With everything going on... it feels wrong for him to be out there alone tonight."

Owen sighed, watching a flurry of sparklers twirl in the distance where Ivy and Lucian were laughing. "It is strange. Not just the situation, but... all of it. If someone told us back in high school, when we were pulling all-nighters for finals at this very kitchen table, that you’d end up falling for the guy who used to bail us out of trouble, I would’ve called them insane."

I managed a small smile. "You remember that time junior year? When we got stuck at that bonfire party across the county and the car wouldn't start? We were terrified to call Mom or Arthur."

Owen laughed, the sound deep and nostalgic. "And Rhys showed up at 2:00 AM in that beat-up truck of his. He didn't even lecture us. He just threw our bags in the back, told us to shut up and get warm, and drove us home in silence so we wouldn't get grounded. I think that was the first time I realized he saw you as more than just 'Owen’s shadow' or his best friend's bratty sister."

He went quiet for a moment, his expression turning thoughtful. "It’s a lot to wrap my head around, El. My best friend and my little sister. I spent half our lives trying to keep guys like Rhys away from you, and now I’m the one checking my phone every five minutes hoping he’s safe so he can come back to you."

"Does it bother you?" I asked softly.

"No," Owen said firmly, bumping his shoulder against mine. "Because I know him. I know he’d burn the world down to keep you warm. It just makes the stakes higher. If he doesn't walk through that door, it’s not just a partner I’m losing—it’s my brother. In every way that counts."

A cheer erupted from the lawn as a series of sparklers created a glowing halo around the kids. Grant emerged from the house with a fresh box of crackers and cheese, shouting for everyone to come grab a snack before the "real" show later.

The clock on the mantle chimed, marking the hour. We still had a long way to go until midnight. I looked past the glowing sparks and the happy families, my eyes searching the pitch-black line of the driveway. The waiting felt like its own kind of winter—cold, silent, and seemingly endless.

I stepped off the terrace, the frozen grass crunching beneath my boots. The air was sharp enough to sting my lungs, but the noise from the house was starting to feel claustrophobic. Near the stone fire pit, my mother was wrapped in a thick wool pashmina, her face illuminated by the flickering orange flames. She was watching the children with a distant, melancholy expression that mirrored my own.

"He’ll be here, Ellie," she said without turning around. It was as if she could sense my anxiety radiating through the cold night air. "Rhys has a way of navigating the dark. He always has."

"I know," I whispered, moving to stand beside her. "I just keep thinking about how much time we’ve already lost. If something happens tonight, after everything we fought for..."

She reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. Her hand was surprisingly warm. "Life doesn’t give us guarantees, especially in this family. But it does give us moments like this. Look at them." She pointed toward Aaron, who was currently showing a mesmerized Lucian how to draw circles in the air with a golden sparkler. "In the middle of a storm, they found a reason to laugh. You have to find that reason too, or the waiting will break you."

I nodded, trying to let her words sink in, but my gaze inevitably drifted back to the dark mouth of the woods where the driveway began. Every set of distant headlights on the main road felt like a false promise.

Behind us, the heavy sliding doors groaned open again. Jace stepped out, his phone gripped tightly in his hand. The playful expression he usually wore for the kids was gone, replaced by the hard, professional mask of the Winslow heir. He caught my eye, a brief flicker of hesitation crossing his features before he smoothed it over.

"Everything okay?" I asked, my voice tight.

"Just a check-in with the perimeter team," Jace replied, though he didn't look me in the eye. "The snow is getting heavier toward the pass. It’s slowing everything down."

"Did he call?" I pressed, stepping closer. "Jace, did Rhys call you?"

Jace hesitated, glancing at our mother before looking back at me. "He sent a text twenty minutes ago. He’s moving, El. That’s all I can tell you. The reception is spotty, and he’s trying to stay off the main grids."

It wasn't enough. It was never enough. I turned back toward the lawn, watching a Roman candle shoot a vibrant burst of emerald green into the sky. It felt like a flare—a signal for a man who was still lost in the shadows. We had two hours left in the year, and for the first time in my life, I wasn't sure if the next one would bring a new beginning or a final goodbye.