Lastly, I’m sorry for failing you this one last time. I looked into your big, beautiful eyes, knowing this is how it was always going to end. Whatever short time we had, I am a better man for it. I’ve learned not to hide from affection, not to shy away from the difficult feelings I’d usually suppress. I now understand the difference between love and sacrifice.
And I know I’ve lost all hopes of you loving me back.
Although I have no right to ask, and I know you will not listen, I beg you not to follow me. Stay with the Souls, give them the love they need. Take my place as their leader. You will do a much better job than I ever did. People depend on you now. Being reckless with your life will have an irreparable impact on everyone around you. There are many things in life that they can survive, but losing you is not one of them.
I will love you forever, so much that it hurts. I will hold you and the fragments of our relationship I allowed myself to enjoy in my heart. And I will do whatever it takes to bring Meg back to you. Consider it my parting gift.
Always yours,
Mr. XO.
Chapter Forty
“So it’s been you this entire time?” Garrett openly gapes at me from the seat opposite. He leans forward, elbows propped on the table, his dark eyes flicking between mine like he’s trying to pry open my skull and read whatever’s inside. “You’ve been the one sending her cards and letters and chocolates and flowers and gifts. Since she was like, what, eleven?”
I sigh, regretting writing Avery that damn letter whilst Garrett was hanging around, wanting to go before Axel woke up. Now he knows everything I’ve spent years trying to keep guarded.
The jet lurches forward, engines roaring as it races down the tarmac, pressing me back into the plush leather seat. The force of acceleration hums through my bones, a steady climb pulling us higher and higher, until the ground falls away beneath us. I divert my gaze to the window, the hanger shrinking into a patchwork of gray and green. I wince at the pressure popping my ears, but Garrett remains unaffected, sitting back with a smirk.
“Damn, Riot. You went about this all wrong. I thought you didn’t know you loved her, and I needed to help coax it out of you.” It’s my turn to scoff, giving my dickhead best friend an incredulous look.
“And how have you helped with that in the slightest?” I drawl, and he ignores me, lost in his own little world.
“But if you’d told me you were head-over-heels in love with her, well shit… I might not have pursued her so hard.” Gare whistles, reaching for the minibar despite it being eight in the morning. I shake my head, a disbelieving smile creeping through.
“You’re a fucking liar. You’d have strung her up in my bedroom and forced me to watch you pleasure her day after day.”
“Now there’s a thought,” Garrett trails off, his dark eyes turning black as he sips from a mini bottle of whiskey. I kick his shin beneath the table, although I’m also mad at myself for putting that image out there. I can’t stop seeing it each time I blink.
“Doesn’t matter,” Garrett’s eyebrows raise, a wistful look passing over his features. “She’ll never fuck you now. All that bullshit you fed her about being a team and sticking together? You should know not to make promises you can’t keep.”
I sigh, hating that he’s right. It’s a lesson I was once so disciplined in, and another barricade Avery smashed straight through. It’s like when she’s with me, curled up in my arms and staring at me like the entire world is ours for the taking; anything will bubble from my lips. I’ll tell her exactly what she wants to hear, that I’ll bring Meg back, and that I’ll carve a way for us to be together. I'd bring the freaking world to her feet. And once she steps away, the weight comes crashing down when I realize I can’t do any of those things.
“She’ll never forgive you either, you know?” I add in as a last minute snide comment, although it’s a beat too late. Garrett leans back with a cocky stretch, kicking his feet up onto the empty seat beside him. Garrett doesn’t care to reprimand himself. He doesn’t tell himself he’s not worthy of their love or stand down to let others step in. He’s a bulldozer, demolishing the social norm and putting himself directly in the center of the chaos. He takes love he doesn’t deserve and never feels bad about it, unlike most people who strive to feel justified in accepting someone’s affections.
My jaw clenches the longer I look at him.
“Yeah, she will,” he grins like the Cheshire Cat, sipping his tiny whiskey bottle and winking. “No one can stay mad at me.”
And I know he’s right, the charming bastard. Even Axel, who will give him hell, will come around eventually. They always do.
Night is due to fall any moment as we enter the quiet suburb. I’ve been behind the driver’s seat of a rental Ferrari GT all day, with Garrett munching on stolen airplane snacks, drinking his body weight in orange juice, and pissing in the empty bottles. The glucose sugars have kickstarted his energy levels, his body physically vibrating in the passenger seat.
Around two hours ago, the radio was turned up to deafening, and it’s yet to go back down, while Gare pounds his head back and forth and screams lyrics at the side of my face.
“I really hate you sometimes,” I mutter under my breath. Although I am grateful for the company. Garrett is doing a fantastic job at distracting me from thoughts of Avery and how she’s probably cursing my name right now.
Halfway through Teenage Dirtbag, I flick off the radio and ease the car to a crawl, staring through the passenger window as we roll up to the address we’ve been searching for. There’s nothing sinister about it from the outside, but I know better than to let my guard down. I’ve dealt with Fredrick before, and to him, appearances are everything.
The sun is slipping below the rooftops, bleeding streaks of burnt orange and violet across the pointed rooftop. Shadows stretch across the pavement as I ease the Ferrari to a stop, the low hum of the engine purring through the chilled air. Garrett is still oblivious to the tension gripping my spine, drumming out a final beat against the dashboard with his sticky fingers.
“At least let me finish the song before reality hits,” he whines, slumping back dramatically. I send him a flat look.
“We’re about to break into a house, not headline Coachella.”
Garrett pouts, then leans forward, peering through the windshield. “Doesn’t look like a kidnappy kind of place.” And that’s the problem. It doesn’t. The house is clean-cut and prim, the kind of place with a well-manicured lawn and a porch light that flickers invitingly. No bars on the windows, no rusted-out vehicles in the driveway. It’s almost… painfully normal. No one passing would know what mess is hiding behind this pretty façade or that there is a girl trapped inside.
As if a switch has been flipped in his head, Garrett reaches back into the back seat for the metal pipe, his face hardening. He exhales, cracks his knuckles, and climbs out of the car. I do the same, my fingers tightening around the crowbar I brought as we move toward the house.
