I nod. “This is…I don’t know. Radar was my last connection to her. I’m not trying to get back in her life. I just want her to know how sorry I am…about everything. Maybe that’s the closure I need to finally move on.”
Gabe levels me with a serious look. “So you’re not going to bug her. You’re just going to send your condolences and apologies, and if she doesn’t respond, that’s that? You’ll lose her address, never talk to her again?”
“Yeah. I guess.” My stomach twists at the thought, but what choice do I have?
He nods. “Okay. Then I’ll find her for you.”
My eyes bug out at the offer, and I suck in a breath. “You can do that?!”
He wiggles his fingers. “I have my ways. But if anyone asks, it didn’t come from me.”
While he taps his keyboard and clicks through windows, I push up from my office chair and pace back and forth in the small office, tail flicking and every muscle tense with anticipation. I’m going to learn her address. I’m going to learn where shelives.
Gabe spins around in his chair. “Done.”
My phone buzzes with a notification. Swallowing hard, I open a message from Gabe. Caroline Stanley. Address in San Drogo, California. A beach town. Iknewit.
“Married name?” I ask, voicing a fear I hadn’t yet acknowledged.
Gabe pauses, then gives a slow nod. “Sorry, man. Married with kids.”
She’s married. In love with someone else. Carried his children. My chest tightens, squeezing my heart harder and harder until I force myself to breathe. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Doesn’t change anything. Thanks. Appreciate it.”
“No problem.” He spins back around, resumes working.
I try, but for the rest of the day, I just compose stupid letters in my head.
Dear Cari, So sorry to hear about Radar’s passing…
Dear Cari, I wanted to say how sorry I am for everything…
Dear Cari, I’m a sorry excuse for a dragon who didn’t contact you until it was too late to do anything about my fifteen years of unrequited feelings…
That night at the hive, it’s like I’m in a fever to get it all out on paper. Writing and rewriting, crossing out. Pacing around and talking to myself. Talking toher.
I forget about dinner until someone knocks on my door with a plate of leftovers. I thank them and get back to work. Barely notice what I’m eating. By one o’clock in the morning, I have a five-page letter that says everything I want her to know: My condolences. My regrets about the past. My genuine hopes for her happiness and health.
I leave out the crushing disappointment, the acid jealousy burning in my guts, the rage that has my feral form vibrating to murder the male lucky enough to call her his.
I seal it in an envelope, address and stamp it. After placing it carefully on the table by the door to mail tomorrow, I curl up in my nest and close my eyes. But even though I’m exhausted, I can’t sleep.
Behind my lids, I see Cari getting the letter.
She’s surprised. Maybe a little confused. She shows it to her husband and explains I’m just some guy from high school who had a crush. Hasn’t thought of me in a decade or more. Drops it in the recycling bin.
Why even send it? I fist the sheets and try again.
She gets the letter. She presses it to her heart. She hides it from her husband and reads it in secret, tortured by what might have been. She cries over losing me.
Yes, my feral form gloats.Mate. Mine.
No. Damn it. That’s not what I want, either.
She gets the letter. She’s comforted by it. Happy. A little wistful, maybe. Wishes she could call me to reminisce about old times with Radar.
I push up out of bed, rip open the envelope, scribble my number at the bottom under my signature. Seal it in a fresh envelope and address it again. I pick at the stamp on the torn envelope with one claw so I can salvage it.
It rips.
