I hope this is okay. If it's not, just send me a text with a single "stop" and I'll keep them to myself. Or you can have Amelia tell me. We both know that girl would love another chance to go at me.
I love you, Charlie. If you believe nothing else right now, please believe that.
Forever yours (even if you are no longer mine),
Keaton
I never told him to stop. Maybe I should have, since most people would call this a weakness. But I’ve never cared aboutother people’s opinions, and I’ve never let anyone dictate my choices.
When his first letter arrived, my hands shook as I debated opening it. I’d only just started therapy a week before, barely scratching the surface of what happened with Keaton. But curiosity won out. I needed to know every reason he could give for breaking my heart so brutally.
After reading that first letter, I shut down. I know Keaton meant well, and his sincerity practically jumped off the page, begging me to believe him. But words are just that—words. They sting, but they’re empty without action. Keaton might be on the right path, but he’s done too much damage for me to just take his word for it. I need to see real change before I believe anything he says, and I refuse to put my life on hold while I wait for him to figure it out.
Alek keeps asking me out, every chance he gets, but I’ve never been ready, no matter how much I wish I could be. He never takes it personally, which I appreciate, because he’s become a real friend since that day in the mess hall. He’s seen me at my lowest and helped Amelia pick up the pieces. The first time I laughed again was when he told us about a hookup gone wrong. Something about a girl choking on his dick and then puking all over him, which made him puke too because he can’t handle it. I wasn’t laughing at her, but at the look of pure horror on his face, like he was about to cry. For a guy as tough as Alek, that was his kryptonite. Ridiculous, but so perfectly him.
Later, he told me quietly that it was good to hear me laugh again. Then, true to form, he asked me out one more time. I turned him down with a smile and an eye roll. Sure, he’s attractive and there’s chemistry, but he’s Granite Bay’s biggest playboy. After being cheated on by the person I loved most, there’s no way I’d risk my heart with someone who has a new girlevery night. Maybe it’s not fair, but my trust isn’t what it used to be.
Thanks a lot, Keaton.
If anything ever happened between us, it would only be casual. A friends-with-benefits kind of thing. That’s all I have to offer anyone, and even that feels impossible, because just the thought of being with someone besides Keaton sends icy panic crawling up my spine. Honestly, I doubt Alek would mind something casual. I suspect he’s got feelings for someone else anyway, but I haven’t tried to figure out who. Digging into his secrets would just be another way to avoid facing my own.
I promise myself that once I’ve healed a bit more, I’ll start looking for answers.
The bell above the door jingles, and I turn with a practiced smile until I see who just walked in. My smile vanishes instantly.
Tell me she didn't. Tell me this bitch did not show up at my place of employment.
"What are you doing here?" I snarl.
"Now, now, Charlie. Is that any way to talk to a customer? Maybe I should speak to your manager. Wouldn't it be lovely if I took your job like I did your boyfriend?"
I let out a disbelieving laugh and shake my head. The audacity of this bitch. "You’re a real piece of work."
Lola, one of my employees, walks up beside me, and her pert little nose crinkles like she's smelled something nasty. "Need me to take this one?"
Everyone in Granite Bay knows Rianna’s reputation for wrecking homes, and now I’m just another name on her list of casualties.
"Oh, no. I can handle her. You head on home. I'm closing up tonight."
"Sure thing, boss. If you need me, let me know," Lola replies, shooting a dirty look at Rianna before walking away.
"Boss?" Rianna asks.
My grin grows at her surprise. "Oh, shoot. Guess you didn’t do your homework. I got promoted to manager before I even graduated." I spread my arms wide. "You wanted to talk to a manager? Here I am," I say, batting my lashes.
She huffs and rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Can I order now or what?"
Ready to unleash my inner petty queen, I stroll to the coffee grinder and grab a few bags. "What kind do you want? Actually, never mind. I’ll just pick for you."
I pour some in, but don't start the machine until she speaks the first word. Then the crunch and grind of the beans drown out her voice, and I don't shut it off until her lips quit moving.
"Oops. Were you saying something?" I ask sweetly.
"Yes, act-"
The coffee grinder starts again, cutting off her sentence, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling at the frustration in her eyes.
By the time the coffee’s ready, her face is flushed and her jaw is clenched so tight her cheekbones look like blades. Every time she tries to speak, I drown her out—slamming cups, rattling drawers, stirring coffee with extra force, grinding ice—anything to keep her voice from reaching me. Her words are like nails on a chalkboard, a sound so sharp it makes my skin crawl.
