Then another one.
Then again.Five times in total—like I’m trying to memorize it—repetition somehow changes the meaning, softens the blow, rearranges the letters until they spell something else.Everything she says is so familiar and daunting, and it feels like her without actually being her.
The signature at the bottom is what traps all the air in my lungs and leaves me aching for the past and terrified of the future: K.
If I had any doubt that it was her, that K ...that K says everything.
It’s Kit.
It has to be.
I can practically hear her voice when I read it.And it’s not just that she wrote to me.It’s what the message implies.She knows.Fuck.Kit knows what happened.What Connor did.What I did and didn’t do.How I became this man who can’t hold his head up because he’s afraid to fail.She knows the truth now—the raw, jagged truth she refused to listen to when she saw it.
Now what am I supposed to do with this?
Shut down the computer and never sign back in again?
Go and look for her because she needs someone to be by her side while she’s dealing with the loss, the news, the ...whatever is happening with her life.But I can’t, because I’m not strong enough for that.Or am I?
“Huh.I haven’t seen you in front of the computer since that night,” Cleo says.When I look up, she’s cautiously smiling.Then she narrows her eyes, just slightly, like she’s adjusting a lens to study me better.“Are you okay?”
“Why are you asking?”
She touches the space between her brows.“Kit used to say that the space between your brows disappears when you’re concerned.”She then bites her lip.“Sorry, I shouldn’t mention her.”
“It’s okay.I don’t have a problem with it.”
“Then can you confirm that you’re okay?”
I should say yes.I should smirk and toss out some sarcastic bullshit about finally getting online without crashing the whole system, or maybe joke about falling down some weird message board rabbit hole where people pretend to be time travelers or argue about the latest John Grisham book.But I don’t because I no longer let my emotions control me.
So, I rely on what I know best.I ask a question instead of answering one: “Have you spoken to Kit?”
She pauses, chews on her lower lip in that way which always means she’s trying to decide how much to say, how much to shield me from, how much she thinks I can actually handle.“No.We spoke last Tuesday.”Her sigh is quieter this time, but it stretches out like she’s carrying something she doesn’t want to drop.“After Barret called yesterday, I tried to reach out.She hasn’t answered her phone.Lola said she hasn’t been at the shop either.Why do you ask?”
“Last night Barret called to let us know that Connor died.”My shrug is meant to be casual, offhand, detached.But it feels brittle the moment it leaves me.“I just ...I wonder if she has someone.If she’s going through this alone.”
Cleo stares at me for a beat too long, and I hate how easily she sees through the cracks I pretend aren’t there.She opens her mouth, then closes it again.Studies me.When she speaks, her voice is soft but steady.“You still love her, don’t you?”
Never stopped.I look at the computer and I can actually say that I’m in love with the person she’s become.But this isn’t the time to discuss my feelings for Kit.
“It’s not about that.”The words leave my mouth too fast, clipped at the edges like they’ve been sitting under pressure, waiting for the wrong moment to escape.“Her father just died.I’m wondering if she’s okay.”
But that’s not the full truth.It’s about her reaching out to a stranger online because there’s nobody else around her.She needs friends—Cleo.
Cleo, who is her best friend and might be the one person who might know what to say to her.Though she’s currently stuck in Oregon, trying to help our older brother recover from an accident that almost took his life.
Thankfully, Julian is alive, conscious, and cranky, which means he’s probably healing.Barely.But Cleo, Rhodes, and I—hell, even Alfie—are doing our best to keep him together—and to keep from tearing each other apart in the process.It’s like some twisted version of teamwork held together by duct tape, bad food, and the occasional guilt trip.
“I don’t know.”Cleo shrugs again, but there’s something resigned in the movement now.“When I called Bernice, she told me Kit’s having a hard time.She’s taking some time off from the agency.”Her eyes drift to the floor.“Barret said the record shop was closed when he stopped by.”
I nod, even though the weight of that statement sits like a knot in my stomach.“You should go check on her.”
She gives me a look that says she knows exactly what I’m doing—pushing this off on her because I’m too cowardly to face it myself.“Julian?—”
“He’s got his brothers crawling all over him, making sure he doesn’t break anything else.You could take a break from micromanaging every moment of our lives,” I tell her, gesturing toward the door.“Go.Be with her.Make sure she’s not completely falling apart.”
“Why don’t you go check on her?”
