This move, and losing you, have changed me. I was never like this before…
Why did I even bother coming here?
Then I think about you. It kills me to think you are hurting as much as me.
If I had the ability to make everything right, then I would do it in an instant. But the only option that seemed feasible to me on that day was to be far away and out of your lives.
I regret not trying harder to make amends and stay.
If only…
If only…
My thoughts are my nemesis.
The nightmares.
The heartbreak.
I miss your heartwarming smile and the way your eyes light up. I miss your touch, the sound of your voice, and even your lame jokes.
I miss you, Lottie.
Is there a possibility that we might meet? Have a coffee, and chat about basketball. Return to our roots when we first met. We were friends first.
What I’m trying to express is I miss you deeply, unfathomably, senselessly, terribly.
I hope one day you can forgive me.
Forever yours,
BJ
I sealthe letter and address it to Charlotte Hendricks.
Should I include my name on the back of the envelope?It will give her a chance to return it without opening it like she’ll more than likely delete the email as soon as she reads my name.
Charlotte knows my handwriting. It’s important that she maintains control and doesn’t get blindsided. I decide to include my address on the back. This way, she can choose to read my words instead of being surprised when she opens it.
A bonus to doing that means if she’s ever in Chicago, then she knows where I live.
I thump the desk. Again, I’m leaving the hard work for her. I should directly address the situation since I know where she lives.
Maybe we can write to each other.
Slowly make our way back to each other through letters, perhaps.
Three weeks later…
Slowly,I veer into the porte-cochere. Then, giving the keys to my new McLaren 750S to the valet, I proceed past security into the welcoming, warm luxury apartment foyer.
Thanks to the big dollars the Chicago Stingers willingly paid, my new life is a step up from my time in LA.
Three luxury cars, a fancy apartment in the city’s heart, a holiday house on the East Coast, and security everywhere I turn—it’s a sample of the life Charlotte lives. The opulencereminds me of her. And I die a little more every day knowing I was never good enough even though I have made a name for myself here.
“Mr. Johns,” the tuxedoed concierge greets me. “You have a package, sir.”
“Thanks for the heads-up, Bert.” I shake his gloved hand. “How’s the family?”
