So much for taking Alex’s advice about being careful.
SEVEN
Tyler
I wasin Elena’s office, but my mind was stuck on what Marcus had said earlier about how I wasn’t ugly.
He couldn’t see the inside of me. How could he know?
“You seem distracted, Tyler,” Elena said gently, her voice cutting through my thoughts.
“Sorry, I’m…” I started, then caught myself.
Her expression stayed calm and expectant, giving me space to finish.
Change the subject. Say something clever. Fix this silence.
Thankfully, I remembered what she asked me to do at our last session. Bring one of the letters. At first, I’d wanted to refuse. The thought of digging through those crumpled envelopes, reliving thewords I’d scrawled when I thought I’d never see anyone again, made me sick. But I’d promised Elena I’d try, so I grabbed the nearest one. Even then, holding it had felt like swallowing broken glass. She’d said it didn’t matter which one I brought—she just wanted me to have it with me. Or worse, talk about it.
“I brought the letter I wrote for my parents,” I admitted, shifting in my seat. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the folded envelope.
“That’s good,” Elena said.
I thumbed the edge of the envelope. “It’s probably the simplest of them,” I said.
Both academics, Mom and Dad had Jess and me when they were older—a surprise of twins. They tried with us, but we ran them ragged. They wanted to understand us both, but they couldn’t.
We were just… different. They had their world, we had ours, and they tried to bridge the gap, but I’m not sure teenage Jess and I let them in. Hell, different wasn’t even the right word. I’d joined the Army at eighteen, full of anger and uncertainty, desperate to escape boredom and academics. Jess went the other way—loud, chaotic, always chasing trouble, until she met Pax, but I couldn’t think about that right now.
Whatever. Neither of us fit the structured world our parents had built for themselves.
“Tyler?” Elena prompted, her voice still calm, still patient.
I swallowed hard. “That one was the hardest to write.” I opened the letter and stared at it. The words were simple, but they’d taken everything I had, and I cleared my throat. “So, um… you want me to read it?” My eyes burned with emotion.
“If you’d like to,” she said so gentle that it made me itch with a need to run.
I cleared my throat and blinked away the tears.
“So, um… okay. This is it…” I glanced up at Elena, and she seemed so damn proud of me.
I can do this.
“Mom, Dad, I’m sorry.” I stopped to take a moment to compose myself. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be the son you hoped for. The one who made things easy or knew how to let you in. I know you tried your best, even when I pushed you away. I know you never gave up on me, even when I wanted you to. Thank you for loving me when I couldn’t love myself. I love you both. Always. Tyler.” I couldn’t look up at Elena, I wanted to cry and forget, and I wanted to not be in this fucking room.
“Would you like to talk about the words you used?” Elena asked.
“No.”
She nodded, unfazed by my sharpness. “How does it make you feel reading it now?”
How did it make me feel? Temper roared inside me, fierce and overwhelming. It wasn’t only anger but regret, guilt, frustration—everything I’d been pushing down since that night on the roof.
“That I was fucking stupid!” I snarled. For a wild second, I wanted to lean over and punch her stupid face, to lash out, to break something, To do something. Abruptly, the rage vanished, leaving me hollow and ashamed. I wasn’t that person. I didn’t want to be that person. “Shit,” I muttered and hunched over the letter.
“Would you like a break?” she asked, nudging the bottle of water she’d left for me closer.
I shifted again, my fingers tightening around the envelope. “No. I’m good,” I lied. The sooner we were done with whatever was on her torture list, the sooner I could leave.
