Because the worst part isn’t that he lied.
It’s that the man I fell for in those letters was never a fantasy.
He was standing beside me the whole time.
Chapter 9
Dax
“Red.”
She freezes halfway down the hallway.
“I’m not done,” I say. “And you don’t get to walk away thinking I’m anything less than exactly what I am.”
She exhales, sharp and furious. “You’ve already shown me.”
“No,” I counter. “I showed you the truth without the courage. That’s not the same thing.”
She pivots slowly. Her arms are crossed tight, jaw set, eyes bright with anger and something more dangerous—hurt.
“Say what you need to say,” she snaps.
I nod once.
I don’t touch her. Don’t crowd her. Don’t do anything that looks like I’m trying to make this easier on myself.
“I wrote the letters,” I say again, steady. “Every Sunday night. It was my favorite part of every week. And I reread every one of your letters until the paper went soft.”
Her throat works.
“I never meant to trick you,” I continue.
The word lands heavy.
I step closer—not into her space, just enough that she has to acknowledge me.
“I’ve loved you since we were sixteen,” I say. “Since you sat on the hood of my truck and told me you were going to leave Devil’s Peak and never look back.”
Her eyes flick to mine, then away.
“I stayed,” I continue. “And I decided loving you meant more to me than leaving.”
Silence stretches between us, thick with everything I didn’t say for years.
“The letters weren’t a game,” I say quietly. “They were the only place I didn’t lie. Not once.”
“You let me fall for you without giving me the choice,” she whispers.
“I let you see me,” I correct. “All of me. And I was terrified you wouldn’t want that man if he was standing in front of you instead of ink on a page.”
She scoffs. “So you decided for me.”
“Yes.”
The honesty hurts more than defense ever could.
“I didn’t think I deserved you,” I add. “Not as Dax Hayes, the guy who never left town. But as the man who could love you the way you deserve.”
