Sienna: I can’t do that.
Derrick: Yes, you can.
I’m practically sprinting back home.
Sienna: We fly home tonight. I can bring it to you as soon as I get home.
Derrick: I can’t wait that long.
Sienna: If it’s something bad, don’t you want us around you?
Derrick: Yes, but I have lunch with Charlie’s dad tomorrow, and now I’m going to be stressing about this fucking letter.
Sienna: Maybe it’s a parking fine you’ve forgotten to pay from years ago.
Derrick: Do you think?
Sienna: I’m sure it’s nothing. I love you. Whatever it is, we will deal with it. See you tomorrow night. And don’t stress about it, please.
Derrick: I’m going to stress about it.
Sienna: I know but you can’t change it.
Derrick: You shouldn’t have told me. I could be in unknown bliss right now.
Sienna: I’m sorry. I thought you should know.
Derrick: Why do I have a sick feeling in my gut now?
Sienna: Because your brain is jumping to conclusions. D, it’s going to be fine, I promise you. I love you. I have to go, do not spiral.
I’m spiraling.
Derrick: Love you too. Kiss my babies and I’ll see you tomorrow night.
I’m not so sure about that because I haven’t used the name Derrick Joneson since I legally changed it at eighteen.
Not once.
Not ever.
What the fuck is in this letter?
Charlie picks me up the next day, looking like he’s stepped out of a Ralph Lauren campaign, linen shirt tucked into tailored trousers, smile soft and easy. He leans across the car console and kisses me, slow and warm, fingers brushing my jaw in that way that makes my chest go stupid.
“I missed you,” he murmurs against my lips.
“I missed you, too.”
It comes out quieter than I expected.
He pulls back, studying me, the line between his brows tightening. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie, plastering on a smile. “Just tired.”
He doesn’t buy it. His eyes flick over my face.
“Are you sure?”
