My eyes widen. “What? Where did you find these? How long have you had them?” The questions rush out of me before I can stop them.
I pick up the envelopes, the paper worn. Once white, now tinged with age. Some of the handwriting is smudged. My throat tightens when I notice some are addressed to him and some to Halle, her name written in the same delicate script. Only the first two at the top of the stack have been opened; the others remain sealed.
My chest aches. Everything he said earlier today makes sense now.
Maybe you could help me with the next one.
He’s been struggling to face these, to open them, to hear from her. This is why he wanted to show me, because finding the words to tell me is too hard, too raw and painful.
“The first night after Asher left to come back home,” he starts, his voice low and rough, “I was filled with so much hatred, so much grief. The memories of everything were crashing through me, and I knew Ray would be down at thelocal bar, drinking himself stupid, so I went to the house Halle and I grew up in.” He pauses, a quiet scoff slipping out. “The spare key, after all these years, was still in the same spot under the broken flowerpot.”
“What happened then?” I murmur, taking his hand back in mine.
“I walked in and went straight to her room. I tore through everything I could—drawers, the closet, under the mattress. I didn’t believe Halle when she said he got rid of everything. I had to see for myself. I can’t describe it, but I just knew she left us something. I found them hidden in the back of the closet. I froze, not believing it was her handwriting I was staring at.” His eyes drop to the stack of letters between us. “I shoved them into my hoodie, checked the rest of the house—mine and Halle’s old rooms—then went back to the motel.”
He runs a hand through his hair, the movement restless, his chest rising and falling faster as a shaky breath leaves him. I don’t believe for a second that his mom was a bad mom. I think she loved Hunter and Halle with everything she had. She just made choices that led her down a path she couldn’t escape, and in the end, she chose to turn it all off. She couldn’t keep going. I bet with every piece of me that those letters hold her truth. The truth that Halle and Hunter so desperately need to hear. Grief clings to the air, and sadness washes over me. I wish I could have met her. To know her before everything shattered into pieces for them.
15
I’LL MAKE A DEAL WITH YOU
HUNTER
Fuck being back here. This shithole that stole the life from my mom, the confidence from my sister, and the peace from my mind. It’s my own personal hell. I pace the front porch, pulling my hood up. The wood groans beneath my boots with every step I take. The glass above the door handle is shattered, like someone punched straight through it just to get inside. The broken pot plant still sits to the right of the door—cracked clay, dirt spilling out, the plant inside long dead. Dry and brittle. Just like this place. Lifting it slightly, I find the spare key, covered in dust, crawling with ants. It probably hasn’t been touched since the last time I used it. A shuddering breath leaves me as I turn it over and over between my fingers.
Go in and face it. Or leave and carry the guilt forever.
With a shaky hand, I slot the key into the lock. The door sticks for a second before it gives. The smell hits first, my nose flaring. I slap my hand over my mouth as bile burns the back of my throat. The stench is a mix of rot, stale booze, and something else. My eyes sweep across the living room. Empty bottles and crushed cans litter the coffee table. Pizza boxes slump across the couch, the dust so thick on the furniture that it looks dirty and old. I kick apile of worn shoes out of my way and head straight for Mom’s room.
There’s a ringing in my ears when I step inside. The mattress sits tattered and stained, no sheets, no pillows. Clothes are in piles on the floor. I gag, yanking my hoodie sleeves down to cover my hands when I spot discarded condoms beside an overflowing trash can. Rage crashes through me at the state of this place. There’s no fucking way Halle lived in this. The thought of her ever setting foot here sends my stomach into a spiral. I tear open drawers, ripping them from their tracks, rummaging through everything. I lift the mattress and toss it aside, the thud echoing in the silence. Gripping my hair, I stand in the middle of the room, chest heaving. Something has to be here. Anything of hers. There has to be. My gaze snaps to the closet, my heart cracking in two as I storm over, yanking the doors open so hard they slam against the wall. Desperation claws at me as I dig through the mess—clothes, boxes, shoes—throwing everything aside. The weight of the past pulls me down until I drop to my knees, hands braced on my thighs, fighting back the tears that burn behind my eyes.
A low growl rips from my throat.
I go to push myself up when something catches my eye. An envelope, half-buried where I’d been tearing through the clutter. Slowly, I lean forward, shoving another box and a pair of sneakers aside, and find a stack of them shoved against the wall. My heart stops. The ringing in my ears grows deafening as I pull them out. The world around me freezes and fades to nothing. The stench disappears. The ringing stops. All I can feel is the pulse pounding through my veins as I stare down at my name scrawled in my mom’s handwriting.
My throat closes. My fingers tremble as I shove the stack into the front pocket of my hoodie. I can’t look at them for long, can’t think about what they mean, so I force my feet to move. The house is silent when I pass through it. My old room is empty,stripped of every trace of me. Halle’s is the same, bare and hollow. But when I open her closet, I see the faint black smudges of charcoal staining the inside of the door. My heart shatters at the sight. How many times did she hide in here when I wasn’t around? How many nights did she press her hands against the door, holding her breath, waiting for the shouting to stop?
I left her here. With a mom who couldn’t fight anymore. With a man who never knew how to love either of them. My head hangs low as I leave, slipping the key back under the broken flowerpot. I can’t breathe. My chest burns. The tears sting but don’t fall, and I let my feet drag me down the street back to the motel.
“Does Halle know about these?” Madison’s voice pulls me out of the past.
I shake my head, closing my eyes. “No.”
The mattress dips behind me. The letters spill from their stack, fanning across the bed. Then I feel her. The press of her body against my back, her arms wrapping around my neck as she hugs me from behind. I exhale, falling into her touch. Her warmth seeps into the cold parts of me, into the places I’ve kept shut off for years. I soak it in, the steadiness of her heartbeat, the quiet strength, because I know when she pulls away, my heart, my body will ache for her back. My hands find hers, holding on like I can keep her there.
“You need to show her.”
“I know.” My voice comes out low, defeated. “When I got back and saw how happy she is… how far she’s come…” I pause, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m scared that giving her these will send her back to a time she’s fought so hard to move on from.”
Her hands move up and down my chest, slow and comforting. “I get that, I do. But that’s not your decision to make. That’s her mom, too, and she has you now. She didn’t back then. She also has Asher, and me, and Tessa… and now Sarah’s here. God, Hunter.” Her breath brushes my shoulder. “She deserves to see those letters. The longer you hide them from her, the more hurt she’s going to feel. You have to stop carrying this guilt with you. It’s only destroying the happiness you could be living in.”
My shoulders start to shake, and I try to hold it in, but a small laugh slips free.
Her hand smacks my arm. “Are you laughing right now?”
“No, no.” I grin, the laugh escaping again. “It’s just… you’re right. You’re always right.” I shake my head, dragging a hand through my hair. “I’ve been telling myself the same damn thing over and over. Sarah even tried talking sense into me when she found the letters in my duffel bag. But whenyousay it…”
I turn, catching her eyes. My chest tightens, words rough in my throat. “When you say it, it feels right. Like my mind can’t deny you. Madi, you could tell me to do anything, and I’d probably scramble to do it just to make you happy?—”
