I stared at the words. They looked pathetic. They looked too little, too late. Sending this now would just be cruel. It would be dragging him back into the wreckage when he had just managed to survive it.
He was the King now. He didn’t need a broken jester dragging him down.
I took a sharp breath, my fingers shaking as I backspaced. Letter by letter. Erasing the love. Erasing the apology.
I went to the contact settings.
Delete Contact.
The prompt asked me if I was sure.
Am I sure? No. I’m dying.
I clickedYes.
The name was gone. The messages were gone. The thread that connected us was severed.
So was he. For good.
YEAR ONE - THE REED LAND, NORTH CAROLINA
Now playing: The Night We met - Lord Huron
Thephysicaltherapybandsnapped back, stinging my palm with a sharp, biting heat. I didn’t flinch. I barely blinked. I was used to pain now; it was the only thing that felt real. The rest of my life felt like it was happening to someone else, watched through a layer of thick, dirty glass.
I was living back on the Reed land, staying in my childhood bedroom in my grandfather’s farmhouse. I was twenty-three years old, but my body felt eighty. My shoulder was a mess of scar tissue and stiff tendons, a constant reminder of the moment gravity decided it hated me.
I spent most days sitting on the wrap around porch, staring at the tree line where the woods swallowed the light. My phone sat on the railing, buzzing constantly. Evan. Maverick. Numbers I didn’t recognize, probably dirt sheets looking for a quote on the botch.
I let them all ring out.
Maverick gave me space. He knew the look in my eyes; he’d seen it in the mirror enough times. He knew better than to push a Reed when they were cornered.
But Uncle Scott was hovering.
He’d walk past the porch five times an hour, pretending to check the lawn or the fence, but his eyes were always on me. He’d eye the glass of water in my hand like he was checking the viscosity, checking to see if it was clear vodka.
“You okay, Si?” Scott asked one evening, leaning his hip against the railing. The sunset was painting the sky purple, but I couldn’t find the beauty in it. “You need anything? Tylenol? Anything…?”
He looked terrified. He looked at me and saw himself twenty years ago. He saw the potential for the pills, for the bottle, for the Reed family curse to claim another victim.
I looked at the water glass. It would be so easy to numb the throbbing in my shoulder. To numb the screaming in my head.
“I’m fine, Scott,” I said, my voice hollow, scraping against my throat. “Just tired.”
I wasn’t going to take pills. I wasn’t going to drink. I didn’t need to numb the pain. I deserved it. Every ache was a penance.
YEAR TWO -THE REED LAND, NORTH CAROLINA
Now playing: So Low - Koe Wetzel
Thegaragesatatthe far back of the property, a massive, corrugated metal beast that housed the ring my dad and uncle had trained in for thirty years. It smelled like canvas, sweat, old oil, and history.
I hadn’t stepped foot inside since the day I came home.
But tonight, a storm was rolling in off the coast. The rain was hammering the tin roof like gunfire, drowning out the thoughts in my head. I stood there in the dark, the humid air sticking to my skin.
I was wearing the hoodie. It was still oversized, the faded whiteNO ONE LIKE USlettering spanning the back. Reminding me it was the oneheliked me to wear when we were alone.
