I tense in his arms, then push back so I can look into his face. “You’re ... you’re not leaving Arizona?”
Hunter’s brows furrow. “Why would I leave Arizona?”
“To ... to get away ... from me and ...”
Hunter takes my face in his hands, his fingers gentle on my jaw. “Liv,” he says, his mouth curving into a very small but very real smile, “I’m not leaving Arizona.”
I should be relieved ... but instead, his words fill me with dread. Ending things with him would be so simple if he were gone. But to know he’s a few hundred feet away at the loan office every day? It will beagony. “Oh.”
He searches my face, and when his eyes drop to my lips, I think, for the briefest of seconds, that he might even kiss me.
It’s even more painful than the PVCs I had earlier today when I turn my head, taking away his choice.
Hunter stiffens. After a moment, he releases me and stands up. The silence presses in from all sides. “I guess I should go.”
My eyes burn, but I clench my jaw to keep the tears at bay. I can’t respond and risk losing control.
“I wanted you to know you can move back when you get out of here.” He’s hesitant now, and it breaks something in me. But I can’t let myself give in—no matter how badly I want him to sit back down and take me back in his arms. “Lou misses you. She needs you.”
I stay silent, my mind and heart at war.
“Liv ... don’t ever apologize for being alive again,” Hunter repeats, soft and defeated.
I can’t bear it. “Did you ever read my letter?” I blurt out, and he freezes in the doorway. “I sent a letter after ... I senta letter. They wouldn’t let me put my name on it, but it’s from me. Did you ever read it?”
Hunter doesn’t turn around. “I saw it on the counter when I got out of the hospital—with the angel wings at the top. But I didn’t remember until I realized what your party was for and ...” He breaks off, his voice like gravel scraping out of his throat. “I started to read it, but my mom grabbed it out of my hands before I could finish.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. If he wouldn’t have noticed the same paper on my desk that morning, would he have put it together? “Please read it. I wrote it for you. I want you to understand what this heart—what your sister—means to me. I didn’t know I was writing it for you when I wrote it ... but Idid.”
He stands there, his back to me for several long seconds. Finally, he says, “Okay.”
And then he’s gone.
32.
I’m lying in the hospital bed the next afternoon, waiting for discharge papers, when Hunter texts me. I thought he understood I was saying goodbye last night—that the letter I wrote seven years ago would be my final gift to him: the knowledge that his tragedy was my miracle.
But instead, his text is like a grenade molded from words. It takes me several minutes to summon the courage to open it.
It’s a picture of a flyer with a message underneath that says,Surprise! I spent a couple of hours going to elementary schools this morning, and four of them are going to do the free pepparkakor cookie initiative for their reading programs! You should see a significant influx of business in the next few weeks. And I guarantee when they come in for a free cookie, they’ll walk out with a lot more than that!
I pull up the picture of the flyer he made and press my fist against my mouth. It’s simple but catchy, with beautiful pictures of our store, logo, and address, and a gift certificate at the bottom for the teacher to sign when the student reaches their reading goal. I can’t believe he did this for us—for me. Why does he have to make this sohard?
It’s for the best. It’s for the best.
I’m doing exactly what Talia and Lou accused me of a couple of weeks ago, but not because Iwantto or because I’m scared. It’s because I care for Huntersomuch, and I know this is what is best forhim. He’ll move on soon enough—after all, we’ve barely even begun to fall for each other. He’ll find another girl who will see the kind, wonderful man he is, who won’t care about his scars, and fall in love with him. They’ll get married, have babies, and someday sit side by side on matching rocking chairs, waiting for theirgreat-grandkids to stop by ... many, many decades in the future.
And I will have been gone a long, long time.
I close my eyes and summon the courage to do what I know needs to be done.That’s really great, thanks for doing that. I’ll let my mom know.
The three dots appear. Stop. Appear again. My heart is in my throat.
Yeah ... I thought YOU would be excited.
I can picture the confusion—the hurt on his face. And it hurtsme. But I double down.I’m doing this for you, I think before I type,We all appreciate it. Every new customer will make a difference. I’ll make sure my mom finds a way to recompense you for your time.
My stomach clenches into a tight ball of anxiety when the three dots move across my screen for so long I’m afraid he’s about to send me a book. Instead, when his text pops up, it’s only one line: Is this really what you want?
