Our conversation continues for the next thirty minutes. A glance at the clock tells me it’s getting late. Well, late for a farmer who’s up well before the sun.
I should let youget to bed.
Jett
Yeah, it’s getting late, but I don’t want to stop talking to you.
I’ll still be here tomorrow.
Jett
Promise?
Yeah. Goodnight, Jett.
Jett
Night, Whiskey.
My heart somersaults over his nickname for me. It felt good talking to him, but he doesn’t know all my truths yet. He knows about the baby and why I left, but he doesn’t know about LA and the things I ran from. About the monster I left behind. I make a promise to rip the bandage off and tell him soon.
Before I know what I’m doing, my gaze lands on the wooden box. The one Jett left at my house the night of the storm, filled with keepsakes and unread letters. I haven’t touched it. I’ve been too nervous to read his words and how they would make me feel.
Standing from the couch, I move on shaky legs until I’m picking up the box and bringing it back to the couch. With a deep breath, I flip the lid and gasp at the stacks of envelopes, all addressed toWren. Only my first name is written across the front, no last name, and no address. He meant what he said about never having any intention of sending the letters.
I reach for my wineglass, and with the last gulp, I find the courage to rip open the first letter.
Tears stream down my face, but it doesn’t stop me from reaching into the box and digging out another one.
My chest aches as I place the letter back in the box and start to shove it away.
The pain he felt in his letter seeps from his words and my heart breaks all over again. I hate how he thinks he wasn’t man enough for me. I’ve loved him since I was eight years old. I loved everything about him, and I wasn’t afraid of the trouble he found himself in. He brought out this rebellious side of me, one I was too afraid to let out on my own. On days he felt a little too wild, I’d talk him down. We were good for each other. He kept me wild, and I kept him safe.
I reach for the next letter, because now I can’t stop.
I need to know everything, even if it breaks me all over again.
I read too many letters to count, not stopping until my eyes grow heavy. Drifting off to sleep, I can’t help but feel his love lingering in every line, even through the anger, the frustration, the death, and the despair he faced. It never wavered. That’s what I hold on to as I fall asleep, the pile of letters resting beside me.
Chapter 22
Jett
“Youdohavemynumber?”
My brother, Crew’s, laugh comes through the truck’s speakers. “Funny. You know the phone goes both ways?”
“I’ve been busy running our family’s farm.”
“Sure it’s not because of a certain troublemaker?”
I flick on my turn signal before easing right onto the road that’ll take me into Silo Bay.
Even without the mention of her name, Wren consumes my thoughts. It’s only been two days since Wren and I poured our confessions across my land. It was therapeutic in a way, but goddamn did it kill me to know how much I put her through and how much she had to face alone.
We haven’t seen each other since, both of us giving the other space to process, but we’ve been texting…a lot. The more we talk, the more hope I feel, because I don’t wantusto be over. I’ve fought many battles, but this is the most important one. My body reacts to her in the same way it always has, even with the trauma we’ve experienced. There’s no doubt in my mind Wren Drummond is it for me. I can’t wait to tell her, to beg for her forgiveness, and to see if she still feels the same for me.
“Your silence is deafening, big brother.”
