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Holy shit! Was Waugh the link they’d been missing this whole time?

“Do you remember a student named Freddie?”

“Again, why do you ask?”

“It’s just, me and my . . . uh . . .” Boyfriend? Partner? Future husband?

He was perhaps getting a little ahead of himself.

“Friend,” he finally settled on, though judging by Waugh’s quirked eyebrow, he’d noticed Eli’s hesitation over what word to use. “We found some letters in an old messenger bag that we came across at the Sport U Arena. The letters are dated fifteen years ago, and they’re written by a former Trailblazer named Freddie we can’t seem to locate. We’re trying to give the letters back, you see. And one of the notebooks in that bag had your course number on it, so . . .”

“You thought I might be able to identify who Freddie is. I’m sorry, Eli.” Professor Waugh spread his hands wide. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”

Eli’s spirits sank. Damn it. He’d been so close.

“And it’s not because I don’t want to,” the professor continued. “It’s because divulging student information without consent is a FERPA violation.”

What the actual fuck was FERPA? Some kind of university privacy act?

“And also because it’s been fifteen years. And I frankly don’t remember every student’s name from the past twenty-two years teaching here.”

“But you have had Trailblazers in your classes,” Eli pressed.

The professor nodded. “Several. Usually in my Sports Psychology class. I’ve only had one or two in the one you’re asking about. And no, before you ask, I don’t remember if either of them were named Freddie or what year they were in my class.”

Ugh. There went that lead.

“Okay, well . . .” Eli gave him a wan smile and rose. “Thanks anyway. I appreciate your time.”

“Can I see the letters?”

“Um . . .” Hesitating, Eli worked his mouth. “They’re really personal. I feel bad reading them. I don’t really want to pass Freddie’s deepest thoughts around like they’re a bong at a frat party.”

Waugh choked out a laugh. “Understood. But if you found the letters together with a notebook of class notes from my class . . . I have a sneaking suspicion I might know what those letters are.”

Hm. That was interesting. Worth the gamble?

He was about to find out.

He pulled up the photos he’d taken of the letters—Nolan had the real things—and passed his phone across the desk. “That’s the first one. You can swipe to see the other four.”

Waugh didn’t read them—it would’ve taken him longer than the few seconds he spent on each photo—which made Eli feel a bit better about sharing them.

The professor handed the phone back with a nod. “At the beginning of the semester, I task my students with writing a series of five letters to someone who significantly influenced their understanding of themselves. My course teaches that people create meaning by constructing stories about their lives, so the letters force them to ask themselves what moments became defining memories. Why did those moments become memories and not others? What story am I telling about myself? Sometimes we understand ourselves better when we’re speaking to a specific person rather than writing an abstract essay.” Waugh sat back in his office chair. “I think that’s what you’ve got there.”

Eli sat again. “So . . . the letters were never meant to be sent.”

“That depends entirely on the student,” Professor Waugh said. “They do hand them in to me, but it’s a completion-based assignment. I don’t read them—it’s not my place. What I do read and grade is the reflection paper they submit afterward. But what the students choose to do with the letters once the class ends is up to them. Burn them, shred them, stuff them in a drawer, or send them to the recipient. I don’t care. What I care about is what they discovered about themselves during this process and how that informs how they form relationships.”

Wow. This changed things. Eli knew that Nolan had been wondering why Freddie had never sent the letters, but this changed the entire purpose of them.

They weren’t love letters, not even close.

They were an assignment.

Of course, the fact that they were an assignment didn’t change that they were also deeply romantic. It didn’t change the raw honesty of them or the depth of Freddie’s fears and emotions.

How would Nolan take it, though? Whether Nolan realized it or not, he’d formed an emotional connection with Freddie, had gotten to know him through his letters.