Page 89

May 6, 2021.

All these letters were never sent. All addressed to me.

And it goes on and on back to . . .

My stomach plummets to my feet. Back to July 10th, 2018.

What kind of sick joke is this? Tears blur my vision as I try my best to pull the letter out with my shaking hands.

Dear Charlee,

I don’t know where to start, what to say, or how to begin to apologize. Right now, you’re probably back home, and I realize now that I don’t know where “home” is when you’re not staying at your dorm address. And it’s driving me crazy to think about you waiting for me when I . . .

God, Charlee, where do I even start?

I cry openly, my tears falling onto the paper. To hell with it. Let them ruin it for all I care. My eyes continue to scan the words as I furiously wipe my cheeks.

I wanted to meet you so badly. I was packed and ready to go. Lola was set to give me a lift to the airport. I knew I was hours away from meeting the love of my life. And then everything was ruined. My entire life has crumbled, and what’s left now lies in ashes.

Tears that aren’t mine already stain the paper. My thumb grazes the letter as if it can feel the sadness through the years.

And even though you’re probably furious, I hope you’ll find it in yourself to forgive me once I—

“What are you doing?”

I whirl around to find Oliver staring at the letter in my hand. “What is this?” I breathe, raising the letter in my fist. “What is this, Oliver?”

He moves forward, palms up as if he knows the wrong step, the wrong word, could make me bolt. “It’s a letter, Charlee. That I’ve been holding on to for years.” He’s close enough now that I notice his damp eyes. “Please,” he rasps, and moves another step closer. I take one back.

I don’t have a damn clue what he’s pleading for. All I want is for him to start talking. Start explaining why he left me at a fucking airport terminal alone and dared to continue to write to me.

Who does that?

I slam the letter against the edge of the bookshelf. “Where did you go on June twenty-first? Why did you never show up, Oli? Never try to contact me? Do you have any idea what it was like for me to wait for you for days, only to realize you’d never come? To have thought I meant something to you when, in truth, I was nothing but someone to pass the time with and discard at the first chance you got?”

I’m shouting now, but I don’t care. I’m being unfair, but I don’t care.

The dam has finally burst, and my anger needs out.

Guess I’m regressing to the second stage of grief, or maybe I never truly accepted the loss. Because I did lose him—and a piece of myself with him. Being with him for the past week has made me realize that, and I hate it. He had no right to take that from me. No right at all.

He drags a hand down his face, and when he speaks, I shudder from the coldness of his voice. “Get in the truck.”

“What?”

The next step he takes has him almost flush against me, towering over me in a way that makes my knees buckle. He grips my waist, holding me firmly upright. “You want to know why I never came? You want to know why I let slip the only chance to meet the woman I love more than anything?” His eyes search mine frenetically. “Get. In. The. Truck.”

I gulp my pride down at being ordered what to do and don’t say anything back.

He lets go of me and strides to the front door, grabbing his jacket and wrenching the door open. “Are you coming? Yes or no?”

His display of anger takes me by surprise, but I guess everyone has buttons that can be pushed. Maybe I hurt him. Maybe he didn’t like what I said. Fine. If we’re keeping score, he still has a long way to go to match what he dealt me.

“Yes.” I lean on my crutch as I walk to him and take the jacket he hands me.

Let’s get this over with, once and for all.

Chapter Twenty-Six