“You… you and this weirdo. How do you not know that?”
A half smile creeps onto his face. “I guess I thought you were talking about Max and this weirdo.”
“Fuck.Max.Yeah, so three dudes,” I sigh. “I have sexual feelings for three men. You’re right, Dr. Wellings should be my first call tomorrow. I bet she has emergency appointments.”
He smiles and pulls me in closer, the warm scent of spice on his collar. “Is it weird that I’m just glad I’m in the group?”
It’s the last reaction I ever thought I’d hear from Ryan, but it’s one that makes me excited to be in his arms again.
“I’m not sure that’s a healthy thought for you, no. You should desire a woman who knows what she wants and be decisive about it.”
“You’re decisive,” he laughs. “You want all three of us.”
The mood has lightened in the room, and I’m beyond thankful for him making a joke out of my crazy night. I can use the levity.
“Oh, and this came for you today,” he says, handing me a manilla envelope with my first and last name printed on the front in bold black sharpie. It’s light, with something loose at the bottom.
“Did someone drop this off?”
He shakes his head. “It was sitting in front of the door when I came home for lunch. What is it? Are you expecting something?”
I look back at him before lifting the envelope and peeling away the top layer of sticky glue, pulling the lined sheet of paper out slowly. Staring down at the letter, my heart pounds. It’s written in dark blue ink that’s faded and worn. A tiny rip in the corner that looks to have been taped together again.
I switch the envelope over, there’s a note:My husband, and I were doing a sweep of a storage locker we purchased, and we saw this with your name on it. I hope it’s okay that we looked you up. We thought maybe you’d want it. -Kate
My skin tingles with discomfort as I hold the paper, my knees buckling beneath me, my chest tightening to the point that I worry I may be having a heart attack.
Taking to my side, Ryan guides me to the couch where we sit, staring down at the slightly yellowed sheet of paper, the words blurred together, jumbling as though I’ve just drank myself sick. I know that feeling all too well. Usually, I’m asking for it. Tonight, I’m not and this spinning is scaring the hell out of me.
“I can’t read it,” I say, nausea working its way up into my throat. I hand the paper to Ryan, not bothering to look up toward him as he begins to read.
“Evie,” Ryan begins. My heart stops. The breath is taken from my lungs, and it takes everything I have to hold my composure.Evie.No one else calls me that.
You’re the reason for everything I do. You’re my gravity. You’re what holds me in place, and you’re what gives me purpose. Look to the levee. We have a future there, I promise.Trust no one.Love you always, Max.
My brows narrow and my heart swarms with disappointment. I’m not sure what I expected, but I think it was more than that. “The levee?What is he talking about?”
Ryan reaches for the envelope, looking it over. “There are no dates on anything, but I’d guess this was about three years old. Maybe he meant to disappear? Did you guys talk about a levee at all, or a special place where you were meant to go?”
I take the letter and flip it back and forth, trying to figure why he’d write such weird, romantic cryptic things. None of that was Max. He was a man among men. He wasn’t the kind of guy to sit down and write me a sonnet. Then again, I didn’t think he would be the kind of guy to disappear.
I let out a sigh and stand from the couch, gripping the envelope in my hands. “Is it weird that I wish I’d never seen it?”
Ryan rounds to my side, guiding me into the recliner with him, toppling me onto his lap, his hand brushing against my head. “He loves you. That’s what you should take away from that letter. He loved you and for some reason he felt he had to run. He wasn’t murdered. You know now, he ran.”
“But why?” I chuff. “Why did he run? It makes no sense. He was paranoid in the weeks before, but he didn’t tell me anything. Which also makes no sense. Also, if he wasn’t murdered, he’s still out there. And I don’t know what that means, or what this means,” I say as I drop a small brass key out of the envelope and into my palm, holding it out for Ryan to see.
His face goes white, and his tone turns dismissive as he springs me from his lap and stands from the chair.
“It’s been a long day, Everleigh. Maybe we could debunk this next mystery in the morning?” He stretches his arms up and over his head, and I study him. The sudden paleness, his dry throat, the way he moves with desperation toward the bedroom. It’s unlike him.
“Yeah,” I say, tucking the note and key back into the envelope. “For sure. I’m sorry. I know you’ve had a long day.”
He steps back and kisses my forehead before heading toward the bedroom, his movements quick and anxious. I’m not sure paranoia is a specific diagnosis yet, but I’d beg to say I have it, because suddenly, I can’t help but wonder if Ryan is one of the people I shouldn’t be trusting.
Chapter Eight
Everleigh
