Dirty Letters(78)

Griffin took a few steps toward me, the gravel crunching under his feet as he walked. He pulled something out of his pocket and held it up. “I got your letter.”

“I know. I tracked it and saw that you signed for it.”

He shook his head. “Styx signed for it. Not me.”

“Your drummer?”

“I’d gotten drunk and passed out in my room. Styx’s room was next door, and he heard the hotel manager knocking and took the letter for me. When he saw the return address, he decided the last thing I needed was more communication from you.” He paused. “You fucked me up pretty good, Luca.”

It felt like a tennis ball was stuck in my throat, and no matter how many times I tried to swallow, I couldn’t get rid of it.

Griffin closed the distance between us and extended the letter I’d written back to me. It was still sealed.

“You . . . you didn’t open it?”

Griff shook his head back and forth slowly. “I was on my way to the airport when Styx finally decided to give it to me. I didn’t want anything you’d written inside to change my mind about coming, so I didn’t read it.”

My forehead wrinkled. I’d fucked him up, yet he was here without having read my letter. “Where were you going when he gave you the envelope?”

“Here.”

“But . . . but why?”

“I’m angry at you. I’m pissed off. I’m tired from not sleeping. I don’t want to sing another goddamn song with your name in it. I’m irritated as hell. But the fact remains that I still want to spend every angry, pissed-off, tired, irritated moment with you. So I don’t give a flying shit what’s in this letter. I’m here, and I’m not leaving until we figure this out. I don’t have anywhere to be for three months, so if you won’t let me stay, then my new tricked-out RV that cost me more than my house in California is going to be parked outside your house for a long-ass time.”

Oh my God. We’d come full circle. I’d stopped reading his letters so many years ago, and here he was today handing me my unopened one in person. I’d taken a crazy chance and parked my RV in front of his house, and here he was today ready to park in front of mine for a chance at us.

I took the letter from Griffin’s hand and opened the seal. My voice was low and shaky when I started to read.

“Dear Griffin,

“For eight years, I’ve been afraid of the dark.

“For eight years, I’ve been afraid of letting go.

“For eight years, I’ve been afraid of being trapped.

“For eight years, I’ve been afraid of fire.

“For eight years, I’ve been afraid of trying.

“Your love made me realize I wasn’t really ever afraid of the dark, I was afraid of what lurked inside the darkness.

“I wasn’t afraid of letting go, I was afraid to accept what was already gone.

“I wasn’t afraid of being trapped, I was afraid to be free.

“I wasn’t afraid of fire, I was afraid to be burned.

“I wasn’t afraid of trying, I was afraid of getting hurt.”



I knew the next few lines by heart, so I lowered my letter and spoke into Griffin’s eyes.

“I’m not saying I’m better, because I have a long road ahead of me. But I’m tired of letting fear rule my life. I’m terrified of loving you, Griffin. I’m terrified of what would happen if I let myself love you and then lost you.”

I looked up and saw Griffin’s eyes filled with tears.

“But I’m more terrified of living my life without your love than I am of taking a chance. So please forgive me. I screwed up. And I’m probably going to screw up some more.” I reached out my hand. “Please take me back, Griffin. Because I love you more than the total of all my fears put together.”

Griffin’s eyes went back and forth between mine. “What do you call a twenty-five-year-old British rock star who meets the girl of his dreams through a letter in second grade and drives to her house after she dumps him?”

I laughed. “I don’t know. Impetuous?”

Griff took both my cheeks into his hands. “Home. You call him finally home.”





CHAPTER 33

GRIFFIN


I dumped my keys on the table as I entered the house. “I’m back and I’ve got the magazine, love.”

Luca had been getting some writing in while I spent the morning out running errands. For several months, I’d been hibernating with her until I had to leave for the European leg of the tour.

The plan was that she would stay here in Vermont while I was gone. When I returned, we would venture out west together in the mansion on wheels I’d purchased. Then we’d divide our time among California, Vermont, and the open road.

I threw the magazine on the bed. Luca grabbed it and examined the cover. It was a photo of us where my arms were wrapped around Luca as we both smiled for the camera. The title was: Cole Archer: Meet the Real Luca.

“Oh my God. I look so Photoshopped.” She ran her hand over her face on the cover. “I kind of like it.” She laughed.

“You look beautiful, Photoshopped or not. I, on the other hand, look like Hortencia’s arsehole.”

“Do you think we did the right thing? I mean, there’s no going back now.”