Bitter Bite (Elemental Assassin #14)(112)
sorrow for disturbing her.
Love,
Fletcher
Despite the tears streaking down my face, I still smiled. Even now, the old
man was looking out for me, knowing how much it would hurt me to open my
mother’s casket and see the charred remains of her body. I started to set the
envelope aside, but something slid around in the very bottom. So I reached
inside for the object and drew it out into the light.
A second later, I burst out laughing.
It was a key to a safety-deposit box at First Trust of Ashland. The bank’s
name was stamped into the key, and someone—Fletcher—had scratched the number
of the box into the metal: 1300. The irony made me laugh.
“If only I’d had you last week,” I murmured to the key. “I could have
gotten you while I was down in the vault.”
But there was nothing more I could do here tonight, so I tucked the key and
the letter into my pocket, got to my feet, and picked up my shovel again.
“Need a hand?” a voice called out.
I looked up to find Finn standing next to my mother’s grave, wearing black
clothes and with a shovel propped up on his shoulder.
“What are you doing here?”
He grinned. “You mean, how did I find you? Silvio was quite happy to download
his tracking apps onto my phone.”
I let out a curse. “I’m going to take away all his phones and tablets and
everything else he has that’s got even a hint of information on it.”
Finn laughed and stabbed his shovel into the mound of earth I’d dug up. Then
he sat down and dangled his legs over the edge of the grave.
“There’s another reason I came here.” He drew in a breath, not quite
looking at me. “I finally looked through that box of stuff you gave me. The
one that Dad left in Deirdre’s casket. I read his letter too.”
I’d given Finn the box and the letter the day after the warehouse fight. I
should have given it to him sooner, the very first night I’d dug it up. Maybe
if I had, none of this would have happened. Maybe Deirdre wouldn’t have hurt,
tortured, and betrayed him. And maybe Tucker wouldn’t have hurt me by hinting
at ugly truths about my own mother.
But Fletcher had wanted me to wait until after Deirdre was gone—dead—to give
Finn the letter. I might have honored the old man’s wishes, but we’d all
suffered because of it. Still, I think I finally understood Fletcher’s
reasoning. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Finn by telling his son all the horrible
things his mother had done. He really had wanted to give Deirdre one last
chance, hoping that she was a different person, a better person, for Finn’s
sake.
But Fletcher had also realized that she probably hadn’t changed, so that’s
why he’d warned me about her. Hope for the best, but always prepare for the
worst was another motto that the old man had lived by. In this case, he’d let
Finn do the hoping and me the preparing. Now what was done was done, and Finn
and I would have to live with my mistakes and all the painful consequences of
them.
Finn pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket and passed it down to me.
“Here. I know you want to read it.”
“I do want to read it, but that doesn’t mean I should. Or that I have any
right to. Fletcher left it for you, not me.”
He grinned, but it was a sad expression. “Just read it, okay, Gin?”
I nodded and held out my hand. Finn leaned down and helped me up out of the
grave. I sat down beside him, our legs hanging over the edge. Then I unfolded
the letter and began to read.
Dear Finn,
If you are reading this, then I am gone, but your mother is back . . .
It was a long letter, much longer than the one Fletcher had written me, and in
it he recapped his relationship with Deirdre. For once, she hadn’t been
lying, and everything had happened just as she’d said. She’d accidentally
gotten pregnant, tricked Fletcher into killing her parents, threatened to
freeze Finn with her Ice magic. Fletcher wrote that he’d kept the few things
he’d had of Deirdre’s because he thought Finn might want them someday. And
he also confirmed my suspicion about hoping that Deirdre was different from
the woman he’d known and that she would never hurt Finn the way that she had
him.
But it was the last few lines of the letter I lingered over.
I don’t regret what your mother did to me because I have you as a result. I
would suffer through it all again—and again—if it meant having you as my
son.
I’m so proud of you and the man you’ve become.
I love you so much.
Now and always.
Fletcher
Tears gathered in my eyes, but I blinked them back and looked at Finn to find
that he was doing the same thing. I had to clear the emotion out of my throat
before I could speak.
“He meant it, you know. Every single word. He was so proud of you, and he