The Last Letter(105)

The ten feet between us stretched endlessly and yet felt like nothing as I debated my next move. There were equal parts of love and lies between us, but my anger over his betrayal overshadowed it all.

I still loved him—both sides of him—but I’d never be capable of trusting him again. Without trust, what good was love? How could you build a life with someone if you had to question the truthfulness of everything they said and did?

“It’s not enough.” Once the words were spoken, I felt their truth ring in my soul. “You’ve looked me in the eye for nearly a year and lied to me. I shared everything I had with you—my heart, my soul, my body, and even my family—and you couldn’t even be truthful about who you are. I don’t know how to even process that. I don’t know what parts of you—parts of us—are lies or truths. I want to be strong and say that we’ll get past it, because we love each other so much, but I don’t think that’s possible. Not now, anyway. I don’t have enough strength left in me for this. Ryan’s death took it. Maisie’s diagnosis took it. I should have known you’d take it, too, but I trusted you, and now I don’t have anything left to give.”

My hand along the wall steadied me as I walked toward the front door. The sunlight streamed in through the glass pane, beckoning me like a promise—if I could just get out of here somewhat intact, I’d be okay. Because I had to be. I had Colt and Maisie to take care of. I didn’t have the luxury of falling apart like some lovesick girl.

I didn’t have the luxury of forgiving Beckett.

“I understand.” His voice came from right behind me as my hand gripped the door handle. I felt his nearness, that palpable electricity that had always sparked between us, and knew if I turned he’d be right there. “If you need anything, I’m still here.”

My eyes burned again, but this time it wasn’t grief over Ryan, but Beckett. The feeling was similar, knowing I’d lost the person I’d loved most.

“I think it would be best if you left.” I spoke directly to the door. Beckett remaining in Telluride would only give me time to fall right back into him—and I couldn’t survive another lie. I couldn’t be strong for my kids when Beckett brought me to my knees, and they came first. Always. “I’ll have your things boxed from my place and sent over. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

As surely as if I’d cauterized the wound with a branding iron, every nerve in my body cried out with pain, sharp and nauseating. Without waiting for his response, I walked out of the cabin and didn’t look back.





Chapter Twenty-Three


Beckett


Letter #22

Chaos,

Ryan is dead. But I’m sure you already know that. I honestly feel like I’m just writing it out so it feels real.

Ryan is dead.

Ryan is dead.

Ryan…

Nothing about it feels right. His body is still in Dover, being prepared for burial, and they’ve already told me that I can’t see him. In that way, I’m hoping it’s all a cruel joke, that he’s not really in a box. That I don’t have to figure out where to bury my brother.

My mom. My dad. My grandmother. Ryan. They’re all gone, and yet I’m still here. Is Maisie next? Is this what life really is? One tragedy after another? Or is this simply the way my life is going?

Colt and Maisie are devastated. Colt refused to speak yesterday after I told him, and Maisie hasn’t stopped crying. I, on the other hand, haven’t started crying. Not yet. I’m terrified that once I start, I won’t ever stop. I’ll just be this saltwater fountain who leaks misery.

Ryan was my best friend. My safe harbor in a storm. And now I feel like I’m out on this endless ocean in the middle of a hurricane, and the waves are just waiting to capsize me and take me under.

I know this sounds crazy, but the only person I want right now is you. You’re the only person I’ve been completely honest with these last few months. You’re the only person who might understand the debilitating, soul-crushing grief that I can’t even begin to fathom. Because I know, as much as you swear you don’t know what family is, Ryan was your brother. He was your family.

I’m just hoping you come for his funeral, because I know he would have wanted you here. I know I do. And if you can’t come, then I hope you’re not changing your plans. Please come to Telluride. Even if it’s just to get a cup of coffee with me. Please come.

~ Ella

…

I read the letter for the hundredth time or so, and then put it back into my nightstand drawer. I’d avoided that letter, and the two that had followed, for the last sixteen months, and now it was all I wanted to read—to hear her voice in my head.

If I’d read it when she’d sent it, instead of hiding it away, I would have come. I never could have denied her, and everything would have been different. Then again, Ryan would still be dead because of me, so maybe not.

I came down the stairs of my new house to find Havoc napping in the sun that came through the floor-to-second-story windows in my great room. I’d had a section of the trees cleared so I could see the island that perched in the middle of the tiny lake. Luckily, with the angle my house was at, I couldn’t see Ella’s house.

Maybe I was torturing myself keeping Ryan’s grave in sight, but knowing Ella was this close and so damn far was way worse. It had been over a month since she’d walked out of my cabin. My things had arrived that afternoon. My entire role in Ella’s life came down to four moving boxes.