The Last Letter(114)

“It’s just dinner.”

His face twisted with emotion before he smoothed it out with a nod and a forced smile. “Yeah, let’s eat. Colt, grab some drinks for the girls.”

Colt cheered and then got to pouring lemonade from the pretty glass pitcher.

We ate, and it was normal and excruciating at the same time. My kids lit up and never stopped talking, filling Beckett in on everything that had happened the last month. He listened and responded, his eyes dancing as he soaked up their every word.

I watched him quietly, dropping my gaze whenever he noticed, only to return. He was Beckett, but he was also Chaos, and with each bite I took, lines from his letters bombarded my heart, reminding me that the man sitting across from me was the same one I’d felt immediately drawn to. The same one who was sad, and lonely, and who didn’t feel worthy of human connection—of family.

We finished eating, and I stood. “Colt, will you clear the table? I want Beckett to show me the upstairs.”

“Yeah!” he said with an enthusiastic nod and then whispered something to Beckett that sounded a lot like “apologize.”

Beckett nodded solemnly and then ruffled Colt’s hair and gave Maisie a wink. Then he motioned for me to follow and led me up the stairs.

The stairs reached a landing, where the hall split in two sections with a bridge that crossed over the entry. “The kids’—the other rooms are that way.”

“Show me the master.”

He walked the opposite way and led me into a gorgeous master bedroom that had vaulted ceilings and massive windows. A king-size sleigh bed took up one wall, with silver and white bedding that I would have chosen myself.

“There’s a bathroom through there with two walk-in closets and a washer-dryer set. There’s a second set downstairs by the mudroom, because…well…kids get stuff dirty. Not that it matters, or anything. You can check it out if you want.” He sat perched on the footboard of the bed.

“I don’t need to. I know it’s perfect.”

“Well, if you didn’t come up here to see the bathtub, what’s up?”

“We’re not getting back together.” It flew out of my mouth.

“Well, let’s not pull any punches.”

“I’m sorry, I mean, I wanted that clear before I say what’s next.” I started pacing back and forth in front of the bed. Man, the carpet was really soft.

“Well, after that intro, I can’t wait to hear it.” He leaned forward a little, bracing his hands on the footboard. “But first, I’m supposed to tell you that I’m sorry. Again. Louder maybe, so Colt can hear. He’s advised me that girls like it when you say sorry. So, I’m truly, deeply sorry for lying to you. For letting you think I was dead. For not reading your letters after Ryan died. If I had, I never would have stayed away when you asked me to come.”

“You read the letters?” After everything, he’d finally opened them.

“I did. And I’m sorry. I should have responded. I should have come. I should never have kept it from you. I’m so incredibly sorry for the pain I caused you, and there aren’t enough words of remorse to express how I feel about costing you Ryan.”

I stopped pacing. “Beckett, I don’t blame you for Ryan.”

His eyes shot up to mine. “How can you not?”

“How can I?” I sat next to him on the wide edge of the footboard. “It wasn’t your fault. If there were any chance you could have saved him, you would have. If there were any way you could have changed the outcome, you would have.” I recited the words from memory.

“Ryan.”

“Yeah, Ryan. What happened to you over there, that’s not something anyone should have to go through. You didn’t intentionally kill that child. It was an accident. I know you, Beckett. You wouldn’t hurt a child. Accidents are horrid, and awful things happen with no reason and no blame. It wasn’t your fault. What happened to Ryan? That’s not your fault, either. You’re no more responsible for that than an African butterfly is a hurricane.”

“It’s not the same.”

“It is. There are ten thousand ways to blame Ryan’s death on someone. It’s my parents’ fault for dying, for changing his life that way. My grandmother for not putting up a bigger fight when he wanted to enlist. Terrorists for making him feel like he needed to get out there and do something. Me, because I prayed for so long that he’d come home without detailing what condition I wanted him in. But none of that matters. He volunteered to go on a mission, and my guess is that he would have volunteered to go even if you had been there, because that’s who he was. He’s the same as my father—it just took me years to see it. If you want to blame someone, you blame the men who pulled the trigger, because that’s the only blame worth placing.”

He dropped his head. I turned, took his beard-rough cheeks in my hands, and lifted his face to meet my eyes. “Sometimes bad things happen. And there’s no blame to be placed. You can’t reason with the universe, no matter how sound your logic is. If everything made sense, then Maisie wouldn’t have cancer, and my parents would be alive, Ryan would be here. You never would have grown up the way you did. We are imperfect people made that way by an imperfect world, and we don’t always get a say in what shapes us. I do not blame you for Ryan. The only person who does, is you. And if you don’t let that pain go, it’s going to shape the rest of your life. You have that choice.”