The Last Letter(116)

He stood back up and came to my side.

“So, we’re not together,” I reiterated. No good came from confusing kids. “But I know you guys love him, and he loves you. So from now on, as long as everyone is on the same page, you can come over whenever Beckett says it’s cool. Soccer, treatments, phone calls, visits, we’ll work it out.”

Maisie’s mouth popped open. “Really?”

“Really,” I promised her.

Colt had been a silent ball of rage since I’d split with Beckett, but Maisie had been the most openly vocal and sometimes downright mean.

“So you’re not together, but we get to keep him? He’s ours?”

More than you know.

“That’s what I’m saying.”

The kids flew out of their chairs, hugging Beckett, then me, then back to Beckett, then each other. Then Maisie hugged Beckett again and whispered something in his ear. He gave her a smile that bordered on tears and said, “Me, too.”

We walked the kids to my car, and they buckled in. Once the doors were shut, I turned to Beckett, who again had his hands in his pockets. For having a crazy amount of self-control, I’d picked up on that nervous tell easily enough.

“Thank you. For dinner, for taking care of Colt. For the land, and the house, even if it’s not mine. The intention was spectacular.”

“Thank you for them,” he answered.

“What did she tell you?”

“Really want to know?”

“Beckett,” I warned.

“She said that was her wish, the only thing she’d wanted was…me, in a roundabout way.”

“She wanted a dad,” I guessed. “You to be her dad.”

“They’re kids,” he said with a shrug, but I knew how much it meant to him.

“They’re our kids.”

“Look, I heard what you said upstairs loud and clear. I know that being together isn’t an option. But as trite as this sounds, I’d really love if we could manage to be friends. Even if it’s just for the sake of the kids.”

Standing there, outside the house he’d built for me, I wished I’d never known. Wished he’d never lied or that we could take it all back. Wished he wasn’t both of the complicated men I’d fallen for. But he was, and he did.

And despite everything, I still loved him.

“Yeah. I think we can manage that.”

“I’ll earn your trust back, no matter how long it takes,” he promised again.

Even if I wasn’t ready—wasn’t sure I’d ever be—I wanted to believe that he could, and that desire lit a tiny kernel of hope in my heart.

It wasn’t a bright enough fire to keep me warm, not like our love had.

But it was a spark.

“I need to learn to give out those second chances. Small steps. Good night, Beckett.”

He nodded and stood on the porch until we pulled out of view.





      Six Months Later





Chapter Twenty-Five


Beckett


Letter #23

Chaos,

It’s been two days since we buried Ryan. You didn’t come, and you haven’t answered my letter. When I asked the guys from your unit if you were okay, at least I assumed by their haircuts they were from your unit, they told me they had no idea who I was talking about.

So yeah, they were from your unit.

If you’re not answering me, and you didn’t come to Ryan’s funeral, then I’m left with one option that I can’t bring myself to ask. Because I don’t know if I could bear it.

You’ve become something I never expected, this silent support who never judges. I didn’t realize just how much I’ve come to depend on you until you weren’t here. And I’m terrified. You told me once that you’re only scared if you have something to lose. And I think, maybe, we do have something to lose.

There’s so much pain right now. So much that I feel like every second I’m awake, I’m at a ten on that little hospital chart. Scratch that, I’m at a nine. I can’t be at a ten, right? Not when I have Colt and Maisie. But it hurts so much.

Ryan. I watched them lower him into the ground on our little island and still can’t put all the pieces together to form a real picture. Everything feels hazy, like some nightmare that I can’t wake up from. But at night I dream Ryan is home, and you show up at my door—a blurry figure I can never quite remember in the morning. Dreams have become the reality I want, and I wake up to the nightmare.

So I’m begging you, Chaos. Don’t be dead. Please be alive. Please don’t tell me that you were there with Ryan, that you met the same fate. Please tell me that you weren’t buried somewhere at a funeral I was never told about. That I wasn’t robbed of the only chance I’d ever have to stand within a few feet of you.

Please show up in a couple of weeks and tell me you’re fine, that it was too painful to respond to my letters. Tell me you’re broken up over Ryan. Just please show up.

Please don’t be dead.

~ Ella

…

“You’re sure about this?” Donahue asked through the phone.

“I am. You’re holding the paperwork, right?” I unhooked Havoc’s work vest and hung it in her locker, which was right next to mine.