“I didn’t do this.”
I lean down and grab a fistful of the papers off the floor, seeing my name at the bottom of every letter, a couple of them a year or two old, and one from grade school. I can tell, because I signed my name Mish during an asinine spell to sound less girly.
These were all letters that were sent to Ryen. She’s had them. How did—
Something tightens around my stomach, and I wince, knowing there’s no other way these letters got here.
“What’s that say?”
I sway off balance, but I look up, following where he points. On the wall, written with a can of black spray paint are huge letters glaring down at us.
You trick me? Watch your back, wait, and see.
“Oh, shit.” I can barely fucking move. It’s a lyric from one of my old songs Ryen helped me write.
I dive down to the shelf on my bedside table, seeing that the few items that were stashed in there are pulled out. I grab the pocket folder where I kept some of her letters—my favorite ones that I reread—but as soon as I pick it up, I already feel the weightlessness of it.
“No, no, no, no…” I flip open the top and look inside.
“What is it?”
“Fuck!” I growl. Every single one of them gone. I fling the folder away from me. “Shit!”
“What? Who?”
Jesus Christ. I shoot up and run my hands up and down my face. She knows who I am, she found her letters, and she took them back.
I spin around and run out the door.
“Misha!” Dane yells.
But I don’t stop. I race for the stairs, run up to the main floor, and dash outside, speeding through the park.
She’ll listen to me. She’ll understand. All this wasn’t meant to happen.
I dig in my jeans for my keys and climb in my truck, charging out of the park and onto the highway.
The letters. Goddammit! Knowing Ryen’s temper, they’re probably shredded at the bottom of a garbage disposal right now. Fuck!
I grip the steering wheel, rubbing my eyes with my other hand. The road is blurry, and I try to calm my breathing.
Those letters are everything. They’re her and me, kids just trying to figure themselves out and going through all our growing pains. They’re where I first started to fall for her and need her. They’re my fucking songs and a part of me.
Our history is in those letters. Every beautiful thing she ever said to me to tilt my world on its side.
My stomach rolls. If they’re gone, so help me God…
And if Ryen won’t hear me out, I don’t know what I’ll do.
After ten minutes, I’m finally parking on the street in front of her house. I kill the car and jump out, running up to her front door.
The house is dark and quiet, which is expected at one in the morning. But when I lift the flower pot, the key is missing. I curl my fists.
I round the house, checking windows to see if they lift, but then I spot a ladder propped up on the side of the house and stop. Gazing up, I see no light coming through Ryen’s window.
Fuck it. If she’s not there I’ll wait.
I start climbing.
Making my way up the ladder, I step onto the roof and walk over to her window. The room is pitch black, but I hear music, “True Friends” by Bring Me the Horizon playing, and I don’t hesitate. Lifting the window, I swing a leg in and bow down, sliding in.
And I immediately feel her.
Standing upright again, I hear an intake of breath and turn, spotting her dark form sitting with her knees bent up in the corner of the room.
She shoots off the ground and charges for me. “Get out.”
I take in her red and wet eyes, her rumpled sleep shorts and tank top with tear drops soaking through the pink fabric, and her hair hanging in a mess around her. She looks like she’s been crying for hours.
But still, that temper of hers is there.
I step toward her. “Where are the letters?”
“Get fucked!” she bursts out. “I burned the letters!”
I whip around and slam my hand into the wall.
“Stop!” she whispers. “My mom will hear you!”
“I don’t give a shit,” I say, turning around and getting in her face. “You belong to me more than you ever did to them.”
She shakes her head, eyes filling with tears again. “How could you do this? I was supposed to trust you, and this whole time, you were right here, watching me. You ruined everything!”
“I didn’t come to Falcon’s Well for you,” I shout back, bearing down on her. “But believe me, I’m not sorry. What a waste of time you were all these years. Now I know.”
She chokes on a sob. “Get out.”
But I can’t leave.
I never thought I’d make Ryen Trevarrow cry, but both times I have, it’s been in the past two weeks.
We kept writing because we needed each other, because we made the other one’s life better. But even after knowing her for years, it took no time for me to break what we had.
We were perfect for each other.
Until we met.
I realize now as I’m staring into her angry eyes that hold a pain she’s trying to shield from me, that there is so much more to her than what was in her letters. And so much in her letters that she let me see and no one else. I want it all.
“You’re so selfish,” she cries softly. “You take and take and take, and you didn’t even think of me, did you? I was never real to you.”
The despair in her eyes comes through, and hatred winds its way under my skin. I hate that she’s looking at me like I’m one of them.
Walking toward her, I force her back against the wall and pull my shirt over my head, clutching it in my hand.