Chapter 24 The Letter
the letter [trope]
a heartfelt, ink-stained declaration of love that arrives just in time for maximum emotional impact; always read with trembling hands, a lump in the throat, and a montage-worthy imaginary soundtrack in the background
I dig my heels into the ground, resisting Paige’s insistent nudges. “Seriously, I don’t want to do this.”
The glow of The Oak’s neon sign flickers against the pavement, throwing erratic shadows on the cracked concrete as the faint buzz of conversation and occasional bursts of laughter leak out from the pub. It seems pretty full for a Sunday night.
Her eyes widen like those of a crazy person’s. “I think I have enough dirt on you to make you crawl into that pub, so don’t make me.” She exhales, crossing her arms over her orange dress. “You and Rafael need to get over this already. And it’s your turn to show him you care.”
I turn to Vanessa for help. She leans casually against the brick wall of The Oak, one foot propped up as if she has all the time in the world. Her police radio crackles faintly at her hip, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
“Come on, Paige. If she’s not ready—” Vanessa starts, but Paige cuts her off with a sharp wave of her hand.
“She likes him, Vanessa.”
“But he lied to me!” I blurt, though it doesn’t sound convincing at all. “I can’t just pretend that didn’t happen, right? Right?”
Paige circles around to stand in front of me. She grabs both my arms, her grip stronger than it needs to be. “That’s not the real problem.”
“It is! It—”
“Tell me the truth, Scarlett.”
“I’m…” My eyes dart toward the pub door as if it might explode at any second. “He’s tried to apologize so many times, and I kept pushing him away, and—”
“And you’re scared he won’t ask again.”
Vanessa snorts softly. “He definitely should learn the meaning of the word ‘no.’ ”
She raises her hands in defeat when I glare at her.
Paige lowers her voice. “Just go in, have a beer. Say hi. And if he’s a jerk, I’ll pour my drink over his head, okay?”
That earns her a reluctant chuckle, though it dies quickly as I glance at the door again. I take a hesitant step forward. “Fine. But if this goes horribly wrong, I’m blaming you.”
“Deal.” Paige grabs my arm and practically drags me toward the door. Vanessa follows at a safe distance, saying something about needing a drink herself.
As we step inside, the pub’s warmth envelops us like a scratchy wool blanket. The scent of fried food and stale beer hits me first, followed by the hum of overlapping voices and the occasional clink of glasses.
And then I see him.
Rafael, effortlessly casual, one hand wrapped around a beer, the other tucked into his pocket. He laughs, low and easy, as he leans slightly toward a brunette. Her curls cascade down her bare shoulders, catching the light.
He’s flirting with her.
Rafael is flirting with some woman.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Paige says, her voice low but sharp enough to pierce through the din of the pub.
I step back in reflex, colliding with someone behind me.
The next thing I know, a cascade of glasses falls to the floor, the crash of shattering glass and sloshing drinks cutting through the pub like a gunshot.
Every pair of eyes is on me in a second, including Rafael’s and those of the woman next to him, who I realize is Tanya, the previous host of Passion & Pages.
The smile slips from Rafael’s face. His lips part, and though I can’t hear him over the ringing in my ears, I see it clearly—my name.
My heart lurches as he takes a step toward me, his beer forgotten on the bar.
I can’t do this.
I spin around, nearly knocking into Paige, who barely has time to grab my arm.
“Scarlett, wait—”
But I’m gone. I shove through the pub door and break into a run, the sound of my ragged breaths and pounding heart drowning out everything else.
I knew it. I knew I was right about him, and I knew that letting him past my walls—my safe, comfortable walls—would only allow him to break my heart.
Behind me, I hear the door creak open, then Rafael’s voice, faint but unmistakable. “Scarlett!”
I don’t stop. I can’t.
“Scarlett, wait!” He catches up, a hand hovering close—so close—but not actually touching me, as if he’s afraid I might combust on impact. “It’s not what you think, I swear.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No.” He keeps up with me as I walk. “It’s just work. A previous employee could still have access to the podcast and all the motive to want to destroy it.”
Just work.
“Really?” I laugh, though it’s humorless. “So you weren’t flirting?”
His mouth opens, then closes.
He said it was just work.
“Just how many times have you done this? Slithered your way into a woman’s life, flirted, made her think she was special—all of it, only because of a case you’re working?”
“Never.” When I glare at him, he sighs. “Okay, flirting? I do it all the time. Sometimes it’s easier than the alternative. But you and me—it has nothing to do with the case. Nothing, and you know it.”
I ignore him and keep walking, but he doesn’t let up.
“And besides, you’re seeing other people, aren’t you? You don’t want me.”
“No,” I burst out, my voice sounding squeaky. “I don’t.”
“Well, this is a small town. We’re going to keep running into each other while I’m here, so—”
“And when are you leaving again?” I whip around, pinning him with a glare.
His face tightens, like I’ve just lobbed something heavy at him, and there’s this fleeting, bitter satisfaction.
Why should I be the only one who suffers?
The one who’s been made a fool of, the one who gets to be left behind?
He should know exactly the pain I experience seeing him every day, second only to the pain I can already taste that I’ll feel once he’s gone.
We stare at each other, our hurt crashing together in one big, painful wave. Until his expression softens. “Scarlett, I…”
“You lied to me,” I say, my chin quivering hard.
“I omitted some things—”
“You just won’t admit it, will you? You lied.”
His shoulders drop. “Okay. Yes, I lied. But Freckles, I couldn’t tell you—”
“Don’t call me that.” I start to walk again, but he moves to stand in my way. “You shouldn’t have pursued me. Until you were sure—until you could be honest, you just shouldn’t have…” Let me think he was different. Made me believe, for once, in something I’d told myself never to count on.
“I thought I’d catch the killer in no time.
I thought I’d get to tell you, and we’d laugh about it.
” He edges closer, his gaze piercing. “Scarlett, I’d already pushed you away once.
I couldn’t do it again.” He leans closer.
“But I didn’t so much as kiss you. I knew that until I could tell you the truth, I couldn’t touch you. ”
A bitter laugh bubbles past my lips. “You set limits for yourself so you wouldn’t feel guilty. You drew the line at kissing or sex because you knew what you were doing was wrong.” The prickling sense of betrayal makes my chest ache. “Only it turns out our lines are different, Rafael.”
He rubs a hand over his face.
“While you draw yours at kissing or… whatever—”
“Scarlett…” He groans.
“—I draw mine at sneaking into my life. At sharing Chinese in my kitchen. At sleeping in my bed and playing video games and making me feel important and… and safe!” My voice is rising, tears welling up as I realize people are looking. Perfect. “Just forget about it, okay? I’m leaving.”
“You’re right. I fucked up,” he says as I open the car door and set one foot in.
“Agreed,” I shout back.
He leans forward, holding the door open. “No, Scarlett, I fucked up when I said you wouldn’t find any reason to push me away. When I told you I wouldn’t disappoint you. Because you were looking for a reason not to be with me, and it was just a matter of time before you found it.”
“Yeah, okay.” I flip around, facing him. “But no matter how many times I looked over my shoulder, you’re the one who jabbed a knife there—actually, you pointed a gun at me.”
He doesn’t say a word, and with a final exhale, he lets the door go. Can I be both happy this conversation is done and devastated? Because I definitely feel both.
“Dear Rafael Gray, I love you,” he says.
I turn to him, hand poised to close the car door, and see him unfolding a piece of paper, the logo of Paige’s dad’s dentist office on the bottom. Is that…
Oh my God.
“I know it might sound crazy because we’ve barely ever spoken to each other,” he reads.
“But I’ve been in love with you since the fourth grade, when Duncan Powell tried to exclude Harry Cooper from your game, and you told him that bullies are like sandpaper, scratching you and scratching you until you’re polished and smooth and they’re nothing but useless trash. ”
I swallow, the memory fresh in my mind as if it was yesterday.
“Since that day, I’ve loved you, and I know I always will.”
“Will you stop reading that?” I snap. “It’s just drunk rambling from a seventeen-year-old.”
He ignores me, trudging through. “You might think I’m just a kid. That my hormones and peach schnapps are making me write this ill-advised letter, and that I can’t possibly love someone I never even kissed. But you’d be wrong.”
Good God, I remember the stupid letter.
“I see love every day. I see it in my parents, in my mother’s eyes when she looks at my brother, and in my best friend, who loves love. I know exactly what it feels and looks like.”
“Enough,” I insist, my voice shaking precariously.
“And what I feel for you is even stronger than that. It’s so strong that if I never saw you again, if after reading this letter you didn’t love me back, I’d still love you.
I’d still carry you with me wherever I go, whatever I do.
Because love stories always end with a happily ever after, and not a minute before that.
And I know for a fact that we’ll get ours. ”
I press my lips tight, willing myself to breathe.
“I love you, Rafael Gray,” he continues. “I love you until happily ever after and beyond.”
I stare at the piece of paper in front of his face until he lowers it.
“PS. Sorry if this letter smells like peach schnapps barf.”
A chuckle bursts through my lips, the need to laugh momentarily stronger than the anger, and Rafael laughs, too, folding the paper, then putting it back into his wallet.
With a sniffle, I ask, “You kept it all this time?”
“Yes.” Wallet back in his pocket, he looks down at me. “You want to know why?”
I nod, chin still wobbling.
“Because when I read that letter, I thought, I want to love this girl.” He tilts his head.
“And peach schnapps? Gross. But mostly the love thing.” He moves closer.
“I knew if I let myself fall in love with you, I wouldn’t have been able to help it.
That it would have been easy, the easiest thing I would have ever done.
And that I would have never stopped, because love stories don’t end. Not before the happily ever after.”
My heart’s nearly bursting.
“Scarlett, if I never saw you again after today, if you never gave me another chance, I’d still carry you with me wherever I went. Forever.”
Why does he have to be so good at this?
I hold my hand out, and he takes it, his head tilting forward as if half of his body just relaxed.
“Can I get a ride?” he asks, thumb rubbing the top of my hand. “I haven’t been able to sleep properly, and I’d just like to go to bed knowing you’ll text back in the morning.” He crouches down next to me, soft eyes looking longingly at me. “Can we do that?”
I watch him, expecting the same big warning to flash before my eyes, conflicting with the need to just let him in again. But there’s no warning. No resistance.
I miss him in my bed.
“I’m not texting back in the morning,” I say as I stand. At his worried expression, I toss him the keys. “You can just talk to me from the other side of the bed.”
He exhales in relief. “You got it, Freckles.”