Twenty-Three Sunny
I sit on the edge of the bed, my suitcase half-unpacked, clothes spilling out like a forgotten thought. The room around me is a blur of muted city sounds, distant horns, and the hum of streetlights filtering through the curtains. But all I can think about is the letter still clutched in my trembling hands.
Levi didn’t come to say goodbye. I know he’s not great with goodbyes, but still. Part of me aches, wishing he’d have just held me one last time, whispered that everything would be okay. Instead, Colt handed me this letter before I left, with a sadness in his eyes. I tried to be mad about it on the drive back to the city, but all I could do was sit in silence, Paisley just as quiet beside me. Processing. Or avoiding processing. Either way, the silence was loud.
I take a shaky breath and unfold the letter. God, even his handwriting makes my heart do that stupid thing where it flutters like it’s forgotten how to function. I blink back the tears that are already welling up, determined to get through this without turning into a full-blown sobbing mess.
Well, here goes nothing.
Hey sugar,
Please don’t be mad at me. If I came to say goodbye in person, I’d never be able to let you leave. I’d throw you over my shoulder, carry you home, and keep you there forever. But that wouldn’t be fair, Sunshine. You deserve more than that. You deserve to live your life, to experience the world in all it’s colors and chaos. And the world? The world deserves to bask in the warmth and light you bring everywhere you go.
As much as I want you here with me— every second of every day—I know that asking you to stay would be selfish. I’d be asking you to give up so much for me, to turn your back on everything you’ve worked for, dreamed of. And that’s not love. Love isn’t about holding on so tight that you smother the one you care about. It’s about letting go, even when every part of you is screaming not to. It’s about wanting the best for you, even if it means watching you walk away.
I feel a lump form in my throat, and it’s getting harder to breathe, let alone read, but I push through.
Even as I write this, it’s taking everything in me to not come and find you, to say to hell with everything else and pull you back to me. Because that’s what I want, Sunny. I want you here, with me, building a life together, helping me keep the guys in line, baking in the kitchen, dancing in the rain, falling asleep in my arms. I want that more than I’ve ever wanted anything. But wanting it doesn’t make it right. And it doesn’t make it fair for you.
I need you to know something, sugar. If you ever doubt how much I care, how much I love you, remember this—I’m letting you go because I love you. Because I want you to have everything, even if that everything isn’t me. But know this, too: No matter where you go, no matter how far you travel, this place, this ranch, it’s your home. I’m your home. And you will always, always have a place here with me.
I love you, Sunny. With everything I am, with everything I’ll ever be. And if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that this love isn’t going anywhere. Not now, not ever.
Eternally Yours,
Levi
By the time I finish reading, I’m a wreck. Full-on, ugly crying, clutching the letter like it’s the only thing tethering me to reality. How does he always do this? How does he love so deeply, so fiercely, and then just… let go? It’s like he’s this beautiful, self-sacrificing idiot.
I want to shake him.
He loves me. Fuck, he loves me so much he’s letting me go because he thinks it’s what I need. But he’s wrong. He’s so wrong, and I don’t know how to make him see that.
I wipe my face with the back of my hand, sniffing as I try to get my bearings. I’m not letting this end here. There’s no way something this real, this right, ends with a letter and a tear-streaked suitcase. I refuse to believe that.
I stand up abruptly, pacing the room like a madwoman, my mind racing. He thinks he’s being noble. He thinks love is about letting go. But what if it’s not? What if love is about holding on? What if it’s about fighting through all the storms and chaos and finding a way to make it work?
And since when did Levi think he could make life decisions for me? Last time I checked, I wasn’t some fragile bird who needed protecting. He might be the one in charge in the bedroom, but he forgets—I can take charge too!
Not in the bedroom, obviously—he has that on lockdown. But you get what I mean.
Without a second thought, I grab my phone and march down the hall, my boots echoing against the hardwood floors. The closer I get to the library, the more determined I feel. Paisley said she was going to be here. If anyone can help me make sense of this mess—and call me out if I’m being ridiculous—it’s her.
I burst through the library doors so hard they bang against the walls, startling a few students at the nearest tables.
“Paisley!”
I shout, my voice carrying across the room in an echo. Heads swivel in my direction, and I scan the space, searching for her familiar face.
The librarian—a stern-looking woman with glasses perched on the tip of her nose—glares at me and hisses, “Shhh!”
I ignore her. There’s no time for niceties.
“Pais!”
I call again, spotting her at a table near the back. She looks up from her stack of books, a pen still poised in her hand, and her expression is pure confusion.
“Pais, I need your help!”
I demand, already weaving through the maze of desks and chairs toward her.
The librarian shushes me again, this time with more force. “Miss! Quiet!”
But before I can even respond, Paisley bolts up from her chair, pointing an accusing finger at the librarian.
“Did you just shush my best friend? Oh, no. No, ma’am. Shush yourself!”
“Shhh!”
the librarian retorts, her cheeks reddening as she gestures wildly for us to lower our voices.
Paisley is undeterred, locking eyes with her like it’s a showdown at high noon.
“Don’t you dare shush me! You started it!”
“Shhh!”
“Shhh!”
Paisley counters dramatically, dragging the sound out like she’s in a competition.
I groan, grabbing Paisley’s wrist.
“Pais, come on, we don’t have time for this!”
I hiss, yanking her toward the door. She’s still throwing shushes over her shoulder as I haul her out of the library, and the librarian is shushing back, the two of them locked in some absurd shushing war that echoes behind us.
Once we’re out in the hall, I stop and turn to her, breathing hard. “This is serious, Pais. I need your help, and I need it now.”
Her eyes narrow as she studies me, her expression softening. “Levi?”
she asks knowingly.
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat
She stares at me, a twinkle in her eyes like she knows what I’m going to say.