Chapter 19
Three weeks into my grief spiral, when I successfully pushed away the one person who never gave up on me and convinced myself it was for his own good, a package arrived that changed everything.
I sat in the guest room, exiling myself from the life I had nearly shared with Kieran, staring at nothing and trying to figure out how to exist in a world where my brother would never call again. The doorman buzzed up to announce a delivery from the Department of Defense, and my heart stopped.
More paperwork. More official condolences. More reminders that Jude was gone and never coming back.
Kieran signed for it, his face carefully neutral as he brought the package to my door.
We barely spoke for days, not since I said those terrible things in the kitchen about him, just feeling guilty for surviving.
Not since I tried to convince both of us that what we had wasn’t real, wasn’t worth the risk of inevitable loss.
“It’s addressed to you,” he said simply, setting the small cardboard box on the dresser. “From Jude’s commanding officer.”
Personal effects. The thought made my stomach lurch. Whatever remained of my brother’s life was reduced to whatever could fit in a shipping box.
I waited until Kieran left before opening it, my hands shaking as I cut through the tape.
Inside were the few items that mattered enough to send home: his wallet, still carrying a photo of the two of us from my college graduation.
His watch, the one our father wore before the accident.
A small notebook filled with his handwriting—phone numbers, reminders, fragments of thoughts I never understood.
And at the bottom, an envelope with my name written in his familiar scrawl. Underneath my name, in smaller letters.
To be delivered if something happens to me.
My breath caught. He wrote me a letter. Knowing he might die, knowing he might never come home, my brother had taken the time to write me a letter.
I stared at it for a long time, afraid to open it. Because once I read whatever he wrote, once I heard his voice from beyond the grave, it would make his death feel final in a way that all the official notifications hadn’t managed.
But I needed to hear his voice. Even if it broke me completely.
Willa,
If you’re reading this, it means I didn’t make it home. I’m sorry for that, Will. I’m sorry I won’t be there to grow old and embarrass you with stories about all the trouble you got into when we were young.
But I’m not sorry I chose to serve. I’m not sorry I chose to protect people who couldn’t protect themselves. That’s what we do, right? We take care of each other. We stand between the people we love and the things that want to hurt them.
I need you to know that I’m not afraid to die. I’ve never been afraid to die, because I know you’re going to be okay. You’re stronger than you think, smarter than you give yourself credit for, braver than you’ve ever been. You don’t need me to take care of you anymore.
What you need is to stop using me as an excuse to be scared.
I know you, Willa. I know that right now you’re probably sitting somewhere safe, pushing away everyone who cares about you because you think loving people is too dangerous. You think that if you don’t let anyone get close, you can’t get hurt again.
But that’s not living. That’s just surviving. And you deserve so much more than survival.
I’ve been waiting for you and Kieran to stop being idiots and admit you’re perfect for each other since before either of you knew it yourselves. I’ve watched you two dance around each other for years, both of you too scared to take the risk.
Stop being scared, Willa.
Kieran’s been in love with you since you were seventeen years old.
I’ve been waiting for you to catch up. He’s a good man—ruined, just like us.
But good. Maybe the best man I’ve ever known.
He’ll protect you when you need protecting, challenge you when you need challenging, and love you even when you’re being stubborn and impossible.
Don’t make him wait forever.
I want you to be happy. I want you to choose love, even if I’m not there to see it. Especially if I’m not there to see it. Don’t let my death be an excuse to stop living your life.
Promise me something. Promise me you’ll take the risk. Promise me you’ll let yourself be loved by someone who sees all your broken pieces and chooses you anyway. Promise me you’ll build something beautiful with whatever time you have, instead of hiding from it.
I carried that metal box through every foster home because it reminded me that we came from love, even when we lost it too soon. But you don’t have to just remember love, Willa. You can create it. You can choose it. You can be brave enough to build it with someone worth the risk.
Take care of Kieran for me. He’s going to blame himself for not saving me, even though there was nothing he could have done. He’s going to think he failed as my friend. Help him understand that the best thing he can do for my memory is to make you happy.
And let him make you happy. Stop fighting it. Stop running from it. Stop convincing yourself you don’t deserve it.
You deserve everything, Willa. Love, happiness, a future that’s bright enough to honor what we’ve lost without being defined by it.
I love you, little sister. I’m proud of the woman you’ve become. Now go be brave enough to become the woman you’re meant to be.
Forever your big brother,
Jude
I read the letter three times before the tears started. Then I cried until I had nothing left, until my chest ached and my eyes burned and I felt emptied in a way that was somehow cleaner than the grief I’ve been carrying.
He knew. Jude knew exactly what I was doing, exactly how I reacted to losing him. And he wrote me a roadmap back to the living.
Stop using me as an excuse to be scared.
The words hit me like a revelation. That was exactly what I was doing, wasn’t it? Using his death as justification for pushing Kieran away, for convincing myself that love was too dangerous to risk.
But Jude didn’t die because I loved him. Jude died doing what he believed in, protecting people who needed protection. And he wanted me to honor that sacrifice by living fully, not by hiding from life.
I thought about Kieran, probably sitting in his office or his bedroom, giving me the space I demanded while watching me destroy myself with isolation.
I thought about the patient way he left breakfast for me every morning, even when I didn’t eat it.
The quiet “good morning” and “good night” he continued offering, even when I didn’t respond.
He’s been in love with you since you were seventeen years old.
I knew, somewhere deep down. I saw it in the way he looked at me that graduation night, in the careful distance he maintained afterward, in the desperate way he kissed me when we finally stopped fighting what was between us.
But I was so afraid of losing him that I pushed him away preemptively, making sure I lost him on my terms instead of life’s terms.
That’s not living. That’s just surviving.
For the first time since Agent Morrison’s phone call destroyed our happiness, I felt something other than numb despair. I felt angry. Not at Jude for dying, not at Kieran for surviving, but at myself for wasting weeks hiding from the gift my brother died wanting me to have.
I got up from the bed where I had sat for hours and walked to the mirror. The woman staring back at me was a stranger—hollow-eyed, pale, her grief worn like armor. But underneath the damage, I saw something I almost forgot was there.
I saw Jude’s little sister. The girl who’d been brave enough to stand up to bullies twice her size. The woman who’d found the courage to leave an abusive marriage. The survivor who’d faced down her ex-husband with a gun to her head and lived to tell about it.
I saw someone worth loving. Someone worth saving. Someone worth the risk of heartbreak.
Promise me you’ll take the risk.
I folded the letter carefully and placed it back in the box with Jude’s other things. Then I took a shower, put on clothes that weren’t pajamas, and walked out of the guest room with purpose for the first time.
Kieran was in his office, working late as usual, probably because going to bed meant lying awake, wondering if I was going to disappear in the night. He looked up when I appeared in his doorway, his expression carefully neutral.
“Hi,” I said, the word feeling rusty from disuse.
“Hi.” He closed his laptop, giving me his full attention. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been hiding from my life instead of living it.”
Something shifted in his expression—hope, maybe, or relief. “The package from the military?”
“A letter from Jude. Written before he deployed.” I stepped into the office, moving closer to his desk. “He wanted to make sure I knew how stupid I was being.”
“Were you? Being stupid?”
“Monumentally. Catastrophically. In ways that would have made him threaten to ground me if he were still alive.”
Kieran smiled then, the first real smile I saw from him in weeks. “What did he say?”
“That I was using his death as an excuse to be scared. That I was pushing away the best thing that ever happened to me because I was afraid of losing it.” I moved around his desk, needing to be closer. “That he was waiting for us to stop being idiots and admit we belonged together.”
“Smart man, your brother.”
“The smartest. And he wanted me to tell you something.”
“What’s that?”
“That you didn’t fail him. That was the best way to honor his memory: to make me happy.” I reached for his hands, needing the contact I denied myself for weeks. “And to let me make you happy too.”
He stood up then, his hands coming up to frame my face with infinite gentleness. “I thought I lost you. These past three weeks, I thought you were going to disappear rather than risk caring about someone who might leave.”
“I almost did. I was so scared of losing you that I was willing to throw away what we had just to avoid the possibility of pain.”
“And now?”
“Now I think my brother would come back from the dead to kick my ass if I let fear win.” I leaned into his touch, feeling anchored for the first time in weeks. “Now I think love is worth the risk. You’re worth the risk.”
“Even knowing that loving someone means accepting the possibility of losing them?”
“Especially knowing that. Because the alternative is losing them anyway, just more slowly and with more regret.”
He kissed me then, soft and careful and full of three weeks’ worth of worry and relief. When we broke apart, I rested my forehead against his.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “For pushing you away. For saying those horrible things. For making you think you were just an obligation.”
“You were grieving. People say things when they’re in pain.”
“That’s not an excuse. You deserved better than that.”
“I deserved exactly what you were able to give at the time. No more, no less.”
That was when I knew, with absolute certainty, that Jude was right. This man—patient, understanding, willing to love me even when I was at my worst—was worth every risk.
“I love you,” I said, the words coming easily for the first time since we’d gotten the news about Jude. “I’m done running from that. I’m done pretending it’s not true.”
“I love you too. I’ve loved you through your grief, through your anger, through every wall you’ve built to keep me out. And I’ll keep loving you through whatever comes next.”
“Even if what comes next is messy? Even if I’m not done grieving, not done being scared sometimes?”
“Especially then. That’s what love is, Willa. It’s choosing someone not just for their best moments, but for all their moments.”
I kissed him again, deeper this time, pouring everything I was too afraid to feel into that connection. When we finally separated, both of us breathing hard, I smiled for what felt like the first time in weeks.
“So what happens now?” I asked.
“Now we build something beautiful together. Something that honors what we’ve lost without being defined by it.”
“And if I get scared again? If the grief comes back?”
“Then we handle it together. No more guest rooms, no more pushing each other away. We face whatever comes as a team.”
I nodded, feeling something settle in my chest that might have been peace. “Jude would have liked that.”
“I think he would have. I think he’s probably laughing at how long it took us to figure it out.”
“Probably planning to haunt us if we screw it up.”
“Then we’d better not screw it up.”
As I looked around his office, our office, our home, our life, I realized that Jude was right about everything. I was using his death as an excuse to be scared, pushing away the very thing he died wanting me to have.
But not anymore. I was done running from love, done hiding from the possibility of happiness just because it came with the risk of loss.
My brother taught me to be brave. Now it was time to prove I paid attention.