Chapter 61
Chapter Sixty-One
Alec
Not sure what’s worse, being caught reading a letter or having the Spanish Inquisition questioning me too early in the morning.
“Are you moving in with us?” Mila asks.
“Excuse me?” I lower the letter and look at her, wanting to say, You’re not supposed to be out of your room before seven-thirty. But I’m in no position to say that.
“You stayed the night in Mommy’s room,” she states.
“Did I?”
She nods. “I woke up from a nightmare, and I saw you there when Mom opened the door. She said you were tired after practice, so she let you stay.”
“It was very nice of her,” I agree because, fuck, when did all that happen?
I’m a light sleeper. I would’ve heard the knocking and hidden somewhere where she would never know I was sleeping in her mom’s bed.
“Mom’s nice. I’m sure she’ll be very nice if you two fall in love,” she continues, then gives me that look that says, I might get away with this. “Can you do it soon? I want a baby brother.”
“Yes, I remember that,” I state, but really it’s more like I want to die here. Someone just dig my grave like right about now. “I also remember that you’re supposed to stay in your room until seven-thirty.”
She glares at me then turns around. “I’ll be back with more questions, Mr. Neighbor.”
“I wouldn’t expect any less from you,” I say feeling victorious but knowing I only won a battle and she intends to win the war.
Then, I go back to reading the letter.
Dear Alec,
If you’re reading this, then the universe has kept you in this building longer than you intended—and my Mara, longer than I dared hope for.
By this time, you should know who she is to me.
I don’t claim to know you well. People like you are careful with themselves. You move through the world like someone waiting for the floor to drop, and I understand that more than I ever let on. But I’ve watched you long enough to know one thing with certainty:
You take care of people even when you don’t think you do.
You fix Mrs. Leary’s dripping faucet without being asked.
You carry Mr. Smith’s groceries up three flights even though he insists he can manage.
You bring the mail to my door, and you never made a fuss about it.
You pretend you’re gruff, but you’re a man who sees what needs to be done and does it quietly—as if being kind is something you learned to hide for survival, but can’t stop doing anyway.
That’s how I knew you could handle this request.
Take care of my daughter.
Not in the way a parent asks a guardian. Just. . . be someone for her in the moments when she forgets she needs to ask for help.
She is bright, but she hides in her brightness.
She is strong, but she uses that strength to outrun her pain.
She was born from a love that was stolen from her before she ever took her first breath.
And you—you walk through life convinced you’re one breath away from turning into everything you fear.
But I’ve watched you, Alec.
You beat yourself up for emotions you never learned how to hold.
You’ll want to run from her.
You’ll think she deserves someone softer, someone who never had to rebuild himself from the inside out.
You’ll think she’s better off without someone like you.
She isn’t.
Mara needs people who choose her without being asked.
People who don’t get scared off by her grief or her light or her habit of loving too quickly and too deeply for her own good.
And you—whether you realize it or not—are someone who stays long after the instinct to leave first hits.
I don’t expect you to take care of her in any grand way. Just be good to her when goodness is what she needs.
Just be patient with her when she remembers old wounds.
Just let her remind you that even people like us—people who have spent years keeping parts of ourselves tucked away—still deserve love.
You’re a good man, Alec.
With quiet trust,
Lina