14. Reyna
CHAPTER 14
Ihaven’t spoken to Michael since our confrontation in the gym three days ago. He’s avoided any and all contact with me, and it’s not like I’ve been overly thrilled about seeking him out either. Jaxson is the one who let me know that Sheryl accepted a bribe from someone over the phone who said they wanted to play a prank on my mother and offered her five hundred dollars to steal her phone and leave it in a bucket on the beach.
Apparently she didn’t think anything of it and agreed. But after the police showed up at the bank, she’d realized something else was going on and took off to avoid getting questioned.
She got no look at the person who paid her, since the money was sent online. And the number that called her had belonged to a by-the-minute phone and has since been disconnected.
I finish prepping the salad, then glance back to where Jaxson sits in the living room, reading a book. Given everything we’ve been dealing with, my mom wanted to serve him and the sheriff a delicious dinner.
My father has been on the phone with my brother for nearly thirty minutes, updating him on everything that’s happening here, and although he’s made the offer at least a dozen times, my father continues to turn Carter down about coming to stay in Boston for the time being.
He’s been insistent, but so has my father.
The doorbell rings. “I’ll grab it.” I cross the living room and pull the door open without bothering to check the peephole. I’m expecting the sheriff, so when it’s Michael standing on my parents’ front porch, I’m momentarily taken aback.
My heart jumps in my chest at the sight of him, which makes me all the more angry. How can I be so in love and so angry with someone at the same time?
“Your mother invited me,” he says.
Of course she did. Michael is her hero these days. Never mind he shattered me into a million pieces when he left town all those years ago. “Fine.” I step aside so he can move into the living room, then immediately head back into the kitchen so I don’t get drawn into conversation with him.
“Who was that?” my mom asks, coming out of the pantry with a bag of noodles.
“Michael.”
She beams. “Good. It’s so good to have him around again.”
“Yeah. Great.”
Brow arched, she faces me. “Are you all right? Did something else happen?”
“Nope. I’m fine, just tired.” I force myself to smile because admitting to my mother just why I’m so angry at Michael is a conversation I would rather never have.
“I’m so sorry for everything you’re going through, sweetie.”
“You’re going through it, too.”
“Not like you are.” She smiles tightly at me and the doorbell rings again. Since I’m fairly positive I have no other exes that can show up, I head back into the living room to answer it.
And there stands Liam.
Wrong again. Though I suppose he’s not entirely an ex.
“Hi, Liam, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were coming over.” Another bouquet of red roses.
“Your mother invited me for dinner. I hope that’s okay?”
I shoot a glare over my shoulder only to catch my mother grinning like the crazy woman she is. Now I understand why she invited Michael over. She’s trying to make him jealous. To push him into sweeping me back off my feet, despite the fact that I’d like to keep them firmly planted on the ground.
Maybe having that conversation wouldn’t be such a bad thing. At least then she’d probably stop trying to push me back into his arms.
But seriously, don’t I have enough on my plate given the crazy man stalking me and the banquet coming up?
“Of course it’s okay.” I flash him a smile, then step aside so he can come in.
He leans in and kisses me on the cheek. “Whatever that is smells delicious.” He notices the other men on the couch. “Michael, Jaxson, good to see you both again.”
“Yeah. You, too,” Jaxson replies, shooting a grin at Michael, whose gaze hasn’t left me since Liam arrived.
Awkward, party of one.
“Let’s get those into some water,” I say, gesturing to the roses in his hand. As he follows me through the house roses still in his hand, I feel Michael’s burning gaze following me.
“Liam! So glad you can join us,” my mother greets him.
He offers her the roses. “These are for you. Thank you for having me.”
“You are too sweet.” She takes them as I fill a vase with water and set it on the counter.
“Not nearly as sweet as you are for inviting me.” Liam turns to me. “Can we talk somewhere a bit more private?”
“Sure.” I gesture toward the hallway, and he heads down toward the bedrooms. As soon as we’re in my childhood room, I close the door gently. “What is it?”
“I got this for you.” He reaches into his pocket and withdraws a velvet box. My stomach churns. Please no. Jewelry? Really?
“You didn’t need to get me anything.”
“I know, but I saw it and thought of you.” He offers it to me again, so I take the box and flip the lid, my stomach churning like stormy waves. Inside, on top of more velvet, is a golden apple pin. “Just something fun for the start of the year.”
I smile at him, so grateful it’s not more romantic jewelry. “This is sweet, thank you.”
“Anytime. You don’t even have to wear it, obviously. I just thought it was neat, and I know you’ve had a rough go lately, so I wanted to get you something.”
“A rough go is an understatement,” I reply with a laugh, closing the box.
“I’m sorry for everything you’re dealing with, Reyna. I truly am. You deserve better.”
“I appreciate you saying that.”
“Dinner!” I hear my father call out, so I reach for the door and pull it open.
Michael is standing just on the other side, a furious glare on his face. “Dinner.”
“I heard my dad,” I snap.
Liam offers Michael a smile and leaves first, but before I can follow him out, Michael comes in and shuts the door, standing in front of it and crossing his arms so I can’t get out. His gaze lands on the box, and his expression darkens.
“Already proposing? That was fast.”
He’s jealous. Why do I like that he’s jealous? “Wouldn’t matter if he was, would it? You and I are finished.”
“You don’t know him very well.”
“I thought I knew you better than I knew myself. And look how that turned out.”
He lets out his breath and uncrosses his arms. “I’m just worried about you.”
“Yeah, well, don’t be. My dating life is not your concern anymore.” I shove past him and head out into the hall, making my way to the kitchen table. My mother has added the two leaves and additional seating so that she, my dad, myself, Sheriff Vick and his wife Cate, Liam, Michael, and Jaxson can all fit at the table with room to spare.
In the center of the table are multiple containers of serve-yourself food. Spaghetti, a salad, meatballs…it all smells absolutely delicious, but one look at Michael and my appetite is gone.
To my surprise, dinner was relatively calm despite Michael and Liam sitting across from each other. My ex-boyfriend engaged in friendly conversation with my mother while completely ignoring the guy that I’ve been on two dates with. Unless the library doesn’t technically count as a date—then it’s only the one.
I wave goodbye as Liam leaves the house, then turn back to the living room where Jaxson has engaged my dad in a deep conversation about the motor on his ’67 Mustang GT.
Michael’s in the kitchen with my mother, washing dishes as she dries and putting them away. Seeing them there hurts my heart. She’d adored Michael too, and honestly, I think she’d been just as heartbroken as I was when he bailed.
He just fits. And I hate it.
I make my way into the kitchen and force a smile. “Great dinner, Momma. I can take over the dishes.”
“I don’t mind,” Michael replies.
“Liam make it out okay?”
“He did.”
“Good. He’s a sweet man.”
“He is.” I keep my responses short so she won’t try to get me to elaborate, then begin putting containers of leftover food in the refrigerator.
“Oh, honey, I finished crocheting fifty baby blankets. Think you can take them to the shelter when you head to Boston?"
Michael freezes mid-plate-washing. “Boston?” he asks, setting it carefully back into the sink.
“I host a charity banquet every year.”
“Not this year.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m going to go check on your father.” My mother slips out of the kitchen and leaves me glaring at Michael.
“You are absolutely not going.” Michael’s expression is furious as he dries his hands and turns to fully face me.
“You don’t get to tell me no.”
His gaze is piercing. “When it comes to your safety, I do. This is my job. Our job,” he corrects quickly. “And taking you into the very city where the car your attacker used was stolen from is in direct conflict with your well-being.”
“You don’t know that he stole that car. It could have been a coincidence.” But even I know better than to truly believe that. “And Boston is a huge city.”
“Exactly. A huge city you could be swept away in.”
“The event has security. And we can bring on more. I can’t miss it, Michael.”
“Everything okay in here?” Jaxson questions, stepping into the kitchen. He leans against the doorjamb.
“Tell her she’s not going to Boston.”
“Boston?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I host a charity banquet. The woman who helps me with most of the in-person arrangements cannot make it, therefore I cannot miss it. I won’t miss it.”
“You’re going to have to miss it this year.”
“Are you not listening?” I snap. “You don’t get to tell me what I will and will not do!”
“This is a mistake.” Michael turns away from me.
“You work for me, right? Isn’t that how this works?” I ask Jaxson.
Michael whirls on me. “Are you threatening to fire us if we don’t let you go risk your life?”
I cross my arms, heels dug in so far there’s no going back now. “I’m telling you that I’m going, I’m not asking for your permission.”
“You—”
“If you want my opinion,” Jaxson interrupts, and Michael turns toward him. “We can get with the security working the event and increase it with some of our own. You can remain glued to her side the entire time. That way, she can attend the event and stay safe doing so.”
“Absolutely not,” I snap. “Michael will not be coming.”
“Why not? Worried I’ll embarrass you?”
I glare at him. “Hardly. But you will cause distractions.”
“Distractions? Why is that?”
Because you’re too beautiful for your own good. Because I can’t stand the idea of standing next to you all night and not reaching out to take your hand in mine or wrapping my arms around you. “Because I’ll be working, and you can’t seem to keep yourself from getting under my skin. The last thing I need is you scaring away people I’m supposed to be talking to.”
“You’re not going alone.”
So we’ve gone from me not going to me not going alone. I suppose that’s progress. “Fine. But Jaxson can stay with me.”
“Afraid I’m best working active security from a vantage point,” my bodyguard replies. “I’m not much for crowds. Elijah will likely work monitors while Lance coordinates on the ground. Michael is our group’s bodyguard,” he says. “We made an exception for you given your past, but at an event like that, he’s who will be by your side. I can set my pride aside long enough to admit he’s better on the ground than I am.”
I look up at Michael, noting that he doesn’t appear to have taken any confidence from what Jaxson said. It’s merely fact, not arrogance, and I can appreciate that. “Fine. But you’re all going to need tuxedos. It’s black-tie.”
After Michael’s gone home and Jaxson is settled into my parent’s guest bedroom for the night, I head into my childhood room and take a seat on the edge of my bed. I really should have just gone home, but after thinking I’d lost my mom today, getting to wake up and have coffee with her in the morning is all too inviting.
My gaze drops to my feet. Just behind them, beneath my bed, is the box containing all of my memories of Michael throughout the years. Letters he’d pass me in class, love notes left in my locker, dried flowers from Valentine’s Day, the corsage from prom…it’s all in there.
As are the letters he wrote me.
Letters I’ve been avoiding opening for years, even more so since our confrontation in the gym.
“Did you not read any of my letters?”
“It wouldn’t have mattered if I did.”
“Yes, it would have.” He moves in closer, his expression tormented. “Because if you’d read them, you wouldn’t have thought for a second that my leaving had anything to do with you.”
Tears burn in the corners of my eyes, but I angrily wipe them away.
They’re just letters.
From years ago.
Paper and ink.
So why am I so afraid of them?
I drop down onto my hands and knees and reach beneath the bed, withdrawing the main box and the smaller one with his letters. With nerves dancing in my stomach, I open the top of the box and stare down at the stuffed envelopes inside.
He’d written to me constantly after he left. I’d been so angry that I’d thrown the first few away, not knowing my mom pulled them out of the trash as soon as I’d left the room. She’d given them to me a few weeks later, along with letters she’d removed directly from the mail, and told me that one day I might be angry at myself for not reading them.
That, while the hurt is so great right now, someday, it might not. Though given how badly I still ache, I can’t help but wonder if she were merely trying to put my mind at ease.
Well, I’m still waiting for that day to come, but at this moment, I’m glad she didn’t let me toss them out. I choose one at random, then slide my finger beneath the sealed flap and open the envelope.
As I draw the folded pages out, I’m hit with a sense of heaviness I can’t explain. Like I’m about to uncover something that will forever change the way I’ve seen Michael these past few years. And I can’t decide whether that’s a good thing or if I’m just opening myself up for more heartbreak.
Reyna,
I don’t know why I’m still writing these letters. I can only imagine that you’re tired of reading them—if you even are. I just don’t know who else to talk to. And even if you aren’t reading them, it feels good to get everything on the page so that I can at least pretend you are.
How are you? How are things back home?
It’s summertime, so I imagine you’re spending plenty of time at the beach, hunting seashells for your collection or searching for washed-up messages in a bottle. I know that’s one of your favorite things to do, and if I knew it would get to you, I would stuff this letter into a glass bottle just so you could find it.
Things here are bleak. Deployment has been rough on me this time around. I’m not sure if it’s the location or simply my outlook on all of it.
A friend of mine died yesterday. He was a good man. Had a wife and toddler back home, and now he’s just gone. It’s so hard to believe.
His wife will be getting a folded-up flag, and all I can think about is how incredibly sad it’s going to be for that kid to grow up without a dad, all because of the ugliness of war.
And then that leads me to thoughts of you.
Of how it could have been you getting the folded flag if we’d gotten married like we planned and I still joined.
Which leads me to be grateful we didn’t because I wouldn’t want you to remember me that way. As a flag. Red, white, and blue. How do you remember me now? I doubt you’d recognize me if you saw me again. I barely recognize the man staring back at me in the mirror.
Honestly, there’s a part of me—a dark, depressing part—that hopes I don’t make it home. Because then I will live forever in your mind as the boy I was before I became a soldier.
I want to tell you that I miss you more and more each day.
And as always, I want to finish it off by telling you how sorry I am. How much I wish I could come home to you, wrap you in my arms, and never let you go.
Love,
Michael
By the time I’ve finished reading, tears are streaming down my cheeks. I read it a second time. A third. Hating how lonely he must have felt. Did he cry while he wrote it? Does he still wish he’d never come home?