Chapter 40 The Last Page
The Last Page
Sydney: I was just about to get a pedicure with Jax’s mom but you name it and I’ll be there.
Sydney: Omg momma Yeo is landing today for the performance? SO excited, no problem send me the address and I’ll get it for you now.
Only for Yesoh Yeo would Sydney St James willingly perform manual labor.
That girl was her world, her rock, her everything.
Sometimes she even thought she loved her more than Jax, which in her own words was a whole lot.
Yesoh rarely ever asked for help, so when she did Sydney knew she must really need it.
And so she cancelled her nail appointment and raced to the station.
The subway station was alive with the chaos of the city, shoes tapping against tile, faint conversations, and the distant rumble of an approaching train.
Sydney clutched the garment bag tighter as she stepped onto the platform, the sharp scent of metal and stone filling the air.
The leotard inside was a masterpiece, custom-stitched from Capezio, its lines perfect for Yesoh’s lead.
But as the train roared into view, the same ache returned—the one she felt every time she looked at Yesoh’s empty smiles or heard her brush off questions about Wynter.
Sydney didn’t know how much more she could take of watching her best friend hiding her anguish and balancing everything on her plate, watching her slowly unravel, her sharp edges dulled by heartbreak.
The train doors hissed open, and Sydney stepped inside, her eyes scanning for a seat. That’s when she saw him.
Wynter.
All sense had left her, all she could think is Yesoh is hurting and it’s all his fault. That was all that mattered in the moment. She knew she swore not to get involved or bring him up anymore but heavens help the man who dared to exist peacefully while her friend was in pain.
He was seated near the far end of the car, his long legs stretched out in front of him, a North Face duffel bag at his feet.
He wore a sleek black jacket over a fitted sweater, his hair slightly damp and tousled, like he’d just stepped out of a photoshoot—which, knowing him, he probably had.
He looked calm, composed, but Sydney couldn’t miss the faint shadows under his eyes or the way his posture lacked its usual ease.
He’d never admit it, but the distance from Yesoh had taken a toll on him too.
Her grip on the garment bag tightened as a rush of emotions surged through her. The last thing she wanted was to make a scene, but the thought of letting this moment slip away was unbearable.
Taking a deep breath, she made her way toward him, gripping the pole in front of his seat as the train lurched forward. “Wynter whatever-the-hell-your-middle-name-is Kwon.”
He glanced up, startled, pulling his headphones down around his neck. “Sydney?”
“What are you doing here?” she asked, though the answer was obvious.
“Coming back from a shoot,” he disclosed, gesturing to the duffel bag at his feet. “I didn’t know you took public transport without being held hostage?”
“Picking up Yesoh’s costume,” she replied, lifting the garment bag slightly. Her tone was casual, but the weight of unspoken words hung between them.
At the mention of Yesoh’s name, Wynter’s expression shifted. His jaw tightened, and his gaze flicked away, settling on the floor of the train car.
Sydney wasn’t one to shy away from confrontation. She tilted her head, her voice calm but edged with steel. “So, Wyn. What's your game plan here? Do you intend to just ignore her forever?”
His gaze snapped back to hers, his brow furrowing. “I don’t want to discuss this, I doubt it concerns y—”
Her eyes narrowed. “It is my business when my best friend was crying herself to sleep every night in guilt over a stupid fucking diary because you can’t even bother to acknowledge her anymore.”
His shoulders stiffened, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then, quietly, he replied, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I don’t?” she shot back, crossing her arms. “I know that she gave you that scrapbook as an olive branch, I know she poured her entire heart into it. Her big heart. And what did you do? Did you even look at it?”
“I did,” he said defensively, his voice low but firm. “I looked at it.”
“Did you really?” she pressed, leaning closer. “Or did you just glance at the pretty pictures of praise and toss it aside for an ego boost?”
Wynter opened his mouth to respond but stopped, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he wasn’t sure what to say.
Sydney huffed, shaking her head. “Did you even flip to the last page?”
He froze, his expression faltering. “What are you talking about?”
“The letter, Wynter,” she said, her voice rising slightly.
“What letter, Sydney?” he responded in absolute confusion, sitting up on the edge of his seat.
“Don’t play naive, it’s unbecoming.” Sydney scoffed. At that, Wynter placed a hand over hers on the table between them. “You cannot be serious—”
“And yet, I am.”
“Didn’t you get her letter?” Sydney contemplated, and she was struck to her core by the sheer desperation in his voice.
It was then that she knew immediately; this was not a man who didn’t care, one who was going out of his way to make her friend feel terrible but a lovesick idiot who didn’t bother to flip to the last page.
“I—no,” he refused. “Please, tell me?”
“The letter she wrote you. It’s on the last page. She poured her soul into that letter—everything she couldn’t say to you in person. And you’re telling me you didn’t even bother to read it?”
His brows furrowed, confusion flickering in his eyes. “I didn’t…I didn’t know there was a letter.”
Sydney laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Of course you didn’t. You were too busy wallowing in your own pride to bother looking past the surface.”
“That’s not fair,” he said sharply, his voice rising for the first time. “You don’t know what it’s like to have someone betray your trust like that. To feel—”
“To feel humiliated?” Sydney interrupted, her tone biting.
“To feel vulnerable? Fuck you, you’ve been humiliating that girl since she was thirteen years old and you were parading my cousin you were screwing in front of her face every single day.
Do you know what that does to a person? Don’t you dare tell Yesoh she doesn’t know what it means to feel ashamed.
Do you think Yesoh doesn’t know what that’s like?
She knows, Wyn. She knows, and she’s been trying to make it right.
But you won’t even give her the chance.”
The train rattled over the tracks, the noise filling the silence that followed her words. Wynter’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Sydney tried her best to play the tough girl for a moment—she thought that maybe Jax would be so proud, he always thought she was strong but he also always told her that being strong meant showing how you really felt, that took courage and she felt the tears building in her eyes.
“She loves you, Wynter,” Sydney sniffled, her voice softer now but no less firm. “She’s always loved you. And yeah, she messed up. She hurt you. But do you think she’s without flaws? Do you think you are? If you can’t see how much she’s trying, then maybe you don’t deserve her at all.”
His head snapped back to her, his eyes wide with something that looked like disbelief—or maybe realization.
Sydney shook her head, her expression softening just slightly. “You’ve been blind, Wyn. Blind and stubborn. But it’s not too late. You can still fix this.”
The train screeched to a stop, the doors hissing open. Sydney glanced at the platform, then back at Wynter. “You know what you have to do,” she said, stepping back toward the doors. “Don’t waste any more time.”
Wynter stayed frozen in his seat as she stepped off the train, the garment bag swinging lightly at her side. The doors slid shut behind her, and the train lurched forward again, carrying him away.
Wynter sat in silence, the rhythmic clatter of the train drowning out the noise in his head. Sydney’s words echoed over and over, each one cutting deeper than the last.
Did you even flip to the last page?
She loves you, Wynter.
Maybe you don’t deserve her.
He had looked at the scrapbook, had flipped through the pages filled with photos and clippings, but he hadn’t finished it. He hadn’t turned to the last page.
The weight of that realization hit him like a punch to the gut. He thought he had seen everything she wanted him to see, but he’d missed the most important part.
A memory surfaced then, unbidden: Yesoh at fifteen, standing in the wings of the rink after one of his early competitions, her hands clasped tightly together as she watched him.
He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now, in the harsh fluorescent light of the subway car, the image burned in his mind.
She’d been there. She’d always been there.
The train rattled again, the noise pulling him back to the present. He stood abruptly, grabbing his bag and heading for the nearest door. He didn’t know where he was going—only that he couldn’t stay here, couldn’t sit still while the weight of his own blindness crushed him.
“Thank you, Sydney.” He bowed, and she nodded, wiping away her tears.
“When you retell this story, I didn’t cry, okay?” She cleared her throat, and he laughed, fluffing her hair. “I was brave and reasonable and composed.”
“Understood.”
He stepped off at the next station, the cold air biting at his face as he pushed through the crowd.
He needed to go back. He needed to read the letter.
And then, he needed to find her.
*****
The door to Wynter’s apartment closed with a quiet click, but the sound reverberated in his mind as if it were a gunshot. He tossed his duffel onto the couch, his North Face jacket following, but his feet didn’t stop moving until he was in his bedroom.
There it was, sitting on the edge of his desk where he’d left it weeks ago. The scrapbook.