38. Kyle #2
Elle folded the letter and ran her fingers along the seam, meeting Kyle’s eyes. “So, yeah. That’s what she said to me, anyway.”
He cocked a brow. “Help me to remember? Remember what?”
“I think she meant to stop taking so much on your shoulders.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, Kyle,” she said in a low voice. She locked eyes with him. “I was hoping maybe you could help me with that part.”
Clenching and unclenching his jaw, Kyle shook his head. “I guess that’s the problem. No one knows what the hell Granny was talking about except Granny. And since we can’t ask her, we’re out of luck.”
“Well . . . what did her letter to you say? Maybe there’s a clue there.”
A few beats of silence passed, Kyle breathing so slowly that each pull of air hurt. How could he tell Elle he’d never read his grandmother’s last words to him? Never honored her wishes with her ashes . . .
Prioritized everything else.
He released a slow breath, avoiding her gaze. “I never actually read it.”
Elle’s chin jerked up with shock. “You . . . didn’t read it?”
“I meant to—” He rubbed his chin. “Look, don’t get mad at me. I’m going to tell you the whole story, and I deserve your anger, but maybe you’ll understand if you hear it.”
“Haven’t you ever heard you’re not supposed to upset new mothers?” Elle scowled.
“Yeah . . .” He set his feet down on the ground, any ounce of cockiness long gone.
Slowly, he recounted how Sloan’s escape from Evan had gotten in the way of his plans with Granny’s ashes, how he thought the urn had been lost, and how Sloan had collected it and brought it back to Nashville with her.
Elle listened without interruption, her face passive, only occasionally flinching at some of his words.
When he finished, Kyle leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. “So . . . that’s why I haven’t read her letter.”
Silence hung thickly as Elle blinked. Quietly, she stood, her face drawn. Almost tired. She sighed and came over to him, then leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Kyle. Please take care of it soon.” She started toward the door.
What?
“That’s it?” Kyle turned toward her.
She raised her hands in an empty gesture. “What else am I supposed to say? Life happens. Weird shit you wouldn’t expect gets in the way.”
He stood and cocked his head. “And you’re not upset?”
“I’m not thrilled, Kyle, but I just can’t afford to expend the energy getting worked up about it.
You’ve got a lot you’re dealing with, and I want to be here for you.
I am here for you. But I think the only thing my worrying and scolding and lecturing has gotten me is that you feel like you can no longer tell me things. And I’m sorry for that.”
She swiped her eyes. “So, you know where to find me when you want to talk about things. Or when you want help. And . . . if I’m not the one you need, that’s okay.
Maybe who you need is Sloan. I get it. Honestly, I do.
As much as I love you, Quinn is my person.
I don’t really know what’s going on with you and Sloan, but if she’s your person, then I’m happy for you, and I understand if she’s who you want to talk to. ”
He hadn’t expected her words. Or for her to be so calm.
And somehow, that makes me feel even worse about the way I’ve handled everything with Granny.
Kyle watched her from the top of the stairs for a few seconds, then jogged down them. Wrapping his arms around her, he hugged her tightly. “Thank you, Elle.”
She laughed lightly and wrinkled her nose as he pulled away. “You need a shower, bud. You might be Sloan’s idea of dreamy, but you’re still my smelly little brother.” She flicked him in the ear. “Don’t be a stranger. Tara’s waiting on bated breath for her next date.”
He chuckled as she opened the door. “That whole not scolding thing lasted two seconds.”
“That wasn’t scolding,” Elle said with a wink, surprising him with her good mood. “That was me being a tiger mom who will cut you if you make my baby sad. Love you.”
The glass door closed quickly behind her.
Kyle watched her go from the doorway, the house suddenly feeling emptier than ever. Closing the door, he turned and glanced up the stairs, a tight feeling stretching across his chest.
“I don’t really know what’s going on with you and Sloan,” Elle had said, as though Kyle had the answer but just hadn’t filled her in on it.
What was going on with him and Sloan?
Right now, he was a glorified dog sitter and roommate. Boyfriend? No. Not in any way that had been established. Sexual partner? On some level.
The pressure in his chest grew tighter as he went up the stairs slowly. He retrieved his glass of water from the living room.
As he sipped it, his mind filled with thoughts of Sloan.
The whole time he’d been going into this thing with her—the roommate situation, being her friend, crossing the line to more than friends—he’d had alarm bells going off in his head.
Everyone always liked to tell him that he took risks as if daring God or the world to prove him wrong or incapable of something.
Was Sloan just another risk that he was waiting to blow up in his face? He knew she wasn’t good for him necessarily, but maybe that’s what made her so tempting?
But if that was true, then he’d been fooling himself about how difficult the crash landing would be. Breaking his collarbone, collapsing his lung, and dislocating his shoulder had nothing on what he was starting to realize he’d go through if Sloan didn’t come back.
She wouldn’t abandon the dogs, though, would she?
No, she loved the dogs too much for that.
He chugged some more water, feeling sick.
She’d definitely come back for them. Even after she’d run from Evan, her first instinct had been to go back for Sadie.
Kyle closed his eyes, gripping the countertop.
Memories, bad ones, came flooding in.
“You don’t mean that, Sloan. We love each other. Y-you’re just sad —”
“My God, how many times . . . I don’t love you, Kyle. We’re done.”
The worst part was, it had been so out of the blue. He’d known how upset she was, but he’d never expected her to dump him on top of everything she’d been going through. The only clue he’d had that something was wrong was that she’d barely messaged or called him the week before it happened.
Just like now.
He reached for his phone and found her number.
Kyle: Hey . . . how’s it going?
Staring at the phone, he waited for a response.
Nothing came in. For minutes.
He headed for the shower. That would help. He’d wash up, give Sloan a chance to answer. By the time he got out of the shower, she’d have responded. She normally responded—usually soon enough—but she was just busy right now.
But not only did the shower not help, Sloan hadn’t texted him back when he checked it as he was getting dressed in his room.
He dialed her number, his gut churning.
The call went straight to voicemail.
He tried again.
Voicemail.
Breathing out slowly, Kyle sank onto the foot of the bed, staring at the phone in his hand.
He set it down, his heart pounding.
It doesn’t mean anything . . . does it? Or am I being naive?
If he didn’t let it get to him, he’d be fine. He’d just keep on going, keep on taking care of the dogs, and she’d be back here, eventually. Then they could talk and figure everything out.
Unless she didn’t come back.
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
This is ridiculous.
But silence was also her go-to. Had it really been that difficult for her to reach out to him after I was arrested in January?
. . . and had she ever intended to reach out?
She said she’d only found him because of Cheyenne and her parents had hired a PI. That she’d bought the house before she knew about his accident. And while Kyle had taken that as a good thing before . . . now it made him doubt.
If she didn’t come here expecting to talk to me, didn’t come here because she knew about me, did she care to find out about me at all?
Didn’t that mean that she’d decided, at some point, that she was all right going on the rest of her life not talking to him about what had happened in January? Not even saying sorry?
The breath he took was shaky as he looked straight up.
Straight at the box where Granny’s urn remained, untouched.
Along with her letter.
His throat thickened, and for the first time since Granny’s funeral, his eyes misted.
He didn’t hesitate. He stood, crossed the space, and grabbed the box. Ripping the tape off, he dug for the letter he’d stashed there when he’d packed the box last January, before leaving for Vail.
The envelope trembled between his fingertips.
Granny left strict instructions. Scatter her ashes on one of his adventures. Somewhere beautiful. Don’t open the letter until then.
But he’d failed at the first two instructions.
Might as well make it three for three.
He slid his finger under the seal and ripped the envelope open.