The hallway smells of citrus and vanilla as I walk through it, heading to the elevator.
I finally arrive at the lobby, where early-morning light spills across the white and gray marble, golden rays streaming through the glass doors.
The mailboxes line the far wall; I walk over to mine, unlock it, and start flipping through the envelopes.
Bills, so fun. Ads, gross. And a magazine I didn’t remember subscribing to, I need to cancel this shit.
My fingers pull out the last envelope, a simple one with a Ruby Ridge, TN stamp.
My heart stutters.
Reed’s handwriting curves across the front, a little messy, but it’shim.
I slide onto the wooden bench in the lobby corner, carefully tear open the envelope, and unfold the page.
Layla,
I’m not sure why I’m writing this, maybe because I’m better at saying things when you’re not looking at me. Maybe because I miss you, and this feels like the only way to quiet my mind for a while.
The bar feels too still without you. I keep expecting to hear your laugh, you filming around the bar, you stealing my drinks and pretending it’s an accident. You left pieces of yourself all over my place, and each one makes it harder to breathe.
I’ve been thinking a lot about what this is between us, how it feels so good, so easy, and how that frightens me. I’m not used to good things lasting. I keep waiting for you to realize you could do better than a man who avoids his reflection.
But then I remember the way you look at me—like I’m something worth keeping—and for a moment, the fear quiets down.
You once told me I made you feel safe.
You do the same for me, sunshine.
If you ever wonder how I feel, just rememberthis: you’ve got a man in Tennessee who hasn’t stopped thinking about you, not even for a day. And no matter what happens, I’ll always be waiting for you, baby.
— Reed
I’m barely able to reach the end without my vision blurring. A tear slips down as I press my hand against my mouth, my heart splintering wide open.
He thinks I’m going to leave him. He thinks it’s temporary. And I’ve been letting him believe that.
Because I’m still here, trapped in this apartment with a man who stopped loving me long before I stopped pretending, I’ve been too scared to leave and finally choose myself.
Looking down at the letter again, at the ink smudge where his hand must have hesitated, at the line that saysyou do the same for me, sunshine.
I have to call him.
My hands tremble as I grab my phone.
I scroll to his name, my thumb pausing briefly before I press call.
It rings for less than five seconds before his warm voice and southern drawl flood the line.
“Hey, sunshine.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “You wrote me again.”
He’s quiet for a second. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Didn’t think you’d get it this fast.”
“I just read it.” I glance down at the page still clutched in my hand. “You don’t ever have to be scared with me, Reed. I’m not going anywhere.”
He lets out a slight sound, relief, maybe, and when he finally speaks, his voice cracks. “You sure about that?”
