Page 109 of I Hope This Email Finds You in Hell

Most importantly, thank you for fixing the faulty fucking fax machine. The worlds are indebted to you. All of them.

To hell and back,

Luke

PS—I’m also sorry for underestimating a bow and arrow. I stand humbly corrected.

A bruised laugh escapes at the last line. I set the letter in my lap and wipe my eyes.

“Do you want me to pretend I didn’t just read it from over your shoulder?” Krystal quietly asks, breaking through my sniffles.

“I’m honestly impressed you held out this long.” I shake my head with another laugh, a few more tears shaking free with it. Maybe she thought I’d be upset she kept this from me until now, letting me believe Luke left without saying goodbye. But after nearly losing her, it’s trivial. She was just trying to protect me, like I tried to protect her.

She blows out a relieved breath, grinning. “It was a challenge.”

I throw my arms around her. “Thank you for giving it to me now. I just…I really miss him.”

Luke. My unmissable man. I wonder—does he miss me, too?

Krystal hugs me back, squeezing tight enough to hurt. But it’s a good hurt. One I would gladly feel again and again.

“I want details!” Krystal bounces excitedly when we part. “Did you have a classic post-action makeout? Did he brush your hair out of your eyes? And why were you in a ball gown? Does that mean he was your date?” She gasps. “Have you seen him in a tux?”

I pretend to think. “Hmm, yes, yes, we snuck into a masquerade soiree, yes, and yes. And, before you ask, yes, he looks super hot in a tux. Oh, and one more thing. But it’s kind of TMI.”

“We’re trauma bonded. I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing as TMI. Spill.”

Cupping my hands around my mouth, I whisper in her ear, “He finger banged me on the bathroom counter of his childhood home and then we had sex.”

Her mouth drops open. “Brie, if you’re lying to me, I swear—”

“I’m not lying,” I laugh. My cheeks feel hot, but in the best way. “I can’t believe it, either.”

“So where is he? Why isn’t he here trying to fuck you in my guest bed?”

“Shhh!” I shriek, glancing toward the house where her kids and in-laws are eating pie. Thankfully, the windows are closed to ward off the late autumn chill. “You read the letter. He couldn’t stay. Aside from the whole being wanted as a kidnapper thing, he has to do some…traveling. It was part of the deal to get me home alive. And he takes deals very seriously.”

“What is this deal? And he has a brother? Is he in the mob? The mafia? A drug cartel?”

“No! No, nothing like that but—” Maybe worse. “Still. He obviously doesn’t want me to join.”

She scrunches her nose like she smells something foul. “That is such a classic man thing to do. He’s trying to protect you and thinks you deserve better—which, don’t get me wrong, nobody is good enough for you—but you guys had something. I could tell before I was poisoned, I could tell while I was poisoned, and I can tell now. You can’t let something like that go. What does Brie want?”

What do I want? Definitely not to go back to being a pushover receptionist stuck changing water jugs at Curated Care on Monday. Or, like, ever.

I think about it through the rest of the night, while eating pie and wedged between Aurelia and Kassidy on the couch reading them a bedtime story and lying on the guest bed staring at the ceiling. Krystal’s right. I’m not happy. I didn’t notice, because I haven’t been happy in over a year.

But with Luke, there were points where it all peeled away. Even though I have plenty to be furious at him about, I’d much rather be furious with him. And maybe he’ll need help. He didn’t think he would in hell, but I proved him wrong.

It’s still dark when I slip out of bed. Most of my things are still packed from when I last visited my apartment. I stuff my feet into my sneakers and slide on my spare pair of glasses. The last thing I do is swipe the letter and dagger from beneath my pillow and carefully tuck the blade into the pocket of my denim jacket that Krystal washed and returned.

My hand is on the knob of the front door when I realize someone sits at the counter. My eyes adjust to the low light from the stove and make out Krystal’s orange satin sleep bonnet.

“Didn’t think you could leave without saying goodbye, did you?” she asks.

“I was going to call in the morning,” I swear. “I’m just notoriously bad at goodbyes.”

“I know you have to go.” She stands and wraps her arms around my shoulders.