Page 104 of The Unfluencer

I chew the inside of my cheek, taking the hanging edge between my thumb and forefinger. I pull back, getting my first glimpse of the gorgeous seafoam-blue sky I could pick out of a lineup, and tears start to well in the corners of my eyes.

“Come on now, sis.”

I pull a little more. But he yanks it back, causing the entire sheet to slice down the middle and fall away.

A soft, fluttery laugh tumbles out of me.

Hand to heart, I inch back a few feet, still completely awed. It’s not a painting. It’s an enlarged canvas copy of the photo Warner and I took on his yacht while we were on Clover Cay. In our birthday suits. Nothing but our sun-kissed, full-frontal birthday suits.

Oh, shit.

“Sorry, I’ll just—” I take it from Clive, laughing and hugging it to my chest because… Lord, that man. “Yeah, I’ll just, uh, put this somewhere safe⁠—”

“Wait, there’s something on the back.”

I peer over the top, looking down, and there’s the imprint, the same as the drive embedded behind Sherry’s painting dust cover, with a tiny string hanging from a small slice. Laying the canvas face down, I tug on the string and the drive slips free, wrapped in two layers. Paper, then plastic.

My heart thumps wildly in my chest.

Then I unravel it and read the words I’ve spent the last two months equally dreading and hoping will provide a way for Warner and me to get our do-over.

Whitney,

There’s one new piece I’d personally like you to review. Just one. Let’s just say it’s close to my heart. I hope this memory brings you as much joy as it gives me.

I’ve titled this masterpiece Wish You Were Here. It’s how I’ve felt every second since I left your doorstep.

I love you, Whitney.

Nothing will ever change that.

I know you must be thinking of all the reasons you have to hate me for not showing up. But please know that when I didn’t show up, I was clearing a path for us—if you’ll have me back. The drive you found held everything I needed to move forward with purpose and set my demons free. So far, it’s been the ultimate ritual of remembrance.

Now, I’m not foolish enough to believe that’s reason enough to ask you to wait for me. So I added a sweetener of sorts.

Please look at it in private.

What you’ll find first: the island. Clover Cay. Ours, whether you claim it or not. For me, it’s proof that everything could go wrong. Emergency landings, armed intruders, even a tropical storm. And through it all, we were always what was right.

Second, you’ll find: proof that I’ve been doing more than reminiscing. Proof of us. Photos. The complete action-romance movie list I’ve been compiling in stolen moments, including the ones you told me I had to watch (which I did, twice each). I’ve been talking a lot with my tele-therapist, who wants me to embrace the healing rituals. And… drumroll… my registration for Edge of Adventure (knife throwing!). I need you to know that this was never about a wager. Loving you has never been about strategy, leverage, or distraction. It’s the most honest thing I’ve ever done with my life.

Finally, you’ll find: a selfie of me from last year with my sleeves rolled up, very much not running or hiding from the hard work with the nonprofit that builds and improves affordable housing, Homes Forever. Check the biceps! Enjoy.

One more time, until I see you.

I love you, Whitney.

Still in,

Warner

I look up at Clive, who’s been reading over my shoulder. He’s in tears, too.

“First of all, y’all are some freaks.”

We both laugh, long and hard.

“Cute, but freaky. And I love it and all, but, um…” He checks his watch. “Both of those wagers were pathetic. What you need to do is talk, like adults. Because truth doesn’t come with conditions, expectations, or demands. So all that keeping your distance, the I’ll respect your silence if that’s what you want, the this is me letting you know and letting you go? That stuff is for the birds.”