Page 134 of The Story Between Us

The tightness in his chest began to loosen. Something letting go. Something being held.

Then, “God. I’m sorry. I thought…I thought I had to do this alone. But…I wasn’t. You were with me.” He swallowed. “And you sent Livvie…”

And then, in a moment that should have been accompanied by strobe lights, he realized—“And if she wasn’t a person who pushed into my life, who ‘over-helped,’ I would never have gotten the story done. She saved me despite myself.”

Which, he supposed, was exactly what God had done for him, wasn’t it? And for some reason, there was Emma, in his head: Because while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.

“I was a little hard on her, Lord.”

Really, Nate?

And the voice wasn’t Emma’s. Maybe never had been.

He bent his head, put his hands over his face. “I need you, God. And not just for this story. I need you to write the happy ending of my story.” He caught his breath. “Maybe our story.”

He stood there for a long time. Breathing. Listening. Letting go.

When he finally opened his eyes, the stars remained. The lake stayed dark. Nothing had changed.

Except, everything had changed.

He breathed out. Breathed in. Let the stillness settle into his bones.

Then he walked back to the chairs and lowered himself into his, the wood cold through his jeans. He looked at the empty one beside him.

The manuscript ending carried a flaw.

Not the whole thing—just the final scene. Aldric had chosen love. Aldric had admitted his feelings. Aldric had stopped running and taken the crown.

But when Kaela left, he didn’t go after her.

And in doing so, he fought his last battle alone.

And died.

Yeah, that was really, really bad.

The manuscript needed a grand gesture. A triumph.

And so did his life.

He stood. Walked back up the dock, past the dark shapes of the kayaks in the boathouse, up the flagstone path to the house.

The envelope waited on the counter, white rectangle catching the faint glow from the microwave clock. 10:23 p.m.

He picked it up. Held it in his hands. The paper smooth, slightly cool. Her handwriting on the front. His name in her hand.

Whatever waited inside—goodbye or hope or something else—he needed to know.

He slid his finger under the flap. The paper tore softly. He pulled out the folded page inside.

And read.

Eighteen

Aldric had slain the dragon and died from his wounds.

Not only that, Nate had killed Elara too.