Page 85 of The Story Between Us

The dead didn’t want him to stop living.

They wanted him to live enough for both.

He wrote until his eyes burned. Until the words blurred and his fingers ached and the scene was done—not polished, not perfect, but true.

He sat back. Wiped his face. His sleeve came away wet.

Crying. He’d been crying and hadn’t noticed.

He leaned back, ran his hands through his hair. Glanced at the clock. Sheesh. Morning was a wink away. He needed sleep.

But his brain still buzzed.

His gaze fell on the Make-A-Wish envelope sitting on the corner of his desk. Cream-colored. Official. It had been sitting there for weeks, and he’d been pretending it didn’t exist.

He picked it up now. Pulled out the letter inside.

Handwritten. Shaky letters on lined paper.

Dear Mr. Rivers,

My name is Sam. I’m eleven years old. I’ve read all the Thornwood books four times. My favorite character is Aldric because he’s scared but he does brave things anyway. My mom says that’s what courage is.

I’m sick. I’ve been sick for a long time. The doctors say I might not get better. But that’s okay because I got to read your books and they made me feel like I was somewhere else. Somewhere magic could happen.

I know you’re probably really busy, but I was hoping maybe I could meet you someday. I have a lot of questions about the ending. My Make-A-Wish person said I could ask for anything and I asked for this.

Thank you for writing the books.

Your friend, Sam

P.S. My mom says to tell you the books helped her too. When I was in the hospital she would read them out loud and we would both pretend we were somewhere else. She says you gave us something to hold on to.

He read it twice. Three times.

His chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with grief.

He set the letter down carefully.

Blew out a breath and opened his email. Started typing.

Dear Make-A-Wish Foundation,

I would be honored to meet Sam. Please let me know how to arrange it.

—Nate Rivers

He didn’t send it. Tomorrow. He’d show Livvie first. She’d want to help. She’d want to be there.

And shoot if that thought didn’t wake him up.

He wanted to make her happy. The realization settled over him, simple and enormous. He wanted to see her face when she read Sam’s letter. Wanted to watch her eyes light up. Wanted to⁠—

He got up. Crossed to the window again. Indeed, the faintest hint of dawn burned in the east, the dark sky lightening, the stars blurring.

I’m ready.

Ready to finish the book. Ready to meet Sam. Ready to tell Livvie⁠—