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And if Ryen won’t hear me out, I don’t know what I’ll do.
After ten minutes, I’m finally parking on the street in front of her house. I kill the car and jump out, running up to her front door.
The house is dark and quiet, which is expected at one in the morning. But when I lift the flower pot, the key is missing. I curl my fists.
I round the house, checking windows to see if they lift, but then I spot a ladder propped up on the side of the house and stop. Gazing up, I see no light coming through Ryen’s window.
Fuck it. If she’s not there I’ll wait.
I start climbing.
Making my way up the ladder, I step onto the roof and walk over to her window. The room is pitch black, but I hear music, “True Friends” by Bring Me the Horizon playing, and I don’t hesitate. Lifting the window, I swing a leg in and bow down, sliding in.
And I immediately feel her.
Standing upright again, I hear an intake of breath and turn, spotting her dark form sitting with her knees bent up in the corner of the room.
She shoots off the ground and charges for me. “Get out.”
I take in her red and wet eyes, her rumpled sleep shorts and tank top with tear drops soaking through the pink fabric, and her hair hanging in a mess around her. She looks like she’s been crying for hours.
But still, that temper of hers is there.
I step toward her. “Where are the letters?”
“Get fucked!” she bursts out. “I burned the letters!”
I whip around and slam my hand into the wall.
“Stop!” she whispers. “My mom will hear you!”
“I don’t give a shit,” I say, turning around and getting in her face. “You belong to me more than you ever did to them.”
She shakes her head, eyes filling with tears again. “How could you do this? I was supposed to trust you, and this whole time, you were right here, watching me. You ruined everything!”
“I didn’t come to Falcon’s Well for you,” I shout back, bearing down on her. “But believe me, I’m not sorry. What a waste of time you were all these years. Now I know.”
She chokes on a sob. “Get out.”
But I can’t leave.
I never thought I’d make Ryen Trevarrow cry, but both times I have, it’s been in the past two weeks.
We kept writing because we needed each other, because we made the other one’s life better. But even after knowing her for years, it took no time for me to break what we had.
We were perfect for each other.
Until we met.
I realize now as I’m staring into her angry eyes t
hat hold a pain she’s trying to shield from me, that there is so much more to her than what was in her letters. And so much in her letters that she let me see and no one else. I want it all.
“You’re so selfish,” she cries softly. “You take and take and take, and you didn’t even think of me, did you? I was never real to you.”
The despair in her eyes comes through, and hatred winds its way under my skin. I hate that she’s looking at me like I’m one of them.
Walking toward her, I force her back against the wall and pull my shirt over my head, clutching it in my hand.
