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“I’ll track her down.” I turn, arms full, and head toward the backdoor. After making a stop at the fridge, I go in search of Hope.
She’s not in the living room, so I head toward her bedroom. Knocking lightly on the door, it jars open on contact.
“Hope?” I call, pushing the door the rest of the way open.
The room is empty and the only light is coming from the small lamp on her bedside table. I’m about to turn around and keep looking for her when my gaze goes to her desk and an idea hits.
Crossing the room, I try to locate some paper, pulling open a couple desk drawers before finding a notebook and a pen. Flipping it open, I search for a blank sheet to write on. To leave her a note to find once I’m gone. There’s several things scribbled on the pages. Some recipes, a to do list, but then I freeze when I come across a picture of me and Hope tucked in between two pages. It’s from the night of Spring Formal Junior year. The photo her mom insisted on taking. And then I catch my name scribbled on top of the page.
I set the picture aside, my eyes scanning the page without actually reading one word.
It’s a letter...
A letter tome.
Even though I know I shouldn’t.
Even though I know the right thing to do is to close the notebook and put it back where I found it, I can’t bring myself to do it.
I read every word, convinced that someone else must have written this letter. That there must be a reasonable explanation as to why it’s here, in Hope’s room. But once I reach the end and see her name signed at the bottom, I know there’s no mistake. Hope Russell wrote this letter.
“Alec.”
I jump at the sound of her voice and lose my grip on the notebook. It slides from my hands and hits the floor, falling open to the very page I was reading.
Hope’s expression changes the instant she realizes what I was doing.
Fuck.
“Hope, I can explain.” I hold my hands up, fairly convinced she’s about to sock me in the face when she comes stomping toward me.
She stops just shy of where I’m standing and swoops down, grabbing the notebook off the floor. Her eyes scan the page for a long moment before she lets out a slow, heavy breath.
“Did you read this?” she asks, her voice low, eyes cast down.
“Hope... I.”
“Did you read it?” she questions defensively as her gaze cuts to me, her expression a mixture of anger and embarrassment.
“Yes, but I didn’t mean to.” My hands still raised to express my innocence. “I was just going to leave a little note for you to find after I had left.”
“You didn’t mean to?” she questions, completely bypassing everything else I said.
“I saw my name and I don’t know. I couldn’t stop myself.” I run a hand through my hair, knowing by the look on her face that I royally fucked up.
“You need to leave.” She’s so quiet with her request that I almost don’t catch the words.
“Hope.”
“I said leave, Alec. Now!” The last word echoes through my ears as she points toward the door.
“Hope, please. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” Tears fill her eyes. “You’re sorry?” She flings the notebook across the room. It hits the wall and falls to the floor. “You come into my room, go through my things, read something that wasn’t meant for you, andnowyou’re sorry?”
“Yes.” It feels stupid to say, but what else can I say.
Yes, I did all of those things and yes, I am sorry. But at the same time, I can’t ignore what I read.
