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Hey there, Spitfire,
You’re getting married.
You have no idea the kick in the gut that news was when Will told me. I unfollowed you online once I knew so I wouldn’t have to watch it play out, but when Willa sent me a picture of Clem’s little flower girl dress, I realized this was real. You’re marrying him. Anders.
In a church with big stained glass windows and a painted ceiling, no less. I thought that was our thing, Dimples.
Nah, I guess our thing was pretending we didn’t care. Pretending we didn’t notice the spark. Yeah, we were good at that. I was good at it. I had spent years avoiding emotional intimacy. Telling myself the physical stuff was just as good. Then you came along with your fancy white convertible, and your straight A’s, and your horrible love for musical numbers, and color me confused because I went and fell for it. For you.
Nova, that night wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t me attempting to bury the horrors of Tara’s actions. At the time, I thought it was. It took me a long while to realize that, either way we sliced it, one would have happened without the other. I was always going to run from what I learned when Damian mailed me that letter. And our trip was always going to end with us doing the one thing I’d never allowed another girl to do.
So, I’m writing you this letter, which I have no right to do because I’m just selfish enough that I need you to know. I need you to know you own that part of me. Forever.
Four years ago you offered to be the getaway car. This is me returning the favor.
Nova, if for any reason you do not want to marry Anders, I’m parked outside. All you have to do is come to me. No expectations, no questions, I’m here.
Yours,
Dev
I whirl around, paper clutched over my heart. “He’s here?” He’s supposed to be in Pensacola finishing up his first season with Miami’s double-A team. “Why would he ever think I’d want to run from my wedding? From Anders?”
Willa’s subtle one-shoulder shrug is answer enough.You know why, Nova. You’re just ignoring it.
“I have one more thing.” She holds out her palm.
On tentative steps, I cross the small dressing room and take the folded blue and white lace from her. He wrotethatletter, then gave me something blue for my wedding day? There’s a weight to the dainty fabric, and as I unfold the material, a swift gasp pulls from my lungs. Tears that were threatening release, pour down my professionally painted face.
“Nova.” Willa’s voice cracks, but I wave her back. “He found it in his things a few days after he left you. He said he couldn’t part with it, that it was the only piece of you he could keep.”
I finger the glass paper plane charm I thought I’d lost forever.
twenty one | devin
The closer mywatch ticks to two, the harder it is to breathe. She’s going to marry him. I tug at the necktie I wore in case I had the balls to go inside once I knew she wouldn’t be coming out. I shouldn’t have bothered. There’s no way I could watch her marry him, whether I knew she read the letter or not.
Damn, I’m a selfish prick. This is her wedding day. Her family is here. Her friends. His. Clem is dressed in the “most perfectest twirly dress ever,” ready to toss rose petals, and here I am, trying to sabotage it all. But with everything Willa has told me about the toxic way Anders treats Nova, I can’t keep my mouth shut. I’d regret it for the rest of my life, and I have enough regrets where Nova is concerned. I can’t add this to the list. I might not be ready to be the man across from her at the altar, but it sure as hell shouldn’t be Anders freaking Danielson.
What makes even less sense is Nova putting up with him. She didn’t let me get away with anything, not a single word of disrespect. And yet she’d marry a man who treats her like a trophy instead of an independent woman.
C’mon, Spitfire.Please come to me.
I check the time on my watch again. Twenty minutes have passed. Willa had to have given Nova my letter and the charm by now. What if she refuses to read it? I can’t fault her. What right do I have to write such things, especially after all this time?
Even though every pulse in my veins thrums for the moment she might show her face, when Nova comes rushing down the back church steps—one hand lifting the hem of her full tulle skirt and the other toting a cream leather duffle bag—I lose the capacity to speak, to think, to breathe. Never in my life have I seen a more beautiful woman. And I hate Anders because he gets to marry her and… Wait.
“Is this your car?” Nova stops a few feet away, and my back pushes off the passenger side door.
I catalog the changes from the last two years. The way her face has thinned, and her eyes have softened. The darkening of her blonde hair, the ripening of her already dangerous curves.
“I don’t have a lot of time. Is this your car?”
Clearing my throat, I come back to the present. “For however long I need it, yeah.”
Her heels clack against the asphalt as she moves toward me. “Then, let’s go.”
“Are you sure?”Why am I asking?I should be hoisting her into my arms and tossing her into the passenger side.
