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“You don’t get to suddenly show up and decide to start reading his letters. Not after you’ve ignored them for the past three years.”
Shock had my eyes flying open and my grip going slack.
“What are you talking about? My father never wrote me.” He didn’t call me; he didn’t do anything to reach out and have a relationship with me.
Wes scoffed, and this close I could smell the delicious scent of leather and cedar, plus something else annoyingly intoxicating. His body was still nearly flush with mine as his chest heaved and his eyes searched the envelope he’d stolen from me.
His eyes roamed over the page for a brief second before they landed back on me, as if I’d stolen his attention. This close, it felt like we’d stepped back in time. He was my first love. He was once my protector, my savior…and then he ruined me.
“He sent you one once a month for the past three years. I know because I was the one who took them to the post office for him.”
My brows pulled forward as I tried to make sense of what he was saying. I should have kept my thoughts to myself, but my mind was racing too fast so I mused my confusion out loud.
“The only letters I received were from you, and I haven’t opened any of them.”
Whiskey eyes narrowed on my face, before a sneer lifted his lips.
“You actually thought they were from me? Maybe he put my name and address, but they were from him. I had nothing to say to you.”
Hurt wound through me like a poisonous vine, gripping my organs and squeezing tight. Why did it matter that they weren’t from him? I wanted to snarl back about the one letter he’d sent right after we’d broken up and how he had something to say then, but considering that letter eviscerated my heart, I wasn’t eager to draw attention to it.
What should matter is that I had a handful of unread letters from my dad sitting in my top drawer at home. Maybe there was a chance at some kind of reconciliation to be found in his musings.
My back was against my car, and my eyes were on the letter in his hand.My letter.
I snatched it as quickly as I could from his fingers and tried to slip away from him. I had no idea where I would go, but my fucking keyless entry wasn’t working, and I had to get this letter away from him.
So like a mature adult, I stuffed it inside my bra.
Wes watched with narrowed eyes and a strong tick in his jaw. I hated how good his hair looked.
“You think I won’t reach in between your tits to grab it?” He stalked closer, a dark glint shining in his eyes. “You must have forgotten how much I enjoyed them, Callie. It would be a fucking pleasure to frisk you.”
Why was my tongue so dry? Shit, did my heart just fucking stop? He was messing with me, trying to get into my head. I took two steps back and gathered my resolve.
“This ismyletter, and the only reason I didn’t touch the others you sent was because I assumed they were fromyou. Now that I know they’re not, Iwillgo home and read them, just like this one.” I lifted the paper and shook it slightly.
Wes’s face transformed, as if the sun had suddenly broken through the graying clouds. His lips twisted to the side with a sly grin and his arms came across his chest, linking under his armpits.
“Why’d you keep them?” He stepped closer, that curl of his lips growing more sinister. “Better yet, why keep them and not read them? Why not just trash them?”
How did I get out of this?
“Just fuck off, Wes. I don’t owe you shit.”
His face shuttered the slightest bit, his jaw tightened, and then his eyes found the concrete at our feet.
“Callie, you can’t take the club. Your dad wouldn’t have wanted that.”
Why did it hurt so badly to hear from him what my father would have wanted?
I needed to get out of there and collect myself, because there was a sob working its way up my throat. My father rejected me. Wes didn’t choose me. Now it felt like they were both mocking me somehow.
“Why do you even care? And why did you stay in the club, anyway, much less become the president? I thought you’d have gone to college or started your own garage.”
I didn’t think he’d reply, but he shocked me by saying, “I did both, actually. I just also stayed in the club.”
A few silent seconds slipped by, the sounds from the dock and the river echoing around us, the sun was making its way higher in the sky. His response landed in my sternum like concrete. He’d done all of it. College, a shop…he had a life, one he always talked about, but he also had the club. He chose the club and that life over me. The pain from seven years ago burned fresh as I tried to take a calming breath.
