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“When did that letter arrive?” His voice was hard as a rough stone, grating against my nerves as I wondered at his reaction. He was acting like he’d never heard the words in the letter, and something inside me both sank and rose with hope.
With an unsure voice, I tugged at the terrycloth of the robe. “I told you…exactly two weeks after we broke up. It was your handwriting, Wes. The return address was from you.”
That’s why I believed it was from him. It was his handwriting.
“Fuck!” he screamed, throwing a water glass that was on his bedside table against the wall. It shattered on impact making me jump and Max bark.
“I never sent that. I’d never say those words to you, Callie. In what universe would I ask you to move on?” He pointed aggressively at his chest, seething in anger. “In what world would I tell you our love wasn’t real?”
My nose burned, because I didn’t want to believe it was him who sent it. I was in denial for so long, rereading it every night, trying to find the lie within the lines of text. But the more I questioned it, the more I realized it had to be him. But if it wasn’t, then…
“Never once did you call, or text…or anything, Wes. It left me no choice but to believe that letter.”
“Because I couldn’t have you until I was sure I could offer you a life you didn’t want to leave,” he screamed, making me recoil.
Striding forward, he gently rubbed my shoulders. “I’m sorry. Fuck. I’m sorry I yelled; I just don’t understand what the fuck is going on.” It wasn’t him yelling that had made me recoil. It was his desperation to get me back.
“Me either…I mean, why would my dad leave me a piece of property that was owed to a rival club, knowing it would put a target on my back?”
If I thought Wes was angry before, it was nothing compared to the storm brewing in his dark gaze now. With a harsh whisper, he asked, “What did you just say?”
I gripped his forearms, not wanting him to leave. “Silas told me. It was the bargain my father made when I was kidnapped. The property, once my dad passed on…he gave away my inheritance to Dirk, and he said now that my dad is gone, the debt falls to me.”
Wes searched my face, like he couldn’t process what I’d just told him. He stepped back once, twice, and then fell to the edge of the bed. He cut a path through his hair with his hand, while he concentrated on the floor.
“Where are the letters you said I sent you…the ones from over the past few years?”
I was still holding them, but he seemed too lost in thought to register that I was. I brought them forward, lifting them until Wes was carefully taking them from me.
He crinkled his brows, inspecting the outer note left by my dad.
Dear Callie,
Forgive an old man for meddling, but I have a lot to apologize for…a lot of regrets, and what role I played between you two is one of them. These are letters I found shoved in the bottom drawer of Wesley’s rolling tool bin, something he never intended for you to see. But I think you should. Love, Dad
Wesley’s face paled as his grip tightened on the letter.
“Do you know what he’s talking about?” I asked, unsure at his odd reaction.
Wes merely glanced up at me before flipping the page over, reading it out loud.
“I moved out of the cabin today. Packed up all our stuff and took a room in the clubhouse. I’m next to Giles, and he’s not so bad…just always talks and he’s always with someone at night. I think that’s the loneliest part, River. Everybody has someone, but you’ve been my person since we were nine. My best friend. My only one. How am I supposed to just turn that off?”
His face flushed as he lowered the page to his knee.
I stood, biting my nail, nervous that he was about to say that wasn’t from him either, but he swallowed, and glanced up at me shyly.
“This one is from me.”
Before I could react, he flipped to the second letter, voraciously pulling it open, reading the note from my dad first.
“Callie, hope you’re well, I’ve been feeling a little under the weather. Things are pyling up here, my hands are shit, my eyes are going to hell, but I can’t shake this feeling yyyou need to see Wes. has to say to you.”
“The spelling errors in those are weird. If he didn’t know he was sick until six months ago, then that letter would have been three years ago. The timeline is strange,” I mused, as Wesley bunched his brows as he reread the page.
Wes clenched his jaw, reading the portion he wrote out loud.
“River, you started an apprenticeship to become a tattoo artist. I’m both excited and nervous, and a little jealous. How did I never know you wanted this? You’re so talented. I wish you’d design me a tattoo. I wish your hands would draw it permanently onto my skin. More than anything, I wish I could live there, under yours.”
