Page 146 of When Hearts Collide

Adrian pauses when he reaches me. “Don’t disappoint me, Ryland. Or else you’ll feel the wrath of The Shark for the rest of your life.”

I nod, giving my friend a squeeze on his shoulder. His eyes soften and he steps outside to join Steven.

Maxwell lingers behind and slaps me on my shoulder.

“Maxwell, the other night at the race, I’m sorry for being a disappointment—”

“Not all of us can be smart one hundred percent of the time. I may be cursed, but I clearly am the brains of the family.” He grins. “Don’t worry about it. Let bygones be bygones. I have your back…always.”

After the guys leave, I carry the manila envelope to the wooden lounge chair on the porch. Taking a seat, I quickly unravel the fastening and reach inside to pull out a stack of letters bound with a binder clip.

The feminine swirls and beautiful penmanship. My breath lodges in my throat as I realize Millie has handed over pieces of her soul in these carefully written letters.

While my heart lives outside of me, residing next to hers now, she’s returning the favor.

My pendant over her heart, her letters in my hand.

Dear Mom,

The skies are crying today and perhaps it’s because I’m near you again, I feel its tears most intently. I don’t think there’s a timeline for grief or a way to fill the hole in my chest.

My eyes greedily absorb her words, my chest wrenching at the pain and heartache in those heavy presses of her pen, the depth of emotions in her sentences.

I flip to another letter.

Dear Mom,

I think he’s the special someone for me, the man I told you before whose gaze sets me on fire. He’s someone I feel an undeniable connection to. Someone worthy of the word “whirlwind.” I think he hides his tattered heart behind a suit of armor, but he’s hurting, just like me. And for the first time in my life, I want to heal him, because I think I understand him.

He sees me. The real me.

The words blur together and a burning sensation appears behind my nose.

She has seen my heart, scars and all, since the beginning.

Then, there are the letters she wrote to me.

Dear Ryland,

It seems fitting the first letter I write to you, one you’ll never read because I’ll never send it out, is on a stormy night.

The passion in her writing, the steadfastness in the black ink on white paper, no shades of gray to be seen.

I know you’re pushing me away because you think that’s what I need and I’m here to tell you one word: No.

A resounding no.

What I need is you. The rest is just noise.

Yours, Millie

I never heard her. I never listened. The rest is just noise. I allowed the noise to overtake the righteous beating of my heart, the surety and peace I felt in my soul whenever I was with her.

I flip through the letters like a madman, reading every single one of them, all the tears, the pain, the happiness, all little fragments of her laid bare at my feet. My little lark. My fighter in the skies.

Then I reread them again. And again. And again.

The woman I don’t deserve and yet love with every cell in my body until my last breath on this earth.

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