Page 147 of Muddy Messy Love

Angel,

I have so much to say. Things I should have told you from the start. Things I’m finally ready to share, albeit too late. But first, know that I love you. That was real. It hasn’t changed. It won’t ever change. And second, I’m SO sorry. I screwed up, royally. There’s no excuse for what I did—what I hid. It was wrong, and I was selfish. Unfortunately, I still am, for a better man might’ve left you free to move on, but if I don’t fight for you, I’ll hate myself forever.

You see, I didn’t expect to find you sitting alone and scared in court that day and feel like gravity suddenly weighed a tonne. I didn’t expect your eyes to be so deep and blue or a strange familiarityto swallow my heart. I didn’t expect your cheeks to flush or your breath to hitch—your nervous smile, fuck-me hair, or faint vanilla scent. I didn’t expect to look at you and see a whole new world that instantly felt like home.

Something deep and dire flared inside me that day. A need to protect you. To save you. To hold you in my arms and know you. Yet I was meant to let you go—spare you a conviction and be on my merry way. But I couldn’t do it, even when I tried.

You see, some people feel things deeper and live gripped by their past. And that kind of pain recognises itself. It recognises the opportunity to be understood. That kind of pain forges kindred spirits and forever. It binds together lost souls who need each other to heal. You are the other half of my broken soul, Avery Masters, and I need you just to breathe.

I’m sorry for lying to you, deceiving you, holding back a truth you deserved to know. I’m sorry for destroying your trust, holding your heart under false pretences, and then shattering it.

I should have come clean the second I knew what we were. Many times, I almost did. The words sat on my tongue while you were naked in my arms, but I was weak. Scared. Conflicted. I didn’t want to lose you, nor destroy your world. And the harder I fell, the messier it got. Then there was Benedict’s to consider, Thomas’s client privilege, and my career. After a decade of hard work, I’d been atthe helm for five whole minutes and was already on the edge of screwing it up. Gerard would have crawled out of his grave just to kill me.

He died five months ago today. I was in a meeting with him one minute; the next, he was dead at my knees. I was gutted, but the truth is, I didn’t fully know that man until he died and left me his subpar ethics and den of shady clients. Thomas included.

That day you came to my office, I was trying to make things right. I wanted Thomas to meet you, see how incredible you are, come clean to his family, and bring everything to light because that’s what I intended to do, no matter the cost, that night. I was done, and it was time you knew the truth, only I wanted it delivered as painlessly as possible. I wanted you to hear it from my mouth, in my words, while I looked you square in the eye. But that’s not what happened, and instead, I froze.

I froze because for the third time in my life, I had to watch my world die, only this time it was all my fault. I froze because I felt every piece of you breaking inside my bones. I froze because when faced with Thomas’s malice, I was again sixteen years old—small, weak, too dumb to know my place—and it wasn’t Thomas in that room but my father, who I hate.

But when you fell to your knees, Angel, and struggled to breathe, I woke up from what felt like a ten-year trance. I’d put you there, andI wondered how I could do that to someone I cherished. What kind of man had I become? When did work and a stupid law firm start trumping all else? My morals. Common decency. Love.

My mother’s head would have hung in shame. This. Isn’t. You. That’s what you said to me. That’s what she would have said too.

Angel, I was a fool, but I woke up. I realised when compared to my father, Gerard was a saint, but the bar was in hell to begin with. I realised the grass might be greener yet still full of beetles—that greener than dead doesn’t always mean good. I realised I let myself be moulded like your clay into someone I wasn’t. Did things that felt wrong because I didn’t trust myself. My uncle gave me everything. He even saved my life. But he also tried to extend his by hijacking mine.

I’m so sorry. My actions don’t speak to the man I am, nor the one I want to be. Please know I’ll respect whatever path you choose and forever wish you well, but I’ll also be waiting for as long as it takes in case you ever gift me a second chance.

Come back to me, Angel, so I can spend eternity making amends, love you like you deserve to be loved, show you everything I am, and never lie to you again. Gerard’s ghost has gone, and I’d like you to meet the man I truly am while I get to know him too. But fair warning, I actually hate suits andI’m leaving Benedict’s (I hope that’s not a deal-breaker for you). I still love, like, and adore you though. Always and forever.

—Cole

PS. Get him.

Fat tears are rolling down my face as sobs quake my shoulders. Always and forever. Of all the words Cole could use, he chose two of Dad’s. Maybe it’s a sign.It feels like a sign. But regardless, one thing’s for sure: Cole’s letter is everything I could have hoped for. Genuine. Apologetic. Insightful and raw.Beautiful. And now I get it—I gethim. A whole facet of him I couldn’t see because I plonked him on a pedestal, then knelt self-loathing at its feet. That was unfair to us both. Cole’s been in a messy, grief-stricken place for nine long months. And while he is older than me, successful, and super smart, he’s still young and human. And humans make mistakes and bad decisions no matter how perfect or clever they seem. That realisation comes as a relief, to be honest, on many levels.

I inhale a deep breath and sigh, flopping back on the bed, clutching the letter on my belly as I stare at the light bulb dangling from the ceiling on a dirty cream cord.

I’m now faced with that bittersweet fear from before. I feel lighter. Like I’m filled with foamy bubbles in lieu of lead—like I’m the colour pink instead of grey. I forgive Cole—completely and with compassion—and I believe what we had was real. But forgiveness is one thing—trust is another. And in that respect, I’m nowhere near close. If I go back, that little voice of doubt will linger and whisper in my ear. It will be far from nice and test me every single day. But Cole deserves a second chance. Of that, I’m sure. And maybe it’s not about if I can trust Cole to never hurtme again because that’s beyond my control. Maybe the golden question is, Can I trust myself to cope if he does?

Can I be hurt again without crumbling or wanting to die?

Can I love him and stay whole?

Yes. I think I finally can. If he’ll still have me, that is.

I read his letter again and cry again. But this time, I’m tingly all over, and those two curious little words in the postscript, plus the extra pages, actually register.

Get him.

Frowning, I flip to the next page, unsure of what I’m reading. It’s a document. Multiple documents. Confidential-looking ones with Thomas Nilsen’s name littered throughout. An email too, linking Thomas to a shell company in the Cayman Islands operating under an alias. References to a foreign law firm and bank account. Financial statements with sporadic activity involving big dollars. Evidence of what appears to be… Tax evasion. Money laundering.

“Holy shit,” I whisper, holding the documents tight in my hands. Cole has gone and gifted me the key to killing Thomas’s career. He knew. Somehow, Cole knew I’d want revenge without risking the spotlight. He’s also trusted me with this, even though betraying a client could kill his own career too. Even though he knew I was angry and hurt—a probable loose cannon.

Right now, I could kiss him. I could climb him like a gum tree and never let go. I check the time on my phone. It’s late—near ten—and this needs to be done in person if it’s to be done at all. But short of Ubering to his house, which is a full hour away, I can’t do anything tonight. Nor should I. I’m now Avery 2.0—a newer, better, less impulsive, more mature, patient version of the previous. Thus, I’ll sleep on it to be 100 percent sure. Even though my heart is already halfway up that hill.

I look over the documents again, shaking my head. Sadly, I’m not surprised Thomas is a criminal in addition to a ginormousdick. But am I this vindictive? Not typically, but maybe I could be. Maybe this situation warrants it, and maybe Thomas Nilsen shouldn’t have been so fucking nasty. God knows Australia would be better off without him—we need less corruption in power, not more. In fact, outing this arsehole might do the whole country a giant favour and benefit the greater good, my brothers included. Guess I’ll think on that too. But just in case, I whip out my phone and shoot a text to Liam, who’s pretty tech-savvy for a car-crazed chippy.

Me:

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