Page 168 of Splintered Hearts

“I don’t know. Maybe a little more. Give the toes a kiss.”

“I’m about to spit on your shoes.”

“A little more pizazz, come on!”

“What are...” We all look up as Lia stands in the doorway. “You know what, I don’t need to know. Have a good night, boys. I love you all. Lock the door on your way out.”

She turns back into the house. “Jamie, get up.” Hunter helps me. “Enough. We’ll help, and you two will do nothing but smile at each other from now on.”

“Fine,” Mark huffs.

“Deal.” Anything. I’ll do absolutely anything.

Whatever it takes, I’m going to earn Noah’s trust back.

Forty Three

Noah

“Hey.” Isa bounces on her toes, handing me a letter with a dramatic bow. “This is for you, good sir.”

“What?” I take the letter, looking at it.

“I’m not sure. Lia asked me to give it to you.” I eye her through the glass wall of her office. Looking at me softly, she smiles with a wave.

Isa bids me farewell. She must be reading a medieval book or something. I turn toward Lia’s office, knocking as I enter. Things have felt awkward since dinner. While we’d never said it to anyone, it’s no secret I was dating her son. “Hey, sweetie.”

“Uh, hi.” She tidies up her work space, getting ready to leave for the day. “What’s this?” I ask.

“Are you heading out soon?” she says instead.

“Uh, I can stay if you need help.”

“No. I’ll see you Monday, okay?” I back away, feeling dismissed, but Lia’s voice catches my attention. “We have dinner on the third Sunday of every month. You’re welcome to come anytime, no matter what.”

Even if you don’t take him back.

“Uh, thank you.” I go to clock out and gather my things. Opening the letter, I immediately recognize the handwriting and my stomach twists. I don’t have to do this. I could throw this away and pretend I never got it. I could live my life and startover.

I could do any number of things besides the one thing I know I’m going to do.

Hi Little Fox,

When I planned to write this letter I had so much to say, but I’ve been staring at this blank piece of paper for like hours, and nothing has come to mind. Word vomit it’s going to have to be. I am so sorry. It’s not that I don’t have anything to say because I have tons and I think that’s the problem. I have too much. Some points are the same. Different variations of I love you, I miss you, I am so fucking sorry for how I acted and treated you, the lies I told you, and the awful things I said to you.

I will never be able to say sorry enough.

I’m so tired. Tired of letting grief and pain rule my life. It’s too late now, maybe, but I have to try. There are things I need to work on. I know that. I’ve been putting in that work. Therapy is not kind. It doesn’t let me hide the way I want to. My doctor has a way of digging at a wound and letting it bleed until I learn to survive without stopping the blood flow.

I’m learning.

If you’re reading this it means that either my mom gave you this note after your shift and you opened it immediately—because my little fox is curious by nature, and between being curious or pissed at me I’m really betting on curiosity to win—or you’re home with your husband and thirteen kids and you’re like, oh shit, that letter I got twenty years ago, maybe I should read it. And now you’re reading it like, who the fuck was Jamie?

I hope it’s not that option, but in case it is I’ll just say hi, I’m Jamie. You are the love of my life and I hope you got everything you ever wanted in yours because you deserve only the best of everything.

Even if it’s been twenty years, I’d like to play a little game. I know how much you love games. I don’t think there’ll be a winner or a loser with this one, though. Like you said, you don’t have to have a winner to play a game, but I’m hoping at the end of this, we’ll both win.

Go to the place I rescued you from that awful date with that awful non-cop who fumbled so damn bad I hope he’s miserable for the rest of his life.

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