Page 80 of When We Meet Again

I lock one hand on his, and the other holds the mail I picked up from outside. Tossing it on to the table, the first envelope is a letter. Same type of envelope as Tom’s, but different handwriting.

“Hmm…” I bite the inside of my cheek. Something inside of me tugs at my gut, and my body tenses.

Finally Roman comes up for air.

“Everything okay?” His grip on me loosens as he circles around and stands in front of me. He knows me better than I know myself sometimes…

August 7, 2024

Hello, Waverly,

Richard, here. We’ve never met, but I’m Tom’s old friend from the University of Oxford.

I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Tom passed away suddenly—early this morning from a stroke.

Six days ago.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Roman’s hand finds my back.

The day just got a little shadier. The birds are singing a little quieter. Life just got a little more dull.

“It’s Tom…he’s…gone. Stroke.” Tears waste no time streaming down my face. “I can’t…what’s the rest say?”

Roman begins reading the rest while I make my way to the kitchen to pour a double shot of Crown Royal with a shaky hand. His favorite.

I found a note in an envelope on his fridge. Maybe he felt the end was near for him, I’m not sure. But he asked me to send you a few things he wants you to have. The box should be arriving within the week.

Please know how sorry I am for your loss. Our loss, actually. He was a special man. A helper. A beacon of light in a dark world.

For your own closure, know that he passed suddenly, without too much pain. There was nothing more they could do.

I hope life treats you well. And just knowthat Tom will always be looking down on you. Let his words live on through you.

Take care now,

Richard

I swallow back the shot and pour another. Swallow and repeat.

“Kensi. Baby, come here.” Roman brings me into his chest, the warmth of his arms—so male, so bracing.

Uncontrollable sobs fly out of me. Tom was all the things Richard said he was.A special man. A helper. A beacon of light in a dark world.He helped me through the grieving process. His soft-spoken way of dealing with life’s unfortunate incidents.

“I’m so sorry, Kensi. So, so sorry.” He hoists me up and I wrap my legs around him until I feel my couch beneath me. I lie down, surrounded by the fluff and blankets I know all too well. It’s become my official grieving couch. Except this time is different. This time I’m not alone.

Roman kicks his shoes off and lays beside me, holding me close and letting me cry. For minutes, hours. I’m not really sure how long. I’m not even entirely sure what exactly I’m cryingfor?

Crying about the death of Tom? Patrick? Myself? Crying about the relief I feel that although life is unfairly unpredictable and death is impending, it’s also beautiful. Every time we lift ourselves up, commit to growing into a person who survived that heartache,it’s a beautiful thing.

One step at a time. One day at a time. Every day is a gift. And sometimes we’re forced to travel those days without our loved ones next to us. The pain doesn’t get better, it just gets easier.

The week drags.But I’m able to dive into the building plans for my new dog sanctuary. That’s what Tom would have wanted meto focus on. If all goes right, we’ll be able to shelter over forty dogs to start. There will be plans to grow in the future, but I want to work slowly and build up. Foyt Construction has left a small trailer behind with simple living essentials, and they were kind enough to give me a key so I can do some work.

A hard knock comes from the door, and I jump to my feet to open it.

“Hey, beautiful,” Roman kisses me before tilting his head to look at the sky. “Can you come with me for a while?” His dark eyes harbor a mischievous look that I’ve grown to love. Hell, I’vealwaysloved. He bites back a smile as I nod and he grabs my hand, allowing me a brief moment to close the door, leaving everything behind.

A few minutes later, we’re in his truck with the windows down playing The Weeknd’sHouse of Balloonsalbum in the background. “Where are you taking me?” I raise a quizzical brow and pucker my lips, and he laughs in response. Silly faces have become our thing.

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