Page 52 of When We Meet Again

Many challenges you face are easily preventable. It’s learning how to deal with them before they happen. I like to call that “enlightenment.”

The day you read this letter, please practice something for yourself. Take a habit that you look at as a weakness. For instance, smoking (I know you don’t smoke): Be present. Instead of smoking, eat a piece of fruit, just today. When you lie down in bed, before you sleep, decide whether or not tomorrow you wish to continue practicing.

“A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”

A friend,

Tom

P.S. Now that you’re moving forward in your current relationship with Roman, challenges will start to rise. Remember, friend, like water, just be. Everything then will fall into place.

P.P.S. Enclosed is Patrick’s dog tag. It was found in a village west of here. I asked around, but still no sign of him.

CHAPTER 26

ROMAN

“Casa d’Amigos. How original.” I exhale and pull into the parking lot of Waverly’s favorite Mexican restaurant. Thank God for Victoria’s frantic message last night. I think she knew she’d fucked up by giving this Connor guy tips. She said I should go in there and ‘claim my girl.’ But that’s not how I operate. I don’tclaimanyone. But I can’t just sit at home while she’s out with some other guy. Turning up here feels a lot like a set-up. Like I’m on an episode ofCheatersexcept she’s not cheating, and I’m the guy who pushed her to go out on a date. What a stupid idea. I’m never drinking again. No good ideas come from alcohol. Or Hendrix. I’m going to kill him later.

I sit on my bike outside the best hidden gem in Venice Beach, watching them like a creeper through the window. I can’t help but think back to seven years ago: the night we met. The night everything changed. Why did I have to point her out to my brother? I practically served up her fate on a silver platter because there was no way he’d even glanced at her beforeIpointed her out.

History is not going to repeat itself. Like fuck that’s what I’m going to do tonight. Hand her over to another handsome fucking guy? Sure, the dude’s good looking. Good for him. But so am I.And she isn’t into redheaded men. Over the years, she’s made that clear more than once.

I’m not going to risk losing her to someone else for another seven years. Maybe longer, who knows.Damn alcohol.The wind starts to pick up and thunder rolls in the distance, as if Mother Nature can read my thoughts…it’s laughable. I have to laugh. Because if I don’t, I’ll put my fist through that window.

Redheaded Connor just made her giggle. It’s the giggle she gives you when she doesn’t want to laugh but she’s trying to be nice.

“Jesus Christ, what am I doing,” I mutter, almost embarrassed at how psycho I’m being right now. This is not me. I’m not like this. And for her, I shouldn’t be like this.

I deactivate the kill switch on my bike, push the ignition button, and head back to my house.

“I’mborderline obsessed at this point,” I think while I lace up my sneakers. I strap my phone into the case wrapped around my arm, shove my AirPods in my ears, and leave out the back door.

“Of course, it’s starting to fucking rain.” I start into a light jog, making sure I can go the distance. It’s time to shut off my brain. Just me, the sidewalk, my music, and the rain. It’s all very cathartic. No part of me is thinking about what Waverly is doing, or how her date withConnoris going. Not one single part.

Lies.

I pant out with every step. “Stop…feeling…sorry…for yourself, pussy.” Sometimes some tough self-love is exactly what I need. Especially when I’m the one who caused this.

I look back as if I’m running from something. I’m not sure what I’m running from, but I pick up speed—dodging debrisfrom the wind gusts. Aren’t we all running from something? Whether it’s the past, present, or future, we all have moments that chase us. Not me. I’ll outrun whatever is trying to catch me.

Jealousy, insecurities, constantly feeling like I’m not good enough. Like I’ll never measure up.

My feet hit the pavement hard and fast as I finish my run and am back at my house. I’m drenched. An attractive mixture of rain and sweat.Yum.

Salty sweat drips into my eyes and I push my sodden hair away from the mix as I slow down in front of my house.

An older blue Audi sits in my driveway. I know whose car it is. But what’s she doing here? “I must have overexerted myself. I’m hallucinating. The front porch is empty, but everyone knows I go in and out of the back patio when I run so I don’t have to carry a key.

She’s not here. It can’t be her. She’s on a date.

I know she’s not here, but I slowly make my way around the back of the house, like I’m about to be a victim of a jump-scare.

She’s sitting in one of my navy-blue Adirondack chairs. Her loose sweatpants, which I’m pretty sure are actually mine, and tank top are soaked from the rain. But she doesn’t seem to care. Her face remains fixed on the sky above. She didn’t hear me come around from the front.

“Waverly?” I say softly, trying not to scare her.

She blinks away the drops and looks at me. Her mascara running down her face like she’s crying out black tears.

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