Page 227 of Reverse

“There’s more,” he says, pulling an envelope from his pocket, “but I have to take this back with me.”

I open it to see it is a letter addressed to Stella. More tears emerge as I read Reid’s letter to Stella on their wedding day and finish it with an exhale bordering a sob. “God, it’s so beautiful. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“I probably shouldn’t have, and I don’t think Mom realized she left it in there. But we’ve come this far . . . and there’s more.”

“Um, Easton, look at me,” I wave my hand around my stinging cheeks. “Do you really think I’m up for it?”

“Not like that,” he lifts his chin toward the paper. “Look at the bottom of the stationery.”

I lift it, and even with dusk setting in, I manage to catch the logo.

“The Edgewater,” I gasp, utterly stunned. “That’s just . . . wow.”

“I wonder which room it was,” he says thoughtfully. “I wonder if Dad remembers.”

“I bet he does, but please don’t tell me, because I have a feeling it will totally freak me out.”

“But it’s cool, right?”

Biting my lip to hide the tremble, I nod in agreement.

“We were asking too much, weren’t we?” I wipe my eyes with my sweater sleeve. “Doomed from the start.”

“That’s not my take away. Mine is a lot like my father’s now,” he exhales, “I have a grudge-filled respect for Nate Butler that I couldn’t have ever managed before.”

“He’s a good man.”

“Yeah. I wish . . . fuck . . .,” he exhales, “what I wish. And as much as I fucking hate to admit it, they all had every right to their initial reaction. When they were trying to get over it—”

“We screwed the rest up ourselves,” I finish for him.

He gives me a subdued nod.

“Thank you for this,” I say, hugging the manuscript to my chest. “I wonder if my father has read it.”

“Helivedit,” Easton says, “but I don’t think so. Mom says her agent and lawyer reached out with the original, and he denied having any part in it.”

“He did?” I shake my head as dozens of answers to questions I never thought to ask circle in my mind. Silence lingers as I start to plug some of the pieces into place.

“You’re going to have a lot to unpack,” Easton supplies, “it will take a little time, but you’ll get through it.”

“My dad was a badass,” I grin, hugging the manuscript a little harder.

“Mine was anasshole,” he says, “anda badass.”

“How do you feel about the part where he . . . almost—”

“Killed himself?” Easton shakes his head while brushing off his jeans. “I never would have thought him capable of that, but the way I feel sometimes when I get really low, I understand the thoughts . . . Honestly, I can barely imagine that version of him. Living on a mattress, starving, on a fucking floor.”

“Your mother saved him by washing his hair,” a fast tear forms and falls, and he catches it with his thumb, seeming briefly fascinated by it.

“Jesus, Crowne. You know, youalwaysdo this to me. One minute I’m emotionally stable and somewhat put together, and the next, with you, I’m a damn mess.”

“Such a beautiful mess,” he fires back.

I glance around as the sun disappears. “What haveyoubeen doing all day?”

“Staring at my beautiful wife.”

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