Page 9 of The Hang Up
Wade whistles and drops onto the recliner across from me. “You’re making the rounds today.”
“I asked them to help me talk to her. Not sure if it worked.”
He shrugs. “Can’t hurt. Those girls are tight. Their loyalty is locked in. Auden has already warned me about getting involved.”
“I know,” I say, dragging a hand down my face. “But I need to find a way to explain everything. To apologize for leaving. To tell her what I was thinking.”
“And then what?”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Say she listens. Say she forgives you. Then what? You move back in with her? Propose? What’s the plan, man?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I just want a shot. One real chance to make it right.”
Wade nods slowly. “Well, you better come up with something better than muffins.”
I stand and stretch, the weight of the day pressing on me. “Yeah. I was thinking about what you said, about writing her a letter.”
“Good. Do it,” he says with a nod.
“Are you going to help?”
Wade snorts. “You don’t want my help. I’m not good with words.”
He’s right. Wade is a man of few words. He’s loyal, though, and a good guy. I’m lucky to have him as a friend.
I give him a mock salute and head out, climbing into my truck and driving the familiar backroads to my place.
The second I roll open the doors to the woodworking shop, the tension in my shoulders eases.
This place always feels like home. Like peace.
The scent of pine and sawdust greets me, warm and comforting. I move to the workbench and run my hands over the smooth surface. My latest project, a maple bookshelf I’m crafting for a client, is half finished, the wood clean and waiting.
But today, I don’t reach for the tools. Instead, I grab my notebook.
I sink onto the stool and stare at the blank page, the pen heavy in my hand.
What do you say to the girl you left behind? How do you explain the worst decision of your life?
I start writing, letting the words come.
Lena,
I know I’m the last person you want to hear from. And I know I don’t deserve a second chance. But I need you to understand why I left. Why I did the stupidest thing I’ve ever done…
I write for an hour, maybe two.
I pour it all out. The fear. The guilt. The grief of losing my grandfather. The pressure I felt to become someone worthy of her. The belief that I needed to prove myself before I could come back and build a life with her.
The realization, too late, that I already had everything I needed.
I sign it simply.
Forever sorry,
Holden
