Page 178 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2
An envelope appears from his pocket, thick cream-colored paper with my name written in familiar handwriting. The sight of it stops my breath, punches a hole straight through my chest.
Hank’s handwriting.
“What the hell is this?” My voice comes out strangled, barely audible over the sudden roaring in my ears.
“He asked me to give it to you. If he didn’t make it back.” Forest holds the envelope like it might detonate. Maybe it will. “Said to wait until you’d had time to grieve properly. Until things were…” he gestures vaguely at the ultrasound photos, “settled.”
My hand shakes as I take it from him. The paper feels heavy, weighted with words Hank wrote before he died. Words meant for me to read in exactly this moment, when life has found its new shape around the hole he left behind.
“He knew, didn’t he?” I ask, already knowing the answer. “He knew he wasn’t coming back from that island.”
Forest’s silence is confirmation enough.
“Not for certain,” he says finally. “But he felt it. The way we sometimes do before a mission goes sideways.”
The coffee machine beeps, announcing the completion of its cycle. The ordinary sound feels obscene next to the letter in my hand.
“Thanks for bringing this,” I manage, throat tight with emotion I can’t afford to release. Not yet. Not until Forest leaves and I can fall apart in private.
He nods, understanding passing between us. Then his hand lands on my shoulder, heavy and solid. “He was proud to serve with you. Proud to call you brother.”
“Yeah.” It’s all I can say without breaking.
Then he’s gone, leaving me alone with Hank’s final words burning a hole in my palm.
I stand frozen in the kitchen, caught between wanting to tear the envelope open and wanting to burn it unread. Part of me can’t bear the thought of hearing Hank’s voice again, even through paper and ink. The other part is desperate for it, for one last connection to the man who was my other half for so long.
“Gabe?” Ally’s voice comes from the bedroom doorway. She stands there in one of Hank’s old T-shirts, fabric stretched slightly over her growing bump. “Who was at the door?”
I hold up the envelope, unable to find words to explain what it is. She moves closer, squinting in the early morning light, then freezes as recognition hits.
“Is that?—”
“Yeah.” I swallow hard, emotions threatening to overflow. “Forest just delivered it. From Hank.”
Her eyes widen, one hand going instinctively to her stomach, the other reaching for the envelope like she can’t help herself. “What does it say?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t opened it yet.”
We stand there, both staring at Hank’s handwriting like it might spring to life, might somehow bring him back to us if we just look at it long enough.
“Do you want to be alone?” she asks, understanding even in this moment how complicated my relationship with Hank was, how some things between us were just ours.
“No.” I reach for her hand, needing her solid presence beside me. “Whatever he wrote, it’s for both of us now.”
We move to the couch, settling into the same spot we’ve spent countless evenings since moving in. Ally curls against my side, her head on my shoulder, both of us bracing for whatever comes next.
My finger breaks the seal, careful not to tear what feels sacred. The letter inside is several pages, folded precisely the way Hank always folded important documents. Methodical to the end.
I unfold the paper, and his voice fills my head with the first words:
Gabe,
If you’re reading this, it means I didn’t make it home.
The sob comes without warning,ripping from my chest with enough force to shake Ally where she presses against me. Her hand tightens on mine, anchoring me as Hank’s words swim before my eyes.
Don’t wastea second blaming yourself. This was always how I was meant to go—first in, last out, heart wide open. You know me. You knew this was coming long before I did.
