Page 14 of The Lost Letters

Ella

LETTER

JESSE

DEAR ELLA,

Me again. You know . . . the man who’s insanely in love with you but still can’t find the courage to send you a fucking letter. Maybe I need a punch in the face. Knock some real sense into me.

I was thinking about Marcus and Savanna today, and it’s crazy how fast everything happened with them. And now they’re engaged? Marcus and Savanna saw each other—what?—five times in person? Seems like they were destined for one another. Even if he was operating overseas, they were always writing each other letters and emails . . . you know, the ones you actually send back and forth. Not the kind that I’m doing, writing to my fuckin’ self essentially.

Life and how things work out is . . . interesting sometimes, I guess. Not sure what I’m trying to say exactly, but I keep pondering life’s greatest mysteries. Overthinking a bit too much lately. Time on my hands.

Anyways, what I’m getting at here is . . . maybe . . . ugh. Why is it so difficult for me to say out loud I want what Marcus and Savanna have? Because I do. And with you, Ella. Fuck me, why was that so hard to even just write? Of course that’s what I want. And it’s going to be hard to see you at their wedding and not wish that was us.

Look forward to seeing you, though. I’m sure whatever you’ll be wearing—one of your fashion designs—will cause my brain to malfunction and all the blood to suddenly rush . . . well, there.

The things you make me feel.

Thinking about you always. Yours,

Jesse

Listen to the audio

CHAPTER FOUR

JESSE

EARLY 2012 - WALKINS GLEN, ALABAMA

“Too bad your sister couldn’t make it,” A.J. said from behind.

I was staring out the window of his parents’ kitchen, eyeing their expansive property as the storm cut through hard and with fierce intensity. “She’s on another one of her adventures with that Andrew guy I can’t stand.”

It was still hard to believe my sister was off treasure hunting for a living.

I’d told Rory adventure-type stories growing up whenever our parents would fight and I’d find her hiding in the closet. I’d make her the star of the story to calm her down and distract her, and now here she was . . . living the life that I’d once made up only to help her shut out the noise.

“Yeah, I don’t like her boyfriend, either,” A.J. confirmed as he settled in next to me. “No one in town does. He left a shitty impression. Snubbed his nose at us small-town folks.”

When A.J. nudged a beer at my side, I turned and faced him. He popped the top and handed it to me.

“Hopefully she’ll dump his ass soon before that son of a bitch gets her hurt. The places he takes her . . .” I couldn’t even think about it without getting sick. And there was no stopping that woman. She was a thrill seeker. It wasn’t like I couldn’t relate, though. Look at my life. I pretty much got shot at for a living. And speaking of that . . . “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

I took a swig of the cool liquid. “Not let the shit you see and do on a daily basis change you?” I frowned. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m relieved to know it hasn’t fucked with your psyche the way it has mine, but—”

“It does mess with me. I’m just . . .” He lifted one shoulder as if unsure how to continue.

“You’re just you,” I went ahead and finished for him. “Thank God for that. One of us needs to keep our humor.”

A.J. laughed. “When were you ever funny?” He winked, then grew serious a beat later. “You need to talk, though? Something wrong?”

“No, no, I’m fine.” I shook my head, clueless as to why I brought anything up, especially on a night like this. We were at what A.J. had dubbed “The Vasquez Celebration 2.0.” Marcus had married the woman of his dreams, Savanna. Their wedding was small and nearby last year. But a few close friends and family had been unable to attend, so A.J. had decided he’d throw them another party.

A.J. was a damn good friend. I was happy Marcus had his six downrange. And a little envious the two of them worked together. I should have gone the SEAL route, but the idea of winding up on a submarine . . . fuck that.

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