Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 76717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
She frowns. “I didn’t know you had plans.”
“I forgot until just now,” I admit.
Barry and Lisa, of course, aren’t old friends. They’re the last connection I have to Lindsay.
“Oh, okay.” Angie’s voice is small. She swallows hard, and questions burn in her eyes.
But I can’t answer her questions right now.
Not while my world is spinning out of control.
What if Lindsay didn’t take her own life?
And if she didn’t?
No way will I find her killer.
It’s been three years.
Three years.
All because I couldn’t bear to read her suicide note.
If I’d read it, I’d have seen then that the writing wasn’t hers.
I reach out a hand to cup Angie’s face. She leans into my touch, her gaze searching mine.
“I promise it’s not about us, Angie,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper. “I’ll explain tomorrow, okay?”
She nods, disappointment still etched on her face. I hate to leave her like this, with unanswered questions and a cloud of mystery. But right now I don’t have the strength to explain everything.
“Okay,” she finally says. “I trust you, Jason.”
The words hit me like a steam engine, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. She trusts me. That’s something I can’t take lightly.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I kiss her lips.
She nods and says nothing more. Just closes the door behind me when I leave.
As I drive to Barry and Lisa’s, I can’t help but think of Lindsay. Of the life we built together and how it all crumbled in the blink of an eye. The what-ifs and could-haves play in my head like a broken record.
The note.
The handwriting.
Anxiety knots in my stomach.
Pulling up to their house is like stepping into another life. The house is large and welcoming—the house where our wedding reception took place, Lindsay’s baby shower, the party after Julia’s christening.
So many family dinners.
Julia took her first steps to her grandma here.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself before exiting the car.
Lisa opens the door and greets me with a warm smile. “Jason.” She wraps me in a tight hug. “It’s so good to see you.”
Her words are genuine, but they hit me like a gut punch. It isn’t good to see them. It never is, because all it does is remind me of Lindsay.
Barry and Lisa have found their peace. They had no choice. They have two other children who need them. Grandchildren who need them. They’ll always mourn the loss of Lindsay and Julia, but they’ve moved on.
They had to.
But me? I was stuck. Stuck in a whirlpool of grief and regret that kept sucking me back in, no matter how hard I tried to swim away. And then, when I found Angie, learned about the surgery…
Things cleared up, if only a little bit.
And now I’m back in the fucking whirlpool.
“I brought down some of Lindsay’s old things,” Lisa says as she invites me to take a seat in the living room. “You said you wanted to see her handwriting?”
“Yes.” God, my mouth is dry. “Could I bother you for some water?”
Barry rises. “Where are my manners? I haven’t offered you a drink.” He gestures toward the wet bar in the kitchen. “You still like bourbon? I got this great one from one of my associates. I think he was trying to impress me.”
“It’s tempting, but I’m driving and all.” Plus, bourbon won’t do much for my parched mouth. “Just water would be great.”
“Good man. I can’t tell you how many of my partners I’ve had to get out of DUI charges.” He heads to the wet bar and returns with a highball glass full of ice water.
“Thank you.” I take a sip.
Doesn’t help.
Lisa hands me a box that’s worn at the edges. It’s filled with letters, postcards, and a few diaries. Some of her old high school yearbooks as well. As I rummage through them, memories of Lindsay come flooding back. Her laugh. Her smile. The way her eyes lit up when she was excited.
I open one of the diaries. It feels like an invasion of her privacy, but the need for answers outweighs my guilt.
This one was written during college. She writes of classes, of friends, and…of meeting me.
I’m writing this down because if I don’t, I might explode. Like, actually combust into a pile of ashes.
* * *
His name is Jason.
* * *
He sat next to me in Psych today. He’s tall, and his dark hair is messy in that effortlessly hot way. But his eyes—oh my God…
* * *
They’re so brilliantly green, like the velvet lining of a jewelry box. He wore Levi’s and a faded Springsteen T-shirt. I don’t even like the Boss, but I may give him another try…
* * *
He asked to borrow a pen. I gave him my favorite one. The blue gel pen with the perfect glide. Then he smiled. Not just a “thanks for the pen” smile. A real one. The kind that tugs at the corners of your stomach and makes you forget what your own name is.