The Last Letter

by Rebecca Yarros

  You’re enough, Ella.

  ~ Chaos

  …

  I rolled my neck, trying to dislodge the seemingly permanent knot that had formed between my shoulder blades. Hours hunched over spreadsheets and bills did that to a girl.

  I stifled a yawn and checked out the clock. Yeah, eight thirty p.m. was way too late to hit up the coffee. I’d be awake until dawn.

  So iced tea it was. I took a sip from my glass and went back to sorting bills. We were in trouble, and it was the kind I didn’t know how to get myself out of. The kind that was going to really hit home when Maisie had surgery in three days.

  Ada popped her head into the makeshift office we’d put together in the cabin. “I left some muffins for the morning. Is there anything else you need?”

  I forced a smile and shook my head. “Nope. Thank you, Ada.”

  “You’re family, dear. No need to thank me.” She gave me an ultra-hard once-over and then pulled out the armchair from where I’d shoved it against the wall, sinking into it and placing her hands in her lap.

  That was code for Ada-wasn’t-letting-up.

  Crap.

  “Tell me. And don’t you dare hold back.”

  I relaxed in my office chair and almost lied. But the woman mom-stared me, which was pretty much the equivalent of a detective sweating you out under a light.

  “What?” I asked, fidgeting with my pen.

  “Tell me.”

  I didn’t want to. Voicing the concern to someone else meant I couldn’t handle it myself, meant that it was all too real.

  “I think I might be a little financially strained.” I was already there emotionally, physically, and mentally, so what did it matter to add one more thing to the ever-growing pile? You can’t over-drown a person. Once they’re underwater it doesn’t matter how much is above them if they can’t swim upward.

  “How strained? You know, Larry and I have a little tucked aside.”

  “Absolutely not.” They’d worked with my grandmother all their lives, given everything they had to our family, our property. I wasn’t taking a dime from them.

  “How strained?” she repeated. “Like newborn twins strained?”

  Ah, the good old days while I was trying to feed them, clothe them, and pay for online courses while working here at Solitude. Good times.

  “Worse.”

  “How much worse?” There wasn’t a line in the woman’s body that led me to believe that she was even remotely stressed.

  “I think I might go broke,” I whispered. “I bet everything on the renovations.”

  “And you put us on the map. Our reservations are fully booked starting right around Memorial Day. You know this is just the off-season. No one wants to trudge through the spring sludge. It’s snow or pure sunshine to make a difference around here.”

  “I know.” I glanced at the stack of bills and shoved another smile forward. Grandma had never mortgaged the property, and even though I’d felt like I was somehow betraying her by doing it, we’d transformed Solitude. “And it’s going to pay off. We knew it would be a sacrifice for a few years to pay that mortgage, but with the renovations and constructing the five new cabins this year, it’s the best business decision we could have made. But I cut a personal corner this year with the insurance. I figured the kids never got sick, and even if they did, the costs were relatively low at the doctor’s, so I moved us to the program that had the lowest premium.”

  “And what does that mean with all that you’re going through?”

  “It means that I’m paying a lot of money. Some of her treatments are covered, some aren’t; some are only partially covered. Any time we go to Denver, we’re out of the network, and then I pay even more.” I was hemorrhaging money at a rate that was simply unsustainable. And it wasn’t just the treatments. We’d had to hire another employee to stay nights at the main house since I was living here now, and all of the extra expenses that came with traveling to Maisie’s appointments added up to money that was flowing out but not in.

  “Oh, Ella.” Ada scooted forward and put her weathered hand on my desk. I took it in my own, my thumb running over her thin, translucent skin. She was as old as Grandma had been when she passed.

  “It’s okay,” I reassured her. “I mean, it’s Maisie’s life. I’m not going to let my daughter…” My throat tightened, and I closed my eyes while I got ahold of myself. This was why I didn’t talk about it. Everything needed to be kept in its own neat little box, and when the time arose, I dealt with each one. But talking about it meant every box seemed to open at once and spill its contents all over me. I drew a stuttered breath. “I’m going to do whatever it takes to make sure she gets exactly the care she needs. No shortcuts. No opting for the cheaper treatment. I’m not risking her like that.”

  “I know. Maybe if we took up a town collection? You know, like they did when the Ellis boy wanted to go on the SeaWorld trip the year his mama died?”

  My first instinct was to rebel, to outright refuse. This town had turned up its nose at me when I was pregnant and deserted at nineteen. I’d made myself what I was in the last six years, and asking for help felt like I was betraying all that I’d accomplished.

  But Maisie’s life was worth way more than my pride.

  “Let’s keep that as an option,” I agreed. “There’s nothing we can do about it tonight, so why don’t you get some rest?”

  “Okay,” she said, patting my hand like I was five again. “I’ll take myself off to bed.” She rose with effort and then leaned over me, kissing my forehead. “You need to get some rest, too.”

  “I’m not tired,” I lied, knowing I had hours of juggling things around for some financial magic.

  “Well, if you’re not tired, you should drop by Mr. Gentry’s cabin. From what Hailey tells me, he’s quite the night owl if you’re seeking some company.” She gave me an innocent smile, but I knew her too well to fall for that.

  “Uh-uh. Not happening.” I shifted the pile of bills to close the discussion. “Besides, I have two six-year-olds asleep upstairs. I can’t exactly wander off and leave them, can I?”

  “Ella Suzanne MacKenzie. I am well aware that Hailey sleeps in your spare room. In fact, she’s out in your living room right now watching something god-awful on your television, and she’s more than capable of listening for your kids. Who, I might add, are sound asleep.”

  “Honestly, you think we can count on Hailey as an adult?”

  “She works out just fine when you have an emergency at the main house that you need to take care of, doesn’t she? Your babies are perfectly safe, then, and it’s not like Maisie had chemo this week. So if you are hiding out from that utterly delicious man, that’s on you. Don’t you go blaming those precious babies or using them as an excuse. Understand me?”

  My cheeks heated. “I’m not hiding out, and he’s not…delicious.”

  “Lie.” She pointed her finger at me like I was eight again and sneaking a cookie from the cooling rack.

  “Whatever. I’m twenty-five years old, trying to run a growing business, raise twins on my own, and in the middle of…” My hands flailed, motioning to everything on my desk. “…cancer. I don’t have time to go chasing romance. I don’t care how good-looking he is.” Or how massive his arms were. None of that mattered.

  “Well, I didn’t say a thing about a romance, did I? Hmmm?” She waltzed out, content with having the last word.

  I slumped against my chair, letting my head roll back. It was all too much. The kids. Solitude. The bills. The threat to Maisie’s life. Beckett’s presence threw my carefully constructed system out of whack.

  Sure, he was good-looking. And maybe Ryan had trusted him. But that didn’t mean I did. It didn’t mean that I had the capacity to even think about him. Except, well, when I obviously did. But it wasn’t like I thought about him on purpose. He just snuck
into my thoughts, invaded really, the same way he’d barged into my life.

  I looked at the bulletin board next to my desk. It was bare except for the eight-by-eleven sheet of paper that had one message in big, block letters.

  YOU ARE ENOUGH.

  Chaos. I missed him with an ache that was almost irrational considering I’d never met him. I didn’t even have a picture to mourn, just his letters, that written voice that had stretched across thousands of miles and somehow reached my soul.

  And now he was gone just like everyone else.

  And Ryan had sent Beckett. At least, that’s what Beckett had said.

  But I’d never actually seen the letter. I should have looked at the letter. That’s what any rational woman would have done when a stranger showed up claiming to have been sent by her dead brother. She checked up on his claim.

  I, however, had accepted it at face value. There had been something in his voice, his eyes, that simply felt like truth. But if there was one thing I couldn’t handle, it was a lie. If he was lying in any way, I needed to know now.

  Screw it.

  I pushed back from the desk and was in the living room before I could give any clear thought to the matter, asking Hailey to listen for the kids. She agreed, her spoon halfway through a pint of ice cream that was consoling her from her most recent flavor-of-the-month breakup.

  I grabbed my coat on the way out the back door and was halfway to Beckett’s house before I had the urge to turn and run. What the hell was I doing? Showing up at his house in the middle of the night? Okay, maybe it wasn’t quite the middle of the night, but it was dark, so it qualified.

  Using my phone as a flashlight, I walked the shore of the lake, telling myself how stupid this was with each step until I looked up and saw the light on through his windows. Then I started up the path to his front door.

  Why couldn’t this wait? Why now? What was I hoping to gain, besides the truth of whether or not Ryan had sent him? Why did it matter now and not two weeks ago when he’d shown up and altered my sense of gravity? Why— Oh. Apparently I’d just knocked on his front door.

  I guess that decision was made.

  Run away, the immature nineteen-year-old inside me urged. Seemed the romantic part of my development had frozen at the age I’d shoved her into yet another box and slammed the lid home.

  You’re not a child, the mature part of me countered.

  Before I could get into any more arguments with myself that might land me in the psych ward, the door swung open.

  Holy. Shit. He was shirtless.

  “Ella?”

  And barefoot. Just workout pants.

  “Ella, is everything okay?”

  What the hell kind of body was that? How did a natural man have so many muscles, all hard and toned and cut in lines that seemed carved for a mouth? My mouth.

  Two firm hands clasped my shoulders. “Ella?”

  I shook my head, like I could shake the thoughts out, and dragged my eyes from the incredible shape of his torso past his whisker-stubbled neck, to those freaking eyes. I liked green. Green was an awesome color.

  Green. Green. Green.

  “Everything is fine. Sorry,” I muttered, knowing I sounded like an idiot. “I didn’t expect…” I motioned to his body.

  “You thought someone else would be home?”

  “No. I just thought maybe you’d have clothes on. Like a normal person.” I forced a shrug, and he let go of my arms.

  Then he grinned.

  Ugh. He really was incredibly handsome. Annoyingly so.

  “My apologies. I will remember to check with you before I work out next time. Come on in. I’ll grab a shirt.” He held open the door so I could slide past him.

  And he smelled good while working out? What kind of sorcery was this? Was this guy even a real person? No one looked that good, and smelled that good, and was kind to kids. There was a flaw.

  He’s special ops.

  Yeah, that was a pretty big flaw. Not that I could even see this guy as a man, in the romantic sense. Like I had time for that crap right now, or even the energy. But I wasn’t stupid, either, and something had flipped in me when I’d seen him with Colt.

  Guys with puppies. Guys with kids. Either one was guaranteed to snag my attention, and this guy had both.

  “I’ll be right back,” he told me as I stood in the entryway. “Feel free to make yourself at home, since…you know, you own it!” he called as he ran up the stairs.

  My steps were tentative as I came farther into the cabin. Everything was just as we rented it; there was no personalization or anything that suggested he’d be here more than a few days, let alone seven months. No dirty dishes in the sink, no books left on end tables, no jackets thrown haphazardly on the backs of chairs.

  Havoc came out of the living room, wagging her tail slowly, and I dropped down to see her.

  “Hey, girl. Were you asleep? I’m so sorry to wake you up.” I rubbed behind her ears, and she leaned into my touch.

  A minute later he was in front of me, a black tee pulled over his chest. Yeah, that didn’t lessen his sex appeal, unfortunately.

  “So you do like my Havoc.”

  “I never said I didn’t like her. I happen to think she’s pretty great. Her handler, on the other hand…” I shrugged, glancing around the cabin. “You sure you’re staying seven months? Looks like you’re not even here for the weekend.”

  Just another sign that this guy wasn’t sticking around.

  He grinned, flashing white, even teeth and getting tiny crinkles around his eyes. “What, because I like my cabin neat? Clean? Uncomplicated?”

  “Or sterile and impersonal, whatever you’d like to call it,” I teased.

  He scoffed. “So, what can I do for you, Ella?” He leaned back against the bar that divided the kitchen from the living room.

  “I was hoping that you might show me Ryan’s letter.” The mood in the room changed instantly.

  “Oh.” He quickly schooled his expression, but I’d seen the initial surprise. “Yeah, of course. Just wait right here.”

  He sprinted up the steps again. I heard a drawer opening and shutting, and within a few heartbeats, Beckett was back.

  “Here you go.” He handed over an envelope that had probably once been white but was now smudged with dirt and softened by repeated handling. My fingers trembled as I flipped it over, seeing Beckett’s name scrawled across the front in Ryan’s handwriting.

  My thumb brushed over the ink as my throat constricted, a familiar burn tickling my nose. Tears threatened for the first time since his funeral, and I quickly shoved the emotions as far away as possible. I kept them locked up tight, just like the boxes of his things that gathered dust in his old room. I’d eventually clean it out, sort through the things I knew Colt would want, but not yet.

  That was on my after-we-get-through-cancer list, which at present was about fourteen miles long.

  “You can take it with you,” Beckett offered, his gruff voice softened to a level that drew my eyes to his. “In case you want some privacy to read it.”

  There was a deep sorrow in his gaze, a raw, unfathomable pain that sucked the air from my lungs. I knew that feeling; I was that feeling, and seeing it reflected in someone else somehow made my own feel validated and a little less lonely. There had been tears at Ryan’s funeral. Larry, Ada…me, the kids, the few local girls he’d seen off and on for years, even the couple of guys who had come to represent his unit. But none of them had looked like I felt—like I’d been abandoned by the only person who really knew me…not until this moment with someone I considered a stranger.

  A stranger I was connected to through the death of the person we’d both loved.

  Given the state of the envelope, and how many times he’d obviously read the letter, I knew what he was offering, and what it cost him. That simple
gesture meant more to me than every let-me-know-what-you-need from every well-meaning person who learned about Maisie, even more than the honest offers from Ada and Larry, whom I considered family.

  Beckett was offering me the chance to walk out the door with a sacred piece of his history.

  “No, that’s okay. I’d honestly rather read it here. With you.” Where maybe just once, I wouldn’t feel so utterly alone in my grief for Ryan. “If that’s okay?”

  “Of course. Do you want to sit?” He rocked back on his heels and folded his arms over his chest. If I knew him better I’d say he looked nervous, but I wasn’t familiar enough with any of his mannerisms to really make assumptions.

  “No, that’s okay.” Sitting meant staying, which I definitely wasn’t.

  I opened the envelope and slid out the letter. It was lined notebook paper, the same he’d used to send me letters. The paper was even more worn than the envelope, the single page dirt-smudged at the folds. Sucking in a breath to steady myself, I unfolded the letter and immediately recognized Ryan’s handwriting.

  “How many times did you read this?” I asked, my voice small.

  “At least once a day since I…” Beckett cleared his throat. “Sometimes more, in the beginning. Now I keep it in my pocket to remind me why I’m here. That even though you won’t let me help you, I’m trying my best to do as he asked.”

  I nodded and read through the letter in its entirety as slowly as I possibly could, savoring the last time I’d hear from my brother.

  It’s not fair to ask, I know that. It’s against your nature to care, to not accomplish a mission and move on, but I need this. Maisie and Colt need it. Ella needs it—needs you, though she’ll fight you tooth and nail before she ever admits it. Help her even when she swears she’s fine.

  Don’t make her go through it alone.

  There it was. The truth. Ryan sent Beckett, asked him to help, or rather—guilted him so well that Beckett had gotten out of a career he loved and moved to a strange place where the person he’d moved for blatantly ignored him at every possible moment.

  Ryan’s final request had been for me.