tasks I’d been putting off because I didn’t have the time or energy. That was how I found myself cleaning out the attic, a task that was long overdue. I sifted through boxes of memorabilia and documents that hadn’t seen the light of day in years, some not for decades. The task was exactly what I needed to remember my ties to this house and to this community. I came across the deed to our property in my father’s name, the local clippings when my father first started to find success in Hollywood. This town had supported him; it had supported me. This was home.
Normally, that was a comforting thought—heartwarming, even. But today… Today, it felt more like a vise around my chest holding me in and keeping me captive.
I moved on to the next box, checking the clock on my phone to make sure I still had enough time to get ready for the dance. The third envelope I pulled out wasn’t another legal document, it was a letter. A handwritten letter from my father.
I read it three times with shaky hands and watery eyes before I finally realized exactly what this was.
It was a suicide note.
It was addressed to me.
He was sorry. Sorry for leaving me alone in this world. Sorry for not being able to handle the pressure. His words were vague at best. He never accused my mother of anything or even Lila’s father.
He just kept mentioning the stress. The pressure. The expectations.
My father had killed himself.
I sat there for God knew how long, staring at his handwriting and letting the truth of it sink in. My heart ached and yeah, I cried. But I’d grieved for my father years ago, and this didn’t change the fact that he was dead.
In reality, it didn’t change anything.
But it did.
I’m not sure how long I would have sat there if Amber hadn’t shown up. She poked her head through the opening. “Hey,” she said. “Your mom said I could find you up here.”
Her voice was chipper as ever, her smile bright. She climbed the rest of the way up, and that was when I noticed what she was wearing.
Oh crap, the dance. Amber was decked out in a gold slinky dress, her hair down in long dark waves.
“You look beautiful,” I said.
Her brows drew down as she got a better look at me, and she hurried over to sit by my side. “And you look terrible.” She reached for my hand. “Brandon, what’s wrong? What’s going on?”
I didn’t meet her concerned gaze as I handed over the letter. I heard her gasp, her whispers of dismay. And then her arms were around me holding me tight. “Oh Brandon, I’m so sorry.”
I nodded. What was there to say? All these years, I’d believed it was an accident. A miscalculation made in the midst of a drunken stupor. And now? Nothing had changed—my father was still dead of an overdose. And yet, everything was different.
We sat in silence for a while until Amber eventually broke it. “What are you going to do?”
I glanced over at her. “What do you mean?”
She shrugged. “I mean, are you going to confront your mom? Do you think she knew?”
I shook my head. It wasn’t like the envelope had been sealed. She’d likely been the one to stash it up here, and odds were she’d read it. Which meant, she’d been keeping this truth from me for eight years. What other secrets was she hiding?
“I don’t know,” I finally said. “What good would that do? It would just set her off. It would only—” I shook my head, unable to go on. The unfairness of it was brutal to swallow. She was the one who’d cheated on my father, who had driven him to suicide… but I couldn’t even say anything for fear of what she’d do and how she’d react.
One harsh word from me and she’d—hell, I didn’t know what she’d do. My mother was wildly unpredictable, and that was the whole point. There was no telling what she’d do if I came at her with accusations.
Amber wrapped her arms around me again and rested her head on my shoulder. We sat like that for a while before she stirred. “You know, Brandon, maybe you should think about Lila’s offer.”
Her voice was so quiet, so sweet, it took a moment for her words to register. When they did, I pulled away a bit so I could look at her.
Big brown eyes peered back at