But I could do this. For Ryan. For Ella. But not for me. Thinking it was for me implied there was some kind of redemption that I was worthy of.
There wasn’t. What I’d done was beyond any redemption.
My jaw flexed, and my hands tightened on the wheel as I approached the private drive. I made the turn, my gaze catching the mailbox that hung at a haphazard angle on the post. How many times had she gone there looking for my letters? How many times had she found one and smiled? Twenty-four.
How many times had she made the walk without one? Wondered what happened to me? Maybe she thought I’d died on the op with Ryan. Maybe it was better that way.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
I drove up the asphalt drive, under the budding aspen trees that lined the way. Ryan would have said there was something fitting about arriving in spring, during the period of rebirth, but that was a load of crap.
There was no rebirth for me. No new beginning. I wasn’t here to watch life begin; I was here to help Ella if it ended for Maisie. If Ella even let me near.
The pit in my stomach was entirely too familiar, reducing me to that skinny, quiet kid I’d been twenty years ago, showing up at yet another family’s house, hoping this one wouldn’t find a reason to make him someone else’s problem. Hoping this time he wouldn’t pack his stuff in another garbage bag when he accidentally broke a dish or some rule he hadn’t known existed, then be labeled “troubled” and shuffled to another, stricter home.
At least this time I already knew what rules I’d broken and was more than aware that my time here was finite.
I pulled up to the circular drive in front of the main house, which matched the pictures I’d seen online. It looked like a log cabin, except huge. The style was modernized rustic, if that was even a thing, and somehow it spoke to me, reminded me of a time when men harvested entire trees to build houses in the wilderness for their women.
When they built things instead of destroyed them.
My feet hit the ground, and I paused, waiting for Havoc to jump down before shutting the door.
I threw the signal for heel, and she came right to my side. We climbed the small staircase that led to a wide porch, complete with rockers and a porch swing. The boxes that lined the porch railing were empty, cleaned out and ready for planting.
This was it. I was about to meet Ella.
What the hell was I going to say? Hey, I’m sorry I quit writing you, but let’s face it, I break everything I touch and didn’t want you to be next? I’m sorry Ryan died? I’m sorry it wasn’t me? Your brother sent me to watch out for you, so if you could just pretend that you don’t hate me, that would be great? I’m sorry I ghosted you? I’m sorry I couldn’t bring myself to read any of your letters that came after he died? I’m so sorry for so many things that I can’t even list them all?
If I said any of that, if she knew who I really was—why I’d stopped writing—she’d never let me help her. I’d get a boot in the ass and sent on my way. She’d already admitted in her letters that she didn’t give second chances to people who hurt her family, and I didn’t blame her. It was a torturous irony that in order to fulfill Ryan’s wish to help Ella, I’d have to do the one thing she hated—lie…at least by omission.
Just add it to the growing list of my sins.
“Are you thinking about going in? Or are you just going to stand out here?”
I turned to see an older man in his sixties coming toward me. Those were some crazy eyebrows. He dusted off his hand on his jeans and reached for mine.
We shook with a firm grip. This had to be Larry.
“You our new arrival?”
I nodded. “Beckett Gentry.”
“Larry Fischer. I’m Solitude’s groundskeeper.” He dropped to his haunches in front of Havoc but didn’t touch her. “And who might this be?”
“This is Havoc. She’s a retired military working dog.”
“You her handler?” He stood without petting her, and I immediately liked him. It was rare that people respected her personal space…or mine.