He raised what I could only describe as a challenging eyebrow, holding my gaze for long enough that my neck started to get hot. Then he gripped the hem of his shirt, pulling it off in one smooth move.
Holy moly. I knew he was fit, but I didn’t realize he was that fit. I gawked as he walked around the counter, casual as can be, and showed me the one line of script that was tattooed vertically up his side.
Be at peace, dear boy. Nana’s got your back.
“It’s what my grandmother would say to me every time I left for a tour,” he explained.
I wanted to run my fingers over the words, but that felt more intimate than I was ready for. Don’t get me wrong; I was loving the half-naked man in my living room, but it was kind of a lot to take in. “That’s really sweet,” I said in a voice that sounded too tight.
“Thanks.” He stepped back with a grin that said he knew he had won some sort of battle, and put his shirt back on much more slowly than it had come off, all the while watching my reaction.
We both went back to eating, the silence a little more charged than it had been before. Still, I couldn’t help but grin. I had finally gotten that little piece of information out of him. A piece that he guarded. And it felt like I was the one who’d won the battle.
♪♫♪
A letter showed up in my mailbox. It was hand addressed to me, with no return address. I tore it open as I walked back up to my apartment, curious as to who might have sent me an actual letter.
I recognized his handwriting as soon as I unfolded the paper. I stopped to read it.
Dear Libby,
Part of my recovery is making amends with those I have hurt. I’ve mistreated more people than I can count, but out of everyone who suffered because of my choices, the one that looms the largest and hurts the most is you.
You, my sweet friend, deserved so much better than what I gave you. And once I was sober enough to think straight, I was so proud of you for walking away. I was too messed up to think of anyone but myself, and I’ll thank God every day that you didn’t let me drag you down with me.
No apology will ever make up for the way I treated you. I took advantage, over and over again. You loved me like no one else has, and in return I gave you nothing but grief.
Be happy, Libby, and know that I will always be rooting for you.
Sean
I clutched that page in my hand, staring at the words that Sean had written for me, and I latched on to all of it. It was something. Something tangible. He wasn’t angry. That was good. He seemed okay. That was a relief. It was as good an apology as I could have hoped for, and as I started moving again and went inside my apartment, I consciously tried to accept it and put the whole situation behind me just a little bit more.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I told you I’d be better
Now I have to write this letter
Tell you how I earned this fetter
With a life that’s bruised and torn
That paper left me crying
For my shame and for my lying
I was so concerned with flying
That I left you there to mourn
No one could love so sweetly
Filling up my soul completely
With the fragrance that you neatly
Use to turn my stubborn head
I’ll be forever grieving
Knowing I just did the leaving
With my pride and my deceiving
When I left myself for dead
—Sean Amity
PART TWO
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I’d learned a few years ago that if I was going to cook, I had to have music on. Sure, it might have distracted me enough that things had burned a time or two, but it also gave me patience. If I could dance around the kitchen while I cooked, the work didn’t seem nearly as mundane.
I stirred the sauce that was simmering, shaking my head back and forth as I sang along to my music. I danced over to the pantry and when I came out, I noticed my husband leaning against the counter, watching me with a grin.
I shook my head, smiling and wondering how long he’d been watching me. Then I waved him over and it was his turn to roll his eyes, but he obeyed my summons and