I want to see for the rest of my life, baby—but I guess I’m getting a little ahead of myself.
I never told you much about my folks. But my father had a problem. I never saw him hit my mother, but he hit me often enough, kicked our dog, got into scraps with the neighbors that ended with fists. Always fists. Never talking things out or listening to reason.
By the time I was nine, I was doing the same—getting into fights at school, breaking things around the house when I got mad. My mother took me to a doctor, who told her that I had an anger disorder called IED, intermittent explosive disorder. He suggested therapy and medication, but my father beat me to a pulp and told me to shape up. I guess my mother was really worried about what would happen next because she sent me to Georgia to live with my Aunt Jane, Uncle Herman, and Mel. I never saw my folks again. As you know, they were in a car accident not long after—my daddy was driving—and they died.
Over the years, I’ve broken countless noses and jaws. Had my own broken many times as well. Always fists first, especially if someone I cared about was bothered or threatened. You saw it at the motel and again with Artie. Want to know something I learned about myself when I got here? I probably couldn’t have stopped myself even if I’d wanted to, because something inside me wasn’t built right. It’s broken, and it can only be fixed with therapy and medicine, as my mother was advised all those years ago.
That day in the courtroom, baby? I didn’t see a light at the end of the tunnel I’ve lived in for most of my life. All I saw was the possibility that I’d abandon you for good one day. I’d kill someone and be locked up for life, and my sweet sunshine would be left all alone. I couldn’t do that to you. All I was thinking that day was, Cut her loose. Let her go, you selfish bastard. No matter what, you can never be the man she deserves.
Except that now I’m in therapy, and I take the meds I need. And over the last month or so, I’ve started thinking that maybe I can be the man you deserve, if you have one chance left to give me. Just one. Because if you gave me that chance, baby, I promise you that’s the only one I’d ever need.
I’m looking at this sheet of paper and trying to decide if I should say everything or hold some back, just in case I get the chance to see you again. Aw, heck. What’s the point of this letter if I don’t say it all? So here’s the rest . . . I want you forever, Verity. I want you to be my wife, the mother of my kids, my partner, my best friend, the woman I make love to every night and wake up next to every morning. I want to spend lazy Sundays gardening around the house and making love on picnic tables. I want to take Mel and Ryan to the zoo and the park and Slip’N Slide day and everywhere else they want to go. I want BBQ dinners on the back patio and movies in our bed. I want your hand in mine. I want your naked body next to mine. I want your legs all tangled up in mine. I want you to be mine. I want it all, baby. And I promise I’d make it all happen from that one chance . . . if you were willing to give it to me.
No matter what, I hope you have a happy life, full of love, Verity Gwynn. You deserve every happiness the world can offer.
As for me, whether or not I ever see your face again in this life, I will love you until I breathe my last breath.
And then I will love you through eternity.
Colton
“Colton,” she whispered through tears. She’d cried throughout most of the letter, and she was utterly exhausted now—the way she’d feel if she finally came to the end of a daunting journey, which, in essence, she had.
He still loved her.
He still wanted a future with her—a forever with her.
Clutching the letter against her heart with one hand, she pressed the other against their baby growing inside her body and swiftly fell asleep.