Page 131 of My Merry Mistake
She goes still. “Which is why I think I can tell you how Justin and I started dating.”
Finn
I leave Raya’s house a little dazed, not only because I now know the truth about Justin, but also because I dragged out the memories of Hunter, and now they’re sitting right at the forefront of my mind.
I walk to my car, snow crunching under my shoes, air brisk and cold, replaying my conversation with Raya.
Hearing her talk about Justin, about the resumes and this crazy plan she came up with to try to manufacture the perfect mate, makes me realize that Raya’s scared.
She’s scared of her own feelings. Scared of getting hurt. Scared of not being in control. She’d never admit it—not out loud—but I can see it clear as day.
Which is why I need to concentrate on just being her friend. And stop giving in to every impulse to reach out to her.
I can be patient, right?
The conversation stirred up more than my feelings for Raya. It stirred up my feelings about everything. Things I haven’t dealt with and don’t want to, even if I probably should.
I shove my hands in my pockets and rub my fingers together to get them warm.
Maybe that was the point.
I try not to think about it. But now, apart from Raya, it seems like it’sallI think about. Like, those letters I’ve hidden in my glove box are alive, still pulling my attention.
It’s annoying. And I’m pretty sure there’s only one way to silence them.
This is what I’m thinking as I park my Jeep in the parking garage. Tomorrow we leave for Canada for a week, with games in Toronto, Montreal, and Ottawa. I should go inside and pack, but instead of getting out of the car, I just sit.
I stare at the glove box.
I think about what Raya said. About what my dad has said.
I reach over, pop the glove box open, and pull out the letters.
And for the first time, I actually ask myself if forgiving that woman is even an option.
The thought makes me react like I tasted something rotten.
I lean forward on the steering wheel, remembering the night I found out Hunter was gone. The way losing him tore our family into pieces. How hard it was to work our way back from that. How each one of my siblings processed the loss differently, and how I never processed it at all.
How our family’s story now has a “before” and an “after.”
I grit my teeth at the injustice of it.
So I set out to live a life that would make my brother proud. To do the things I thought he’d do and take every chance I got because anything less than that would be like kicking sand in his face.
I play the way I do because he can’t. I live the way I live because he can’t. And I love the way I love because he can’t.
I shouldn’t have to do that. I shouldn’t have had to go through what I went through.
And I wouldn’t have if it weren’t for her.
How am I supposed to forgivethat?
I suck in a sharp breath and look at the return address on the top envelope. Eileen Tierney.
I take the envelopes and shove them in the pocket of my coat, not caring whether or not they get crumpled.
I get out of the Jeep and close the door, anger bubbling down deep, and Raya’s words are back, an unwanted reminder.
