Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 51243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
“Are you hungry?” I asked finally. “Want me to treat you to lunch?”
“I haven’t had an appetite in four days,” he said. “Thanks, though.”
“Well, um…”
“I’ll make you something.” He clasped my hand, pulling me out of the room and down to the kitchen.
His touch sent a jolt of warmth through my chest.
He led me to a stool and opened the cabinets. In silence, I watched him mix batter and start a pot of vanilla coffee.
When he was finished, he set three perfectly browned pancakes in front of me.
“I’ve got to take a shower and get dressed,” he said. “We’ll catch up when I come back.”
“Okay.”
He looked like he wanted to say more, but he disappeared down the hall.
Picking up a fork and syrup, I glanced around the kitchen. On the side of the fridge, familiar envelopes jutted out from under a clipped magnet.
My letters…
I wanted to ask why he’d kept them, but the lump in my throat wouldn’t let me speak.
When I was four bites in, the door creaked from behind.
“That was quick,” I said, turning around. “Did you even—”
“Who are you?”
A beautiful redhead in an olive sweater stood in the doorway.
She didn’t wait for my answer. Instead, she strolled into the kitchen and set down a coffee carrier.
A diamond sparkled on her left hand, and my stomach dropped while my mind raced with disbelief.
“I’m Savannah,” she said. “I’m sorry for my tone… given the circumstances, I’m sure you’re one of Taylor’s friends, right?”
“Something like that.” I shook her hand. “I’m Audrey.”
“Audrey…” She blinked a few times, tilting her head. “That sounds familiar. Don’t tell me how you know him—I think I can guess.”
I stuffed another bite of pancake into my mouth. I swallowed it down with syrup and jealousy.
Taylor has a fiancée?
She tapped her manicured fingers against the counter, flashing a perfect smile while trying to place me.
“I thought you weren’t coming back until noon, Savannah.” Taylor’s deep voice filled the room, and my stomach tightened.
“The meeting ended early.” She shrugged. “I was just trying to figure out how you and Audrey are connected. She was one of your favorite neighbors, right?”
“Not exactly.” His lips curved into a soft smile. “She was my first and biggest bully. Still is, technically.”
“This is Scorpion Girl?”
“The very same.” His dimples deepened. “We were about to catch up on—”
He sighed as his phone buzzed in his hand.
“It’s the funeral director,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” He left through the back door without another word.
When I looked back at Savannah, her smile had already vanished.
“He wasn’t being serious about me still bullying him,” I said. “That was a joke.”
“No, a ‘joke’ is you having the audacity to come here.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t play stupid.” She narrowed her eyes. “You like Taylor, and you’ve been obsessed with him for years.”
“You must be drunk.”
“You’re here because you want to see if you still stand a chance. Like you’re stuck inside some romance novel, right?”
“I suggest you stop wagging your finger in my face—unless you want me to break it.”
“He’s moved on from high school and your silly yellow letters, okay?” She stepped back. “He has me now.”
“I didn’t come here to get into a pissing match with you.”
“Because you’d lose.”
“Because I didn’t even know you existed.” I stood and slung my bag over my shoulder. “I’ll be at the wake and all the other events. I’ll talk to Taylor then.”
“If I allow you to.”
“You know…” I held back a sigh. “You’re talking pretty bold and reckless for someone who’s known him for what—six months?”
“Eight.”
“Right. Well, between you and me, his relationships hardly ever make it past the year mark, so I wouldn’t get your hopes up.” I paused. “Also, snotty bitches aren’t really his type.”
“Get out.”
“Gladly.”
I shoulder-bumped her as I stormed out through the front door.
My heart ached with every step. When I slid into my car, I looked up and saw Taylor sitting in his window again.
The ache in my chest wasn’t jealousy exactly—it was something heavier, older, the kind of pain that remembered every word we’d never said.
Pulling off, I told myself I’d text him later that night—but I couldn’t find the right words.
I attended the funeral that Sunday, hugged him in line with everyone else, but his eyes were glazed over the entire time.
When I returned to campus, he’d sent me a text:
It was good seeing you. You still owe me a catch-up session, though… Dinner with me and Savannah sometime this week?
I didn’t respond.
I couldn’t.
BULLY YEARS: JUNIOR YEAR
AUDREY
The letters between us became sporadic and sparse—emotionless and vague.
It was a habit we both tried to break, but by the third year, the messages had dwindled into little more than “Take care, Taylor” or “Take care, Audrey.”
By the fourth year, they’d finally become nothing at all.
I stopped sending letters.
He stopped sending postcards.
We both stopped sending emails.