Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I have enough guilt already. And enough regrets to fill up this house until the walls expand and burst.
If I could go back and stay instead of coming home, I would.
But I can’t. This is my reality now.
It doesn’t have to be Aspen’s present, and it doesn’t have to be her future. I can do this for Jace. I couldn’t save him, but I can honor this despite what I think about it. What I think doesn’t matter. Jace was the only real family I ever had. If he’d asked me to do this when he was alive, I would have promised him that I would. Never mind me. I’m nothing. I haven’t been anything or anyone worthy of much at all in a long time. I was good at one thing, and that’s over now.
But this?
I can do this for Aspen. What’s two weeks out of my life? Out of my time? I play nice for two weeks and then I never have to see her again. I’ll treat it like any other dangerous, fucked up mission I’ve been on. I have the skills to get through it. To survive it. I’ll do it because I have to, and then we’ll both be free, but especially her. She’ll be free of me, the obligation, the doubt, and the tormenting guilt. She’ll be okay. I’ll make sure she’s okay.
If I say no…well, it’s not an option. She won’t let me say no. Under all her sweetness, I think she’s built of steel defiance and more so honor.
“Two weeks?” She picked that number, not me.
She folds up the letter and places it very neatly back in an envelope that has already been worn all over the creases, down to frayed softness. When did she get the letter? Likely just a few days ago. Probably at the same time as I did. Yet it already looks like it’s a hundred years old.
When she looks back up at me, her eyes are shimmering with unshed tears. Please, not tears. I can’t deal with tears. They turn my insides into a dumpster fire-style wreck. “Two weeks,” she confirms, swallowing thickly, swallowing all of it back. “We get in, we do this, we get out alive. And then I’ll create whatever fake social media crap you want, or we can be pen pals.” She caresses the envelope in her lap again, touching it with so much love that it makes me feel winded. “If one letter has the power to change a whole life, maybe there’s something to that.”
Chapter four
Aspen
I’ve learned two things since yesterday afternoon when I gave my hand away in a sort of—I’m ashamed to say—unholy matrimony. I know I’m cheating at this. We both are. The fact that we only got married because of the letter, and then we set a deadline to make ourselves feel better. We did it so we can both move on and have peace.
One, I’ve learned that my new husband—and jeepers, that word is total cringe—is a crabathon, through and through. He’s the crabbiest of apples, a total crabfest, crab bag, marathon of crab.
Two, money will get you anything, even a fast wedding in a backyard full of unkempt gardens that were once probably nice, with a stranger marrying you and a stranger as a witness.
We got married right away. Might as well get it done and over with and start the timer on the two-week countdown. We both agreed we would keep this between us and as secret as we possibly could. My parents don’t even know I’ve left Atlanta. They’ve been kind of distant over this past year. We were so close before, but now, when I text them every other day, they’re fine. There have been weeks where I haven’t gone over to the house, and they haven’t visited me at my apartment. That would have been unheard of before, but now I think we all need our space to process, grieve, and try to get our lives and hearts back. It doesn’t mean we don’t love each other.
They work. I work. We’re all busy being up in our heads. I don’t mean to say they aren’t involved in my life. Because they are. We still do things together. Things like family dinners, hanging out, and holidays. I go and help them with yard work, we go for walks, and they come and chill at my apartment. We also still sit and do nothing at all. It’s just that if I say I’m busy or preoccupied, they’ll think I need space.
I don’t want to lie to them, but they aren’t ready for this kind of truth yet.
I wore a white sundress I packed, which was the nicest of the few dresses I owned. It was a gauzy number—like it was made for the beach—with a bit of lace. Patrick, on the other hand, wore black jeans and a black Henley. I almost laughed when I saw him dressed that way for the ceremony because I thought about how I first imagined him in a suit. I’m not even sure he owns one. He looked entirely menacing, and I think the JP was glad to get out of the twisted, decaying backyard. We both said the words. And yes, it’s official. I’m now a wife. When Patrick recited those vows, he sounded so disconnected. We both probably did.