Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Never him.
As soon as Maximoff shared his unease, I should’ve had Rowin’s ass on land.
I won’t make that mistake again.
36
MAXIMOFF HALE
Our cabin almost seems to sway with the rocking boat. Waves crash against the window, and despite all the bad that’s happened today, this right here is peaceful.
Farrow and I are intertwined together on the full-sized bed, and I can’t tell you if I’m holding him or if he’s holding me. We’ve been like this for an hour. Softly talking. Sometimes just staring. Letting the night slow with our breaths.
When we’re both at a better place, I lean over his chest and reach for the letter on the nightstand, using my left arm. Someone, probably Beckett, shoved it under the crack of our door about five minutes ago. And I’ve been craving to read it ever since.
“Do you want me to read it out loud?” I ask Farrow. He runs a hand under my T-shirt and rubs my back, his palm warm against my skin.
His lips lift. “I wrote it, wolf scout. I know what it says.”
“Thanks, I retract my offer.” I fall back onto my spine, the mattress bouncing. Our limbs have been wrestling with the navy sheets; we’re all entwined in them. I stuff another pillow under my head. More supported but still lying down.
In a swift, seamless movement, Farrow rolls on his side and props his head with his hand. Elbow to the pillow. Facing me, he asks, “Would you like me to leave the room?” His smile widens. “Give you some private time.”
“What kind of letter is this, man?”
“According to your cousins,” he says. “A really fucking great one.”
I eye him for a second, dipping into my churning thoughts. “Do you care that almost everyone in my family has already read it?” Maybe this isn’t something he wanted to be passed around.
His lips press to mine, a brief, loving kiss, before he whispers, “I knew when I gave it to Beckett that I’d be giving it to your whole family. I’m good with that.”
I stare at the folded piece of paper. You need to know that despite all the doomsdays and all the apocalypses—excitement still bursts in my chest.
Right now.
Because of him.
I didn’t think I’d feel this tonight, not after everything, but here I am. Pretty damn close to smiling, and I haven’t even read the letter.
Farrow hooks his leg with mine, growing quiet while he watches me unfold the paper. About to read his words.
His handwriting is long and fluid, as casual as he is.
Dear Beckett,
You once asked if I had something to hide. And in so little words, I replied by telling you to stay out of my relationship. Looking back, I should have said something different.
I should have told you that I’m a private person. That the idea of anyone digging into my relationship was both foreign and uncomfortable. When it came to my past boyfriends, my father asked the bare minimum. Being confronted by you was a lesson in love—a different kind that I’d never known.
I should have told you that I’m in love with him. An indescribable kind of love. And I realize now, loving Maximoff entirely means letting his family in. Because the day that I’m the reason there’s tension between him and you is the day I’ve failed him.
I should have told you that my mother isn’t going to be here for my future. For a wedding or kids. I’ve known that since I was four. But what I also know is that every day that goes by, I live to make her proud. And the only way I know how to do that is to live for love and to ensure that wherever I go, whatever I do, I am fulfilled.
I should have told you that without him, my life would be empty.
I should have told you that I’m prideful, and I would never admit that I had things to learn. But I did. And still do. He’s already taught me more than enough about goodness, morality, and unconditional love. But I still hope for a future where that doesn’t end. Where he’s still teaching me things that I’ll tell you I’d already known.
I should have told you that I care about what you think. And I want you to trust me with him. One day, I hope you can.
Sincerely,
Farrow Redford Keene
My breath deepens, eyes burning. People talk about grand gestures, but this one feels monumental and immeasurably gigantic. And I know this letter was for Beckett and my family, but I think he knew it would be for me, too.
I fold the letter back, creasing the seams. He runs his fingers through the thicker pieces of my hair.
Words. So many damn words are jumbled in my head but none feel right. So I just blurt out, “You underlined I’m in love with him.” My voice is choked.