Page 180 of Sin

I love you.

I’m sorry.

I’m trying.

And whether you come back to me or not, I will spend the rest of my life grateful that, for a little while, you made me feel like a man worth saving.

Yours if you want me,

Sin

26

Sin

I’m in my office staring out the window when my phone dings.

Unknown number.

For one second, I almost ignore it. Then I see the message.

This is Laurel… my new number.

Everything in me stops. My hand tightens around the phone so hard I’m surprised the screen doesn’t crack. I type back.

Hey.

Three dots appear and I hold my breath like a man waiting for a verdict.

I read your letter.

My damn heart feels like it’s stuck in my throat. I stand without meaning to, then sit back down because there is nowhere to go. Nothing to fix. Nothing to demand.

Another message appears.

Are you free for dinner?

For a second, I can’t move. Then I type before she can change her mind.

I am. Want me to pick you up?

Yes.

She sends her new address. Wilder was right. It’s near his place. Secure building. Better neighborhood. Cameras. A doorman. All good things, but it doesn’t undo the fact that she had to move because of me.

I’ll be there at 6.

Okay.

I stare at the single word like it’s poetry. Then I set my phone down and drag both hands over my face. For the first time in weeks, I feel something other than dread. Not relief. Not yet.

Hope.

At five forty-five, I’m already parked outside her building because apparently I have no dignity left. I sit in the truck with both hands on the steering wheel, staring at the entrance like she might vanish if I blink. The city moves around me in early evening color, headlights sliding over wet pavement, people hurrying past with scarves and coffee and lives that have not recently exploded in front of the internet.

At six exactly, she steps out. My chest tightens. She’s wearing a black dress under a long coat, her hair loose around her shoulders, her mouth painted a soft red that nearly makes me forget how to breathe. She looks better than the last time I saw her. Still tired. Still guarded. But standing.

I get out before she reaches the truck. For a second, we just look at each other across the sidewalk.