Dear Rosie - Page 219

“I love it.” I run my hands down the front.

The expression on Nathan’s face is so serious as he looks at me.

“This is how it should’ve been.” His words are thick. “We should’ve been together then. You should’ve worn this in the stands while I played.” He shakes his head. “I have so much to make up for.”

“No. You don’t.” I step forward and place my hand on his chest. “You don’t.”

“I do. And I want to start over. From the beginning.” Nathan reaches into the backpack and pulls out the last item.

A shoe box.

He opens the lid, revealing the row of letters. “I think we should burn them. Together.”

The ones I wrote to him but never sent.

The ones I pretended he read.

The ones he found.

My vision blurs as I look up at him. “I think that’s a good idea.”

He pulls out the last letter first, the one I wrote him the night my dad died.

The night I killed him.

He hands it to me.

My fingers tremble as I take it.

Then I reach into my pocket and pull out the other letter I wrote that night.

I folded it a few times to fit it in my pocket.

I meant to destroy it. Wanted to be rid of it. But I wasn’t sure how.

I hold it out to Nathan. “I think you should do this one.”

His throat works as he takes it, and he clenches his jaw.

I can see it on his face. See the way that letter hurt him.

I step into him, hugging him to me.

“When I wrote that,” I whisper, “I thought there was no one left to care. No one to notice if I was suddenly gone.” His body hitches against mine as he hugs me back just as tightly. “Thank you for caring, Nathan.”

“Always,” he whispers back. “Always, my Little Rose.”

Nathan kisses the top of my head, then releases me.

He unfolds the letter and holds the corner of the page to the flame.

It catches, and I watch as the words of my confession turn to ash.

My guilt crumbling into nothing.

Decades of fear floating into the night sky.

When only a piece is left, Nathan drops it into the fire, and we watch it disappear.