Letters to Molly: Maysen Jar Series - Book 2

by Devney Perry

  We needed to prepare the kids.

  He shot me a smile as he took one step, then another. Ashley loomed close, touching his arm.

  My eyes narrowed on her hand.

  She always touched him. No, she felt him. It had rubbed me the wrong way from the beginning. It was too intimate, not the way therapists should touch their patients. It reminded me of how the head cheerleader at my high school had always found ways to touch the football team’s quarterback.

  Besides, wasn’t she supposed to be helping him walk? On. His. Own?

  I turned my attention to the computer screen, refusing to look up, because I knew the expression on my face wasn’t pretty. My skin was probably turning green.

  Ashley’s irritating giggle sailed across the room. I should have brought my earbuds to wear so I could listen to music and block her out. But I was stupid and had forgotten them today in the bag I’d packed for the gym.

  Packing and unpacking that bag had become part of my routine these last few weeks. I was determined to take advantage of having Finn around in the mornings. I could go to the gym before the kids woke up because he was home if they needed something. So I packed my bag each night, set my alarm for four and fell asleep. I woke to the beeping and reset it for five thirty, and before drifting off again, I promised that backpack tomorrow would be the day.

  Tomorrow was never the day.

  But I still packed that bag.

  Ashley laughed again, snagging my attention, and I clenched my jaw. It wasn’t just her laughter that grated on my nerves. It was the way she purred his name, adding an unnecessary number of ns. And it was how he always laughed back. He always smiled around her.

  Of course he did. She was beautiful. She was fit underneath her navy scrub pants and simple white tee. She probably made it to the gym each morning at four. I bet she was the perky one who smiled as she ran or climbed a mountain of never-ending stairs. Her and her sleek brown ponytail.

  Whatever. My hair was never going to be sleek and shiny. I was never going to grow the motivation to go to the gym at four in the morning. And I was never going to be okay watching another woman flirt with Finn.

  “You did it!” Ashley squealed, clapping and jumping up and down. The ponytail swung wildly.

  Finn had just crossed the room using his crutches. Usually it took him longer to go that distance, but he was motivated today. He wanted out of that chair and nothing was going to stop him.

  His smile was blinding, so beautiful it stole my air. He flashed it at Ashley and her cheeks flushed.

  My heart plummeted. No. Finn and I had built such an easy relationship lately. It had been easy to pretend the past had been forgiven. That he didn’t want to find a new woman for his life, because I was that woman.

  But here we were. I had a sinking feeling that I would be stuck with Ashley.

  He’d get through this physical therapy and start driving on his own. I bet after a few appointments where his ex-wife wasn’t in the room, he’d ask her out to dinner.

  I was going to get stuck with that ponytail as Finn’s new girlfriend.

  The happiness I’d felt for Finn seconds ago fell away. Because if it wasn’t Ashley, it would be someone else. I focused on my laptop for a few moments, taking a break from the soon-to-be couple.

  “Thank you.” Finn’s deep voice was nothing more than a whisper but it carried across the room. It almost sounded like it was meant for me, not her. I looked up just in time to see Ashley rush to his side and touch his shoulder.

  “I’m so proud of you.” Her hand traveled up and down his arm.

  I was expecting him to knock her off her feet with another sexy smile. But instead of looking at her, he turned to me.

  I got the smile.

  “Thank you,” he mouthed.

  A single nod was all I managed in response.

  “So, um . . .” Ashley muttered. “Let’s go back to the other side. We’ll do some stretches and see how your pelvis is feeling.”

  Pelvis. She was always saying pelvis. She always touched his hip when she did.

  I hated that Finn didn’t seem to mind.

  I concentrated on work, doing my best to block out her giggles. But whenever I looked up from my computer, Finn seemed to be glancing my way.

  He probably wanted me to disappear, go get coffee or something. Maybe he was waiting for a moment alone to ask her out.

  Unable to focus on the financial projections I’d been working on all week, I shut my laptop and stowed it in my bag. Then I left the room, striding down the long hallway that led outside the physical therapy office.

  I sent Finn a text that I was outside before wandering down the sidewalk, the sunshine warm on my shoulders. I found a small garden in front of the building, bordered by a thick cement ledge.

  The garden was peaceful. All the plants circled a small rock fountain. The varying shades of the leaves and flowers made a spiral that burst with color. I sat on the ledge, mesmerized by the swirl of yellows fading into oranges and then reds. White flowers on emerald vines wound around the border.

  It was a new discovery in an old town that was changing by the minute.

  Bozeman wasn’t the quaint Montana town it had been when I’d been a child. It was now one of the fastest-growing cities in the country.

  The sunrises over the mountains were too beautiful. The lush, green fields of the valley were too breathtaking. The winters, when the trees were blanketed with snow that glittered beneath the sun, were too majestic.

  Everyone wanted to live here.

  Except me.

  If not for the kids, I would have considered moving after the divorce. But I didn’t want to take them away from Finn. There was no way he’d move away from Alcott.

  Bozeman’s growth was part of the reason Alcott had been so successful. In the early years, when Bozeman was expanding faster than laborers could keep up, his services had been in high demand. He could have worked twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week and it still wouldn’t have been enough to keep up.

  Maybe that was why I resented Bozeman’s growth so much. Not just because the town I’d loved as a child was gone forever, but because that growth had played a part in ripping my marriage to pieces.

  “Hey.”

  I jumped at Finn’s voice. “Oh, hey. I didn’t hear you come out.”

  “It’s fine. Are you okay?”

  I nodded and hopped down from the ledge. “Just thinking.”

  “About?”

  “Bozeman. None of this was here when I was a kid.” I waved my hand to the new building across the street from a new subdivision and new community park.

  “Did you know I did this?” He pointed to the garden where I’d been sitting.

  “You did?”

  “Yep. Two or three years ago. I can’t remember. The years are blurring together.”

  “It’s stunning.” Maybe that was why I’d been able to tune out the world so quickly and actually think for a change. Finn’s work created serenity.

  I took one last look at the garden then turned to Finn.

  Finn, on crutches.

  “No more chair?”

  He grinned. “Nope. Ashley is going to take care of returning it to the hospital. I get to use the crutches for a few weeks and then we’ll see if we can get rid of them and the boot altogether.”

  “I’m glad. I know you were sick of the chair.”

  “The only thing I’m going to miss are our nightly wolls.”

  “Me too.” I smiled. “Ready to go?”

  “Lead the way.”

  We walked slowly back to the van. Without the wheelchair, Finn could actually sit up front with me, and it was so nice not feeling like his chauffeur.

  “So, Ashley was pretty excited today.” I glanced over at Finn in the passenger seat to gauge his reaction to her name. There wasn’t much, no shy smile or gleam in his eyes.

  “She thinks I’ll make a full recovery. She’s been hesitant to say anything, but she told me that
today. Even my ankle.”

  “Really? That’s great.”

  The doctors had been worried that Finn’s leg wouldn’t heal correctly because of the severity of the breaks. They’d also cautioned that he could have lifelong problems with his knee. They knew he’d be able to walk again, but they were worried he’d develop a limp. He hadn’t said anything to me, but I knew Finn had been worried it could impact his work and ability to go hiking.

  His relief was palpable in the confines of the van.

  “You know the first thing I’m going to do when this boot and cast come off?”

  “Take a shower without Saran wrap?”

  “Smart-ass.” He chuckled. “I’m going to take you and the kids to Fairy Lake.”

  It was an easy hike. Not really a hike at all other than descending some stairs made out of railroad ties. But Fairy Lake had been a regular picnic spot for us when the kids were tiny.

  That was when Finn hadn’t worked every weekend.

  When we’d been a family and acted like one too.

  “Finn.” I sighed, my worries from earlier plaguing my mind again. “We need to start preparing the kids.”

  “For what?”

  My grip tightened on the steering wheel. “For when you go home.”

  “Oh.” He turned to look out his window. “Right. Okay.”

  We drove the rest of the way home in silence. When we pulled into the driveway, Finn got out without needing help. But before he closed the door, he paused. “Do you want to keep the van any longer?”

  “No.” I was ready to drive my Jeep.

  “I’ll have someone come pick it up.”

  “All right.”

  He slammed the door and walked to the house, using his crutches like he’d had them for days, not less than an hour. When the front door closed behind him, I dropped my forehead to the steering wheel.

  What was he mad about? He had to have known this was coming.

  I shook it off and took a hair tie from my wrist. I went to pull my hair up, tying it around the curls, but it snapped.

  “Damn it.”

  Another broken hair tie. My heart sped up. My shoulders dropped.

  It’s just a hair tie, Molly.

  Maybe my broken hair ties weren’t a bad omen. Maybe this was a good thing. The last time one had broken had been at the hospital, and we’d gotten good news that day. Finn was alive.

  I pulled my backup tie from my wrist, glad when it held strong. When my curls were secured in a mess on top of my head, I picked up everything that was mine from the van.

  There wasn’t much. My purse and a water bottle. Max had dropped a candy bar wrapper on the floor next to where Finn’s chair had been. I grabbed it and the keys then got out. With my purse slung over my shoulder, I made my way to the mailbox.

  It was empty, except for one unstamped letter.

  Damn it. Not today.

  The letters had stopped while Finn had been in the hospital. Whoever was sending them had to have known we weren’t equipped to deal with them during those weeks. I still wasn’t, but I didn’t have a choice.

  There was no energy left for a letter today. And that broken hair tie was a sign this one wouldn’t be gushing about my amazingness.

  I opened the letter cautiously, glancing around the street to make sure I was alone, then I read Finn’s words.

  His angry, bitter words.

  You hurt me. You fucking hurt me. Maybe I should have packed enough stuff for two weeks.

  My hand came up to my chest, rubbing the ache behind my sternum as I read those words scribbled before his name.

  In the end, he should have packed enough for forever. Finn hadn’t come home after that.

  I stared at the page, shocked by its severity. The harshness. The letters before had been painful. They’d hurt.

  This was the first one where I got angry.

  How dare he say I hurt him? He’d broken me. He’d shattered me to pieces the day he walked out our front door with his weeks’ worth of clothes.

  Fuck him. Finn didn’t get to write this letter. He didn’t get to send his words into the universe in a way that gave me no chance to defend myself. He certainly didn’t get to say this was entirely on me.

  I stomped into the house, throwing my purse on the floor as I went in search of Finn. I found him on the couch, his laptop open and ready.

  “Are you heading back to work now?” he asked.

  “No.” I threw the letter at him. The envelope went sailing. The paper floated to the seat.

  “Why—oh.”

  I crossed my arms over my heaving chest, waiting for him to read the words. He had the decency to look apologetic after he reached the end.

  “Fuck, Molly.” He hung his head and set the letter aside. “I’m sorry. I was angry.”

  “So was I!” I shouted. The lid on my temper blew like a rocket, straight through the roof and into outer space. “You have no right to blame this on me.”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “That’s no excuse,” I hissed. “That day was not my fault.”

  “I didn’t mean it.” Finn huffed and grabbed a crutch propped next to him on the couch to help him stand. Then he tucked it under his arm to use it for balance on his bad side. “Can we talk about this without shouting?”

  “No.”

  “Molly—”

  I held up my hand, silencing his protest. “Do you even remember what we were fighting about?”

  “Kali ate those chocolate chips and got sick while you were outside.”

  “Yes, I was outside. I was taking care of the house and the lawn. I was busy cooking dinners that you missed.”

  “It was just a few dinners.”

  “A few? You missed dinner ten nights in a row. Ten,” I spat. “And the month before those ten, you were hit or miss half the time. You were too busy taking Bridget out to dinner because you needed to catch her up on some designs.”

  Even when he had come home, his laptop had been on constantly. I’d gotten used to falling asleep to the sound of him working in bed while I was curled up on my side. Alone.

  I’d told him all of this. I’d shouted and screamed, hoping he’d listen. That for once, he’d put his wife before his job. Instead, he’d told me I wasn’t being supportive. He was doing this for us, after all. Building a legacy.

  Three days. Friday. Saturday. Sunday. We fought for three days, barely able to look at one another. Finally, I told him maybe we needed to take a break. Our argument was just running laps. Every few hours, we circled back to the beginning and started all over again.

  He left.

  I put a smile on my face for the kids.

  And that night, I cried until I was so exhausted, I eventually passed out.

  My anger surged one last time before it morphed to pain. I blinked rapidly, not letting myself cry. But I felt the tears burn. They were the frustrated, uncontrollable tears of the heartbroken woman I’d been all those years ago.

  “I’m sorry,” Finn whispered. He reached for my arm, but I took a step away.

  “Why would you write that?” My voice shook.

  “I was so angry.”

  “How could you be angry at me? I just wanted you home for dinner.”

  “It wasn’t you.” He shook his head. “I was angry. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was angry at myself. It was easier to take it out on you than to admit I was the problem. That you were right all along.”

  “I—what?”

  He shuffled closer, leading with his good leg. “You were right.”

  I slapped a hand over my mouth, holding in a cry. Those words were so welcome. And much, much too late. My hand fell away, my chin dropped. “I don’t want these letters anymore.”

  “I’m sorry.” Finn stepped closer.

  The moment his hand touched my arm, I lost it. After weeks of doing everything for everyone, of stretching myself to the thinnest to keep him and the kids together, I broke.

  The tears came.
The sobs escaped. My shoulders shook.

  I broke.

  But for the first time in over six years, I didn’t break alone. Finn wrapped me in his arms and I cried. For the first time in years, I shared my tears with another person.

  And when I was all cried out, I let Finn hold me.

  “Please, Molly. I’m begging you. Don’t read them. Please, stop reading them.”

  I stiffened. “How many more are there?”

  “Promise me you won’t read them.”

  I pushed him away and looked into his eyes. “Are they like this one?”

  He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The remorse in his gaze told me everything I needed to know.

  They weren’t like this letter.

  They were worse.

  Fifteen

  Finn

  “You’re doing so well.” Ashley clapped. “I’m so impressed.”

  “Thanks, Ashley.” I grinned at her then finished the set of bicep curls I was doing with an elastic exercise band.

  The name of our game at the moment was Muscle Mass. My right arm looked like a limp noodle compared to my left. Both of my legs had slimmed down and my thighs didn’t fill out my jeans anymore. Instead, they draped down my legs, covering the toothpicks that had become my calves, so I’d been working hard to replace the muscle I’d lost after the accident.

  I’d never been vain about my body. I wasn’t a gym rat or obsessive about my diet. I had a physical job and loved hiking in the mountains, both of which kept me in shape. But after months of being trapped in a bed or chair, I was not happy with the reflection in the mirror. I looked like a string bean.

  When Ashley gave me the go-ahead to start bulking up, I dove in, doubling up on protein and throwing myself into these sessions. My arms were getting stronger. So were my legs. I’d even begun to gain back some definition in my abs.

  It wasn’t lost on me how much Molly loved my flat stomach. Her nails had always lingered in the dips of my washboard abs. If I had the chance to get her into bed, to win her trust and heart once more, I wanted every bit of stamina I’d once had to make her toes curl.