All The Letters I'll Never Send You: An Enemies-to-Lovers Duet (Handwritten & Heartbroken Duet Book 1)

by Ace Gray

  “You happy about that?” Like always, Courtney is the one to pull us out.

  I let my hands flop to the table as I think, really think about my answer. Then I sit up and square my shoulders. “I am.” And this time, I mean it down to my toes.

  Courtney studies my face, her robin’s egg blue eyes searching every inch of my hazel, and I know I can’t hide. I honestly don’t want to anymore. I fought for every moment of this small bit of freedom.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Courtney’s face lights up but she keeps her words measured and her movements slow, like she may spook me back into that time, into that twisted fate of mine. Into the depression that followed.

  “What is there left to say?”

  And after three years, one lost fiancé, one lost soul mate, a cross-country move, twenty or so lost pounds, thousands of spilt tears, and words on top of words on top of words about each and every one of those things, I honestly didn’t know.

  “Are you going to call Tanner?”

  I wince. I can’t help it when my former fiancé’s name comes up. I didn’t cheat on him, but…he read those letters a few months after James and I imploded. We’d been heading for it for a long time, but after reading those words, my traitorous words, we followed the same fate a few minutes later, and I had no defense.

  It was my heart shaped into letter after letter after all.

  “That door is locked. Deadbolted.” Explaining that I didn’t mean to, that he just didn’t love hard enough and the space he left empty had been inadvertently filled, didn’t sit well. Even if it was an accident.

  “Yeah. I guess I meant more for closure.” She shrugs.

  “Sometimes you don’t get closure, sometimes you just have to move forward. He was never my person, Court. We both know that. Things wouldn’t have gotten to where they did if he was. I just have to accept that.”

  “And do you have to accept James?”

  James Larrabee. He had such lonely, lost eyes. There was this need that grew voracious and uncontrollable inside me, one that needed to comfort the man with such sad eyes. It insisted on forcing me into his life and once I was there, I looked around in wonder. And anger. Because I up and fell in love.

  I didn’t mean to. I was happy with Tanner—or I’d convinced myself I was—and I was planning my wedding. James was just so all-consuming that I didn’t have a choice in the matter.

  But then James realized it and where he once held me up, he dropped me. Hard. My bones are still healing from the fall. Then came his words. Stupid words that wreck and ruin with just the curve of ink. His were the knife. The ones that carved me up and made my broken body bleed. The ones that twisted in my chest.

  And now I’m choosing to pull the hurt out and suture up the wound.

  “I’m sorry. I know better than to say his name.” Court reaches for my shoulder and squeezes.

  I wordlessly rise and grab the bowl that started it all and carry it to the sink. I mean to wash it down the sink—I really do—but James’ face flashes once in my mind. It’s perfectly vivid. Watching me intently—because I know how he would watch me as I did this. As I do anything.

  I hate myself for it, but I sigh.

  “It’s okay,” I say as I set the bowl full of ashes back down, unharmed on the counter, and decide that I’m saying that to Court and to myself all at once.

  “You sure you’re up for this?” Courtney looks over where we’re stopped outside of the bar.

  “I burnt the letters, not myself, Court.” I shoot her a smirk and her’s answers immediately. I know she’s asking because I haven’t felt up for this. Because I haven’t trusted myself out, with people, after being such a spectacular misjudge of character. Not really anyhow.

  And the idea of finding a new relationship…

  I shake off the heave that turns my stomach and remind myself that I’m out with Courtney. To have fun. There’s no pressure. Not from her or anyone else.

  It’s the Solstice and cause for celebration in Pyramid Peak, Colorado. Everything is to some extent in my tiny, quirky new home. We skied here when I was little, and the brightly painted historic buildings, cattle drives through town, and public buses painted as if they were murals rather than transportation always seemed magic. My smile spreads as I thank the cosmic forces that brought me back to this twelve block by twelve block Colorado paradise when my life fell apart. Now I have the community and support of a small town all while keeping my walls in place.

  Court nods and pushes into the crowded bar first. The Midsummer Night’s Dream and Night of Light themes mash up inside the bar with the combination of gossamer fabrics and flashing strobe lights.

  “It’s like if Shakespeare did acid,” Courtney leans over and yells into my ear over the music.

  “The Shakespeare does acid festival is in September,” I joke even though that sounds like something that would happen in Pyramid Peak.

  “Really?” Her eyes go wide and her voice gets loud enough to hear over the whomp of the bass.

  “No.” I start laughing and notice there’s a freedom to the way my shoulders shake for the first time in years.

  She elbows me in the ribs then pushes past me toward the bar. For a split second I wonder if I look as simultaneously ridiculous and hot as she does in her tutu and bodysuit with glitter designs everywhere.

  “Hey, Mina, hows it going?”

  I turn around to find a shirtless man, wearing nothing but green joggers shoved up around his calves and a horned fairy mask complete with wildflowers. I’m not exactly sure who it is with their face obscured, but I don’t mind it with those abs on display. Until I notice he really is only wearing pants and a mask.

  “You’re not wearing any shoes.”

  The fairy looks down and wiggles his toes. On the bar floor. I’ve watch at least two people puke on this floor and that’s exactly two more than I’ve ever seen mop. My stomach curdles.

  “That’s disgusting, Swany.” I know it’s him because I’ve kicked him out of my bar a few times for not wearing shoes.

  “Mina, I have such serious callouses that nothing is getting through there.”

  If the bare feet hadn’t given it away, that impish smile of his would have. I roll my eyes but smile all the same.

  “I’d like to see you tell that to a shard of glass. Or Strongyloidiasis.”

  “Strongylo-what?”

  I shake my head, smile still wide as I pat him on the chest and push past him for the bar. I like Swany well enough but the accomplishments on his resume are finishing the Pacific Crest Trail, paddling a 100 foot waterfall in his kayak, skiing 120 days in five consecutive ski seasons, and slack lining all the way from his house to the liquor store. He’s beautiful but he’s a patchwork of irresponsible, Jameson, and whoa brah that just isn’t enough.

  After James, is anyone?

  I take Courtney’s shot from the bar top to burn that thought straight back to Hell where it belongs. “Fireball? Really?” I scrape my teeth down my tongue to try and get rid of the taste.

  “You’re welcome.” She shoves her hands on her hips and cocks her eyebrows the way only she can. “Where’d you go?”

  “Talking to Swany,” I answer before shifting to order from the bartender.

  “Her body is saying more than she is.” Swany reaches out and cups the curve of my ass where it peeks out from my tutu.

  “Hey!” I whirl around and shove at his chest. “Not cool.”

  “Definitely not cool,” he agrees. “Hot. So fucking hot.” He bites his lip as he starts to dance in front of me.

  “Don’t touch me, Swany. I swear to God, I’ll slap you next time.”

  He sucks in a deep breath. “I can be into kinky shit.”

  “Lay off the moly, Swany.” I roll my eyes and turn back to the bar for my drink. Swany is about as threatening as a baby Chihuahua, I just like my boundaries. They’ve served me well since that one time—that one boy.

  “Maybe it’s time to move on, like on, o
n.” Courtney smirks as she eyes Swany still dancing behind me. “I’m pretty sure there are worse people to do, well, it, with.” She breaks out laughing as she turns for the dance floor, tallboy can in hand.

  “You’re going straight to Hell,” I call after her.

  “I’ll save you a seat.” She raises her can in a long distance toast before the crowd swallows her up.

  “I like what you’re wearing.” Swany leans in behind me, his fingers brush down my open back. “Lots of skin, a tribute to the Pagan god, Cupid.”

  “Cupid was Roman,” I grit under my teeth, trying to keep my sense of humor. “And the god of procreation at that.”

  “I wanna procreate with you,” Swany murmurs in my ear as his hands slip around my hips, and he presses himself to my back. All of him.

  Panic flares in my chest. I can’t. I’m not ready. To put myself out there, body, soul, or otherwise. And it definitely can’t be like this. Not when I’m just starting to trust myself and my decisions when it comes to men again.

  “Swany, I said don’t touch me.” It’s the only defense I have as I turn in his arms and shove against his chest. He keeps his hold on me, still dancing, as if he hasn’t heard a word I said. Drugs are a sonofabitch. “Swany, stop.”

  He leans in, his lips angled for mine.

  “No!” I arch back as far as I can, still shoving against him.

  “I believe the lady said no.”

  No. I know that voice. No! It can’t be that voice. That voice that was my favorite sound, that pulled on my belly, my heart, and my stupid, stupid brain all at once. It’s just Courtney, saying his name earlier, that’s summoned a ghost. One I usually keep swathed in chains. It can’t be him today of all days. NO!

  “Just what are you going to do about it?” Swany straightens up.

  “Mina…” James Fucking Larrabee is holding out his hand, waiting for me to take it, like he’s my knight in shining armor not the battle axe that split me in two.

  I stare at his hand for a second, waiting for it to fade to nothing. His long fingers and roped forearm cannot be real. Maybe that shot had been dosed with something. Something strong. That HAS to be the answer. For my sanity.

  But it’s not.

  He’s here. Fully formed. And a complete sucker punch to my insides. He’s still tall with the sharpest jawline I’ve ever seen. His eyes are still every shade of ice blue all at once, and his lips are still a shape so uniquely his that I could trace it in the dark.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, backing up into Swany without meaning to.

  “Trying to help.” James’s eyes dart to the ab wall behind me.

  “Here? What are you doing here?” As in, Pyramid Peak. As in, in my life. As in alive and not dead as I’ve been trying to make him out to be.

  “Can I talk to you?”

  If I’ve felt panic before, this is true fear. Having a conversation with James Larrabee is right below die of a million bee stings on my to do list.

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  I don’t answer. Instead, I turn back toward Swany. A barely employable, hulking Chihuahua of man that knows next to nothing about literature or the way the world works is far preferable to James. Cardboard would have been too if it were behind me.

  “Offer still stand, Swany?” I press myself to him and try to ignore the way it makes my stomach flip.

  “Standing straight and tall.” His impish grin turns into something a little more malicious as he presses his dick against my thigh while staring straight over my shoulder at James. I can’t bring myself to do the same.

  I firmly keep my back to James as I let Swany pull me out of the bar and out into the street toward his place. Bare feet and all.

  I stretch my arms out, each limb feeling rickety and pained despite warming in the early morning sun. Until I hit a brick wall of flesh laid out beside me.

  “Shit,” I whisper as last night comes back in flashes to me.

  James in all his glory was there—is here. In Pyramid Middle Of Nowhere Colorado Peak. His deep, thick, sultry honey voice called to me. His ice-tinged eyes studied me. And my reaction to him was to do something I hadn’t done in years. Swany is nice enough but I’m not one of those people. One that can lose myself in sex. I feel too much. Always have, always will.

  Nothing about last night, about my choices, feels good. Particularly the guilt and disappointment clinging to every inch of me. Guilt over my reaction. Disappointment in myself.

  “Hey beautiful.” Swany leans up and over me, brushing some hair off of my face.

  “Shit. Fuck.”

  “What was that? A morning fuck?” His hand disappears beneath the sheets. “Happy to.”

  “No.” I press my thighs together tight just a moment before I shoot out of bed. Naked. “No thank you.” I reach around for anything to cover myself up. As absurd as it is since we… “Oh God.” I grab a shirt and pull it over my head, tearing a hole in the side.

  “Ah man, my lucky shirt.” Swany laughs from his side of the bed.

  “Shut up, Swany,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “That orgasm should have helped you unwind.” He rises in his full naked glory and heads to his dresser.

  “You assume I had an orgasm,” I snip under my breath.

  “You were sure screaming like it last night.” He arches his eyebrow, his impish smile back, boxers in his hand.

  I close my eyes and try to breathe in a deep breath, but I can’t. It’s hitting a wall of you only have yourself to blame that’s grouted nicely with shame. One moment, one singular moment near James Larrabee and I lost my damn mind completely.

  Part of me knows I shouldn’t be taking this out on Swany. That part of me is buried nice and deep beneath the rip and roar of emotions tearing through me. I stomp over to him and rip the boxers out of his hand and shimmy into them as if they’re armor against my terrible choices. When I bend down to pull them up though, there’s Swany’s dick in all its glory, reminding me that I made those choices all on my own and that’s the long and short of it.

  “I’m a moron.” I close my eyes as I turn away from the naked Chihuahua and his, well, naked Chihuahua.

  “Because you slept with me?”

  “And I make self-destructive choices,” I continue without listening to him.

  “What do you mean self-destructive? I’ve never been exactly clear on that one.”

  I blow past Swany, headed for the front door without stopping to explain something that definitely involves large words. Too large of words for my state of mind or his brain power. “Thanks for the boxers, I’ll get ‘em back tomorrow.” I rush the words all together as I slam the door and take a page out of Swany’s book, walking out into the street bare foot.

  The water will not get hot enough for me to scrub Swany and last night off my skin. I press my forehead against the tile and repeat the words that helped me before.

  “I am not the sum of my bad decisions. I am allowed to make mistakes. I am human.” Only the forgiveness doesn’t feel palpable today like it did then. Or maybe I’m not remembering the beginning right when I was still blinded by the pain of it all. “Today I will make better choices.”

  The voice in my head retorts, but what if you see him?

  “I am not the sum of my bad decisions…” I roll my head to the side, letting the droplets from the shower cloud my vision.

  Was last night even a decision? Not really. It was a knee-jerk reaction. Can I blame myself for a knee-jerk reaction?

  Yup. Yes, I can.

  I shut off the shower and start drying off. The dull ache that reminds me what I did last night twinges my bones as I walk over and wipe the steam from the mirror. My reflection is still the same—maybe the circles beneath my eyes are a hair bit darker—but I stare long and hard just to make sure. Maybe I just want to believe I’m more affected than I am. That maybe my shame and pain are purpling bruises on the outside rather than the inside. It would be so much easier to put o
n a little cover up to hide then it will be to mend a break deep inside that I can’t quite pinpoint.

  That I can’t quite heal.

  One deep breath, that’s all I allow myself before I get on with my day. “I am not the sum of my bad decisions,” I start my mantra again just in time for my phone to ring.

  Courtney’s picture in her crab hat, sticking her tongue out at me flashes on the screen. I slide it open and pop on speaker phone.

  “Hey.” I tried not to sound too dejected.

  “Where’d you go last night?”

  I mumble a few unintelligible words about sheets and tutus and bare feet.

  “That sounds like a delightful non-answer.”

  “How was your night?”

  “I’ll tell you if you get coffee with me.” She drags out her E long enough that I’m guessing she got some too last night. She just feels slightly different about it than I do.

  “Of course. Ten minutes.” That ought to be enough to make my outside look presentable. It’s not my insides after all.

  I throw on something basic and add the smallest bit of make-up then head out the door. As soon as I’m outside, things seem a little better. I suck in a deep breath and fill my lungs with fresh mountain air, feel the sunshine warming on my face.

  “I am allowed to make mistakes,” I murmur to myself.

  The ache that I’ve been trying to shake is with me every step, but I forgive myself for it. I let it remind me that I am human. Pain is humanity or some such philosophical bullshit.

  “Where ya going?” Courtney’s question cuts through my thoughts.

  “Wasn’t paying attention.” I shrug as I turn back for the simple iron gate to the garden surrounding the coffee shop.

  “Does this have to do with tutus and sheets and whatever else you said on the phone a few minutes ago?”

  “Sort of.” I put my dollar in the self-service jar, grab a mug, and take a seat.

  “Okay, so maybe it has to do with why you look a little like death warmed up?” Courtney does the same then joins me.