Dear Rosie, (Love Letters #2)

“It is so very good to see you.” Her eyes shine, but she swallows and nods again. “So very good.”

ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-THREE

ROSALYN

I let Nathan help me into his SUV, and once I’m in my seat, I wave goodbye to the Wallers and Rooneys for the hundredth time.

When Nathan shuts my door and the overhead light in the car turns off, I slump.

The darkness outside, combined with the tinted windows, means no one can see me. And as Nathan’s parents hug him, again, I take the moment alone to breathe.

To just fucking breathe.

I don’t know why I was stressed about meeting Nathan’s parents. If it had just been them, tonight would’ve been a breeze. But no, their old friends had to surprise them.

Apparently, Nathan’s parents are just in town for two nights, tonight and tomorrow, for a concert, then they’re heading back to Ohio, where they still live. But the Rooneys like the same band, so the husbands coordinated tickets, surprising the wives.

It’s sweet. For them.

But a total nightmare for me.

I take a deep breath and tip my head back against the headrest.

Nathan already knows my dad was awful. But seeing Mrs. Rooney, remembering that night… It’s a stark reminder of my history.

A reminder of why I can’t stay with Nathan.

The driver’s door opens, and I take in the happy expression on his face.

His family is so wonderful.

So loving.

It’s no wonder he looks like that after seeing them.

Nathan reaches over and squeezes my thigh before buckling himself in.

I’ll wait until tomorrow to tell him I’m moving out.

ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-FOUR

NATE

I hold Rosie’s hand on the drive home, and I note the moment she falls asleep, her grip going lax on my fingers.

I want to squeeze my hand around hers. Want to make her grip me back.

Something happened tonight when we walked up to the table.

Something passed between her and our old neighbor.

At first, I put it down to Rosie’s overall nervousness. She was stressed before we even arrived. But as dinner went on, as the questions loomed but never got asked, I thought about it. Really thought about.

The stories Rosie has told me.

The violence inside her home.

The piece of shit she lived with…