Page 82 of Where She Belongs

“Jase.”

His brother paused, hand on the door.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me.” The corner of Jason’s mouth moved, barely. “Win her back.”

Maybe he was right. This was Tate’s chance to do something not just for himself, but for Rylee, too. Now all he had to do was figure out how.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Ry-Ry,

I don’t know why I feel compelled to write you this letter. Maybe it’s because I just left the attorney’s office after finalizing my will. Or maybe it’s because Aunt Roxanne insisted these sorts of things need to be considered when finalizing what happens to you in case something happens to me. Regardless, I’m doing what she tells me because your aunt scares me a little.

Rylee snorted as she took the letter to the couch and settled into the corner. She pulled a blanket over her lap and continued to read.

I guess it’s safe to say if you’re reading this, I’m dead. Is that what I’m supposed to say? I don’t know what I’m doing, kiddo. I don’t think any parent ever does. I suppose I’m writing to make sure you know that I love you. More than life itself. I want what’s best for you no matter what. That means when you grow up, you might have to make difficult choices. You might have to listen to advice you don’t agree with. But that doesn’t mean you have to do what they say.

Make mistakes. Learn from them. But most of all, follow your heart. Because only you know what’s going to make you shine the brightest.

Unless it’s that kid from down the lane. Then stay far away from him.

Just kidding.

Rylee swiped at a tear sliding along her cheek, a smile pulling at her lips. She’d forgotten her father’s dry humor.

But in all seriousness. When it comes to love, I hope you jump in with both eyes shut. Feel the rush of the water and the weightlessness that surrounds you. Find a man who will listen to you. A man who will challenge you. A man who will fight for you. That’s the kind of person I want for you. No one is perfect, kiddo. And some of those characteristics might not appear right away. But if you can find someone who makes you laugh or makes you feel safe, that’s a good starting point. He should be present but not pushy. He shouldn’t make you feel rushed into anything.

Some of her father’s descriptions had her thinking about Tate. And it made her heart hurt to think of the way Tate had just… walked away.

One day you’ll find someone you can’t stop thinking about. Someone who will realize your worth. I hope to be there when it happens, but if I’m not, I hope you’ll still feel my support from beyond the grave. I love you, kiddo. Forever and always.

Your Dad.

P.S. This letter writing thing isn’t half-bad. Maybe I’ll do it more often.

Rylee sucked in a shuddering breath and tossed the letter to the side. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. When she closed her eyes, another tear slipped free. The universe had to have a terrible sense of humor because getting that letter while she was in her current predicament was insane.

Her father wanted her to be happy, but he also included information about finding love. To him, those subjects went hand in hand. Nothing about a career or finding where she belonged. It was all about love and happiness.

Seeing as her mother had left him to raise a child on his own, that letter was unexpected. She heaved a heavy sigh and lifted her head so she could prop her chin on her knees.

Why did everything about that letter feel so off?

Present but not pushy.

She went back to that line and read it again, and it would not leave her thoughts.

Tate had pushed. He had pushed a horse on her that she said no to. He pushed six chicks and a coop she never asked for, and three goats she never agreed to, and a cow that came up to her hip. He spent a whole summer arriving on her property with animals in a trailer and a dare on his face.

Except she had told him no about the horse, and he said okay and carried the plates to the sink and went home, and left her to walk over there. Except the chicks came with a bill she made him hand over. Every one of those pushes had a door in it, and not once had he tried to stop her from using it.

Her father would have liked him. That was the trouble with the whole letter. Her father would have taken one look at a grown man turning up with a miniature cow and liked him fine.

Rylee got up off the couch.

The photograph was where she had put it, in the drawer of her father’s desk under a box of pens that had dried out before she was born. She carried it back and set it on the cushion beside the letter. Two pieces of paper. One from a man who told her exactly what he thought of her, in writing, and signed it. One from a man who stood in her own yard and gave her nothing at all.