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"You're not going to watch me read it?"
I turned to face him, hmphed, and put my hands on my hips. "Sure."
He slid a finger under the sealed portion of the envelope and ripped it open. Smugly, I watched as he pulled out the lined sheet of paper. His eyes scanned the page, rereading the words twice, then three times.
When he looked up, he had a smirk on his face. "You're something else, Jenny Kearns."
"Whatever," I rolled my eyes.
Before I could turn to leave, he took a few steps towards me. "If I'm a big-headed jerk, then you're a brat with serious anger issues. Who punches someone over a stupid Pokémon movie?"
"Me," I proudly cocked my head to the side. "That's who."
I expected him to get angry, to tell on me because of what I had written in the letter, but he just chuckled and walked back inside his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
The worst part was, even if I wanted to stay mad at him, the way he always seemed amused by my wrath, the way I lashed out at him, made it impossible for me to hold onto my anger for long.
The moment the door closed, all was forgiven.
Now, present day Kyle is glaring at me again. Except I don't want to win this fight. I don't want to yell at him or strangle him or punch him.
I love him.
I want what's best for him.
I'm not fighting to prove a point or make him do what I want.
I'm fighting for his heart.
That it has a chance to heal.
Make peace with the past.
Say goodbye to his mother.
"There's nothing to talk about," he raises his eyebrows before pushing off the desk and towering over me.
I should stand. I feel so weak and small and defenseless sitting in front of him. "Yes, there is."
Kyle surprises me by kneeling in front of me, shifting the position of power back to me. His body is close to mine, his skin feverish through his dress clothes. "I love you for wanting to help, but I've already said everything there is to say to her."
I reach out an unsteady hand and cup his cheek. "She's dying, baby. She doesn't have much time left. She needs your forgiveness."
I watch as his eyes flash with regret and guilt and hurt and anger. "I don't know if I can give her that."
He stands, taking his warmth with him, and walks back over to his chair. He takes a seat and crosses his arms over his chest. His white, button-up shirt stretches across the planes of his pecs, creases taut against his muscles. Even when he's being stubborn, he's still devastatingly handsome. Especially as the midday sunlight pours into the room from the window, bathing him in a filmy golden haze.
"I know you're hurt, but you need to do this for yourself," I continue. "Time is running out."
He looks towards the wall, at the picture of me hanging there. "I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine."
"I don't think that's true," I try to say as gently as I can.
"I've said all there is to say," Kyle shakes his head. "You're not going to change my mind, Jenny. Let's find something else to talk about."
I stand up and lean over the desk. "You don't get to end the conversation just because you don't like what I have to say."
He strums his fingertips on the dark wood of his desk. "I do, actually."
