The Last Letter (Page 35)

He swallowed and finally looked at me, taking a deep breath. “Okay. Thank you for telling me. If you need anything, or if she does, just let me know, or ask for my wife, Tess. Ella won’t ever ask.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty stubborn like that.”

A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “Something tells me you are, too.”

“Guilty.”

I drove home with a tired body, a content dog, and a mind that wouldn’t quit running circles. I’d meant what I’d said: there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do to keep Ella and the kids safe.

Or was there?

I hit the brakes as I passed Ella’s cabin.

Her insurance wouldn’t pay for the treatments that could save Maisie’s life.

But I’d read over every scrap of information online about that hospital, and my insurance would.

I threw the truck into reverse and then turned down Ella’s drive. I was out of the truck before the engine died, taking her steps two at a time and pounding on her door before my brain kicked in with every reason she’d say no, knowing I’d have to convince her to say yes.

“Beckett?” Ella asked as she opened the front door. She was in jeans and a long-sleeve tee, her hair in a thick side braid that made me want to grab ahold of it while I kissed her. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry for the drop-by. Do you have a second?”

“Sure, come on in.”

“Not where the kids can hear,” I said softly, tucking my thumbs into my pockets.

Her eyebrows raised in surprise, but she stepped out onto the porch, shutting the door behind her. “Okay, what’s up?”

“Your insurance won’t pay for the MIBG therapy, or the hospital she needs, or the stem cell transplant.”

“That’s right.” She folded her arms under her breasts and looked up at me, those blue eyes inquisitive but trusting.

“She has to have it, right? Or she’ll die?”

“Beckett, what is this about?”

“Will she die without it?” I repeated, my words a little sharper than I’d ever used with Ella.

“Yes,” she whispered.

I nodded to myself, turning around and pacing the length of the porch while Ella followed.

“Beckett!” she snapped.

I turned around and took a deep breath to steady my nerves. “Your insurance won’t pay for it—”

“Right, we already covered that.”

“But mine will.”

“Okay?” She blinked at me, her forehead puckering.

“Ella, marry me.”

Chapter Fifteen

Ella

Letter #15

Ella,

We lost someone today.

You’d think I’d be used to it after all this time, even callous toward it. A few years ago I was. I have no idea what’s changed lately, but now it feels like every loss is exponentially harder than the last.

Or maybe they’re the same, but I’m different.

More angry.

It’s hard to describe, but I’m somehow more aware now of my disconnection, my inability to forge emotional bonds outside of a few close friends. That small list includes you.

How can I be so connected to someone I’ve never laid eyes on, yet not the majority of the guys around me? Is it that you’re safer through paper because you’re not standing in front of me? Less of a threat, maybe?

I wish I knew.

I wish I had the words for this guy’s wife, his kids. I wish I could take it away for them, take his place. Why does the world take the people who are loved, ripping holes in the fabric of other people’s souls, while I’m allowed to skate by unscathed? Where is the justice in such a random system, and if there’s no justice, then why are we here?

I feel that same restless urge taking over again, to accomplish the mission and move on. Check the box, pull up the stakes, and know we made a difference.

I’m just not sure what that difference is anymore.

Tell me something real. Tell me what it feels like to live in the same place your whole life. Is it stifling to have such deep roots? Or does it let you sway instead of break when the winds come? I’ve gone with the wind for so long that I honestly can’t imagine it.

Thank you for letting me unload on you. I promise I won’t be such a downer next time.

~ Chaos

…

“I’m sorry?” I asked, staring at Beckett like he had two heads.

“What did you just say?” There was no way he’d said what I heard.

“Marry me.”

Or maybe he did say it.

“Have you lost your mind?”

“Maybe.” He leaned back against the porch railing but didn’t cross his arms in front of his chest like he did when his stubborn switch was triggered. Instead he grasped either side of the railing, leaving his torso unprotected. Vulnerable. “But it would work. On paper, at least.”

“I don’t… I can’t… I’m speechless.”

“Good, that will give me a chance to convince you.”

Oh my God, he was serious.

“If you marry me, the kids are my dependents. I can take care of them.”

“You want to marry me to take care of my kids.” I said it slowly, certain I had somehow heard it wrong.

“Yes.”

My mouth opened and closed a few times as I tried to get a word—any word—past my lips. I just couldn’t think of any.

“What do you think?”

“We’re not even dating! And you…you want to get married?”

Havoc came trotting up to the porch, but she didn’t go to Beckett. She sat next to me, like she’d sensed her handler had lost his fool mind.

“Not in the romantic sense!” He raked a hand over his face. “I suck at explaining this.”

“Try. Harder.”

“Okay. I was reading the MIBG papers in the hospital with Maisie, and I remembered what you’d said about your insurance not covering it. So I looked through the hospital website, and they take my insurance, and not at your coinsurance rate. The whole thing is covered.”

“Good for you. Now you can get treated for cancer.” How the hell could he just suggest that we get married?

“I’m not done explaining.”

I wanted to throw him back in his truck and off my property, but there was the tiniest spark in me that lit up at the thought that Maisie could get the treatment she needed. And that little spark was hope. Man, I hated hope.

Hope fooled you, gave you the warm fuzzy feelings just to yank them away again.

And right now, Beckett was a big slice of warm, fuzzy hope, and I hated him for it.

Taking my silence for acquiescence, Beckett continued.

“If you marry me, the kids are covered. All of Maisie’s treatments are paid for. No more fighting with the insurance people. No more generics. She will get the best possible treatments.”

“You want me to marry you, to become your wife, sleep in your bed—when you won’t so much as kiss me—all for insurance? Like I’m some kind of pros—”

“Whoa!” He interrupted me, waving his hands. “We wouldn’t have to actually…you know.” His eyebrows rose at least an inch.

“No, I don’t know.” I crossed my arms over my chest, knowing damn well what he meant. If he had the balls to suggest marriage, he could certainly lay out the terms.

He sighed in exasperation. “We’d only have to be married in the legal sense. On paper. We could live separately and everything. Keep your name, whatever. It would just be to cover the kids.”

Oh my God, the man I loved was really standing in front of me, proposing marriage, not because he loved me back but because he thought it would save my daughter. Now I loved him even more, and hated both of us for it.

“Only in the legal sense? So you don’t actually want me? You only want to protect my kids?” Great, now I sounded pissed that he didn’t want me in his bed. If my emotions could just pick a side, that would be great.

“I thought we covered this already. I want you. That just doesn’t play into me asking you to marry me.”

“Can you actually hear yourself? You want me, but you don’t want to marry me. But you’re willing to marry me to cover the kids for insurance, as long as we don’t actually live like we’re married.” All of the legal entanglement, none of the love, or the commitment, or the sex.

Which left us with the only aspect of marriage I was really familiar with: the part where the husband walked away.

“Exactly.”

“Okay, this conversation is over.” I turned, and then spun right back around to face him. “You know what? It’s not. Marriage means something to me, Beckett! Or at least it used to. Maybe it’s not the same for you, or you think because of the way I let Jeff divorce me that I think it’s just a piece of paper, but it’s not. It’s supposed to be a lifetime of love, and commitment, and loyalty. It’s supposed to be all those vows about sickness and health, and better and worse, and loving someone even on the days you don’t like them. It’s not, hey, let’s sign this piece of paper and join up while it’s convenient. It’s supposed to be about building a life with the one person on earth who is meant to be yours. It’s…it’s not meant to be temporary. It’s supposed to be forever.”

He stepped toward me and then stopped himself, tucking his thumbs in his pockets.

“It’s about love, Beckett.”

“And I love your kids. No supposed to be about it.”

The intensity in his voice, his eyes, hit me smack in the heart. “They love you, too,” I admitted. So do I. Which was why I couldn’t agree to this. It would destroy them when it ended. Signing myself up for the hurt was one thing, but my kids? That was where I drew the line.

His whole posture softened, like my words had taken some of the fight out of him.

“I don’t want to do anything that would jeopardize them, or you. I’m just saying that if they were mine, legally, or half mine, Maisie could get the treatment she needs. This could save her life.”

That spark of hope flared, shining too much light on everything the kids and I had been through. All the sleepless nights. All the medical bills that piled up on my desk, threatening to bankrupt us. The overwhelming knowledge that if she didn’t have the MIBG treatment, she most likely wouldn’t live.