Page 8 of All This Time (Blossom Peak #1)

“These were actually written by my grandfather.” I take one down and flip it to the back. “He was a soldier in World War II and wrote them to my grandmother while he was overseas. He’d write her letters too, but sometimes a postcard was quicker. Before she died, she gave them to me.”

He takes the postcard from my hand and begins reading.

“My dearest Jane, the world is a mess, but what I know is that our love can stand the test of it. I will return to you, my love, as soon as I can. Please wait for me. I look forward to our future together.” He hands the card back to me. “Wow. People actually felt that way?”

My brows draw together in confusion. “Um, yes. Believe it or not, there is such a thing as true love.”

He shrugs as he moves to my bookshelf. “I wouldn’t know.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, when your parents are divorced, it makes you skeptical about the idea of love.”

I knew his parents weren’t together, but I didn’t know much more than that because Fletcher doesn’t talk about his mom, and I’ve been too nervous to ask. “I’m sorry.”

He glances at me over his shoulder. “Me too.”

“Where is your mom?”

“No clue. She took off and never looked back, leaving me with my dad.” He scoffs. “Lucky me.”

As Fletcher walks closer to me, I notice something in the dim light that I didn’t before. “Oh my God. Fletcher…” I reach up to touch his face, but he turns away from me.

“It’s nothing.”

“That doesn’t look like nothing.”

“It’s from the game,” he says, reaching up to touch the side of his face that is swollen and red, on the brink of turning purple.

“But it wasn’t there during dinner…”

“Some hits take longer to show.” The reply is automatic, as if rehearsed.

Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I make a decision in that moment. “I’ll be right back.”

“Laney!” he whisper-shouts, but I don’t stop as I quietly exit my room and make my way toward the kitchen. My parents are in bed, and Rhonan is probably passed out, but there’s no way I’m not going to do something about the lump on the side of Fletcher’s head.

I fill a plastic bag with ice, grab a clean dish towel to wrap it in, and head back to my room, finding Fletcher back at my dresser reading the other postcards.

When he hears the door click shut, his eyes follow me as I make my way over to him.

“Come sit.” I direct him to my bed, taking a seat as I wait for him to follow.

With a roll of his eyes, he reluctantly obeys and takes a seat right next to me, playing into many fantasies I’ve had about this boy in my room, but none of them involved him being hurt.

“I appreciate this, but—”

“Stop talking.” I cut him off, pressing the ice to his face, watching him wince. “It’s swollen.”

“No shit.” We sit there for a few moments, studying each other before he lets out a yawn. “Do you mind if I lie down if you insist on me keeping this ice on?”

I glance back at my pillows. “Uh, sure.”

Fletcher crawls up my bed and lays his head on my pillow, sighing. He takes the ice and presses it back to his face. “You didn’t have to do this, Laney.”

“Well, you’re the one who crawled into my room with a knot on the side of your head.”

He closes his eyes. “I thought this was Rhonan’s room.”

Suddenly, my dull excitement about this turn of events evaporates. “Oh.”

His eyes pop open and he stares at me. I’m sitting next to him, my feet still dangling off the edge of the bed. Unexpectedly, he reaches out and touches my glucose monitor attached to the back of my arm. “Is this new?”

I dip my eyes down to the white object attached to the back of my arm. “This one is, yeah.”

He’s never mentioned it before, and suddenly, I feel even more self-conscious about it.

I’m not na?ve about the looks I get at school when people see my glucose monitor, but the harsh reality is, without this monstrosity on my arm, I’d die.

At least this one is a lot smaller than the other one I had.

“Is this a newer model or something?”

“Yeah. It’s supposed to monitor my insulin more closely.”

He shakes his head slowly. “I can’t imagine dealing with that.”

“Having type 1 diabetes?”

“Yeah. Having to watch what you eat all the time…” There’s a compassion in his eyes that’s unnerving, so I look away from him before I reply because talking to Fletcher about this right now is making me feel uncomfortable.

“I’m used to it now. I was diagnosed when I was eight.”

“How did you know you had it?”

I huff out a laugh as I stare down at the floor. “We don’t have to talk about this, Fletcher.”

He places his hand on my forearm, drawing my gaze to him again. “I want to know, Laney.”

My pulse picks up as I watch his blue eyes bounce back and forth between mine.

“Okay…” I draw in a breath. “Well, according to what my mom has told me, I was hungry all the time and eating everything in sight, but I was losing weight. I was moody and irritable, and I started getting sick to my stomach and vomiting. They took me to the ER one night when I started slurring my words, the doctors ran a bunch of tests, and my blood sugar was off the charts.”

“Jesus.”

“From then on, I just remember going to lots of doctors’ appointments, crying every time I had to be poked with a needle, and feeling like I was different than everyone else.” I turn away from him. “I still do.”

“I think you’re a rock star.”

I spin back to face him. “What?”

He props the pillow behind his head so he can sit up a bit more, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“I mean, you’re smart as hell, nice to everyone even though most kids at our school don’t deserve it, you aren’t afraid to tell it like it is, and you do it all while dealing with an autoimmune disease.

” The corner of his mouth lifts even higher.

“You don’t realize how incredible you are, Laney. ”

Somebody pinch me, please. Fletcher Adams is complimenting me.

“You’re also true to who you are. You don’t put on a show to try to fit in with people.”

“I literally only have like two friends, Fletcher, and one of them is Dilynne.”

He chuckles. “Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

I feel my smile start to build. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

Fletcher lets out a yawn and closes his eyes, ending our moment, and I’m grateful—because my heart feels like it’s about to launch itself from my chest.

“Do you mind if I just close my eyes for a minute before I leave?” he asks.

I stand from my bed, not sure how to answer. If my parents knew I had a boy in my bed right now, I’m pretty sure I’d be grounded until I turned thirty.

“Uh, shouldn’t I get Rhonan? I mean, you can sleep in his room…”

He shakes his head, turning on his side and repositioning the ice pack against his temple. “No, don’t bother him. I won’t be here long.”

I bite my thumbnail, growing more anxious by the second. “Fletcher…”

“Thanks for the ice, Laney,” he mumbles. “You’re an angel.”

After a few moments, his breathing grows heavy.

Looking around my room, I fight with myself over what to do. I should wake him up and tell him to leave, but I just can’t find it in my heart to do it.

So I don’t.

Instead, I slip into the bathroom to get ready for bed. When I return, Fletcher is still fast asleep in the same spot I left him.

After I pull back the covers that he’s not on top of, I slip underneath and stare up at the ceiling, basking in how close I am to my crush. It takes me a while, but I finally drift off to sleep.

And when I wake up, Fletcher is gone.

But the memory of our time together is not.

It’s very much alive and only feeding my endless crush on him.