Page 75 of Off-Limits Love

Love you.

My fault.

Miss you.

My fault.

My fault.

MY—

The words had poured out of him, making his hands shake, his body and throat tight, and his eyes glaze over with tears as he battled to purge the anger and emotions emptying from his soul.

Finally the words had slowed and, after a while, stopped. Because every time he tried to blame himself, Emi’s sweet face popped into his head along with Mak’s words.

His parents had been loving and kind. Not perfect. His dad had a temper he’d passed down to pretty much all of them. But they’d been solid and steady in a world where that wasn’t always the case. And now, maybe for the first time ever, he really tried to put himself in their shoes. To see things as they might’ve.

He leaned forward and put his hands on the keys, moving the cursor down a few lines and starting another letter. This one to Emi—because as weird as it seemed, it was easier to imagine talking to the precious girl instead of himself.

You didn’t mean to make us late.

We all had to use bathroom before we left again. That took time.

Dad took a phone call from the gas station.

People forget things all the time.

It was just an accident.

You couldn’t have known. You couldn’t save us.

You’re just a boy. You can’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t control.

Were you driving the other car?

You were just a kid.

It’s not your fault.

It’s not your fault.

It’s NOT your fault.

His chest felt tight, and he sucked in a breath when he realized he wasn’t breathing.

He dragged a hand over his eyes to wipe away the tears, drained to the point the words blurred and looked fuzzy. All this time he’d remembered the accident through a child’s eyes, but now—he saw it as an adult. As someone who could take an objective look and see what happened for what it was. A tragedy, yes. Horrific, yes. Unthinkable. But not his fault.

He sat back and stared at the screen. Felt as though he stepped outside himself and physically separated from the kid on that page versus the man he was now.

Was that possible?

It had to be because Mak was right. He’d never blame Emi. So why was he blaming himself after all of these years?

Why did he carry that burden like a punishment for something he hadn’t even done?

His fingers found the keys again, and even though he couldn’t see clearly this time, he typed anyway.

Live for them.