Page 7 of The Hang Up (Lilac Harbor #3)

SEVEN

Lena

The letter sits in my apron pocket for hours before I even touch it.

I feel the weight of it there as I move through my day like a ghost, pouring lattes, frosting cupcakes, restocking napkins, going through the motions while my mind spins in a loop.

It’s burning a hole in me.

Every time I move, I feel it shift. A quiet reminder that he’s not giving up. That he’s still trying. That part of me still wants to know what it says.

When the shop finally closes and I’m left alone in the quiet, I stare at the envelope for a long time.

I’m not sure I’m ready. I’m not sure I’ll ever be, but I unfold it anyway.

Lena,

I know you’re tired of hearing from me. I know I don’t deserve your time. But I need to say this anyway...

I read the whole thing. Twice.

Then a third time, slower.

His handwriting is still the same, messy and familiar. And the words? They’re… honest. Raw. They don’t make excuses. They don’t beg. They just lay it all out. All the fear, the guilt, the regret.

He says Lilac Harbor is his home now. That he’s not going anywhere.

That he came back for me.

I fold the letter and set it on the counter, bracing my hands on either side of the stainless steel and staring down at the smudge of cocoa powder near the sink like it might offer me some kind of answer.

I don’t know what to think. All I know is that I’m tired.

So tired of holding onto this ache. Of being angry. Of pretending it didn’t matter. Of pretending I’m fine when I’m not.

He hurt me. God, he hurt me so badly. But it’s been years. And I’ve been punishing myself by holding onto it for this long.

I slide the letter into my purse and pull my hair into a messy knot. Arlowe and Auden are picking me up soon for a girls’ night at Ivy’s Bar & Grill, the only place in town that has decent cocktails and questionable karaoke.

Maybe a night out is what I need. Something normal. Something light.

* * *

I’m brushing mascara onto my lashes when I hear the knock on my front door. My mom’s already asleep, thank God, so I grab my jacket and head out quietly, locking the apartment door behind me.

Auden’s driving. Arlowe’s in the front seat with the music blasting and her head already bobbing to the beat. She’s wearing a deep green sweater dress and gold hoops that make her look like she should be walking a red carpet, not heading to a dive bar.

“You look cute,” she says, eyeing my black jeans and sparkly top. “Going for casual heartbreak or small town glam?”

I roll my eyes. “Just trying not to cry on the dance floor.”

Auden snorts and merges into traffic. “That’s the spirit.”

We make it to Ivy’s in ten minutes. The place is already packed. The glow of string lights and the scent of fried food wrap around us the second we walk in.

We order drinks, something fruity and fizzy, and claim a booth near the back.

We talk for a while. Laugh. Gossip. I almost forget about the letter sitting heavily in my bag.

Almost.

But of course, they bring it up.

“So…” Arlowe starts, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Are you going to tell us what the letter said?”

I stall by taking a sip of my drink. “He apologized. Explained why he left. Said he was scared. Said he felt like he wasn’t enough.”

“That’s the truth,” Auden murmurs. “He always put you on a pedestal.”

“Well, I didn’t ask to be up there,” I mutter.

“No one does,” she says softly. “But sometimes, people run because they don’t know how to stay.”

I run a finger through the condensation on my glass. “He said he’s staying now. That this town is home. He wants to build something real here.”

“Do you believe him?” Arlowe asks.

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

They’re quiet for a second.

Auden reaches across the table to place her hand over mine. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “It’s hard to let go of the hurt. The anger. But…”

“But?” Arlowe prompts, leaning forward.

“But maybe I should,” I admit. “Maybe holding onto it isn’t protecting me anymore. Maybe it’s keeping me stuck.”

They both nod like they’ve been waiting for me to say it.

“I’m not saying I’m ready to jump back into anything,” I add quickly. “But I don’t know… He’s not giving up. Maybe it would be easier to stop treating him like the enemy.”

“So… truce?” Auden asks with a small smile.

“Maybe,” I murmur.

By the time we finish our second round, I’m more relaxed than I’ve been in weeks. Arlowe’s up singing a truly horrible rendition of a Britney Spears song, and Auden is swaying in her seat, giggling behind her hand.

I check my phone as it buzzes with a message. It’s from the pharmacy. My mom’s refill is ready.

I respond quickly, staring at the screen for a long moment before opening a new message.

Holden’s name is still in my contacts. I never deleted it. Never blocked it.

I guess I wasn’t as over him as I thought.

My fingers hover over the keyboard.

Then I type a single word.

Truce.

I hit send before I can talk myself out of it, and the moment it’s gone, I let out a long breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.

It’s not forgiveness. It’s not starting over. But maybe it’s a new beginning.

And tonight, that feels like enough.