Page 11 of Until the End (The Lost Letters #3)

Carson

“ Y ou going over to Ginny’s again tonight?” Michael asks from in front of the stove.

“Yeah, I thought I’d make her dinner. It’s been a few days since the girls left. She’s probably out of food by now.”

“Just…be careful, okay?”

“Be careful?”

“Ah, fuck. Never mind. Have fun.”

I frown at Michael’s back but turn and leave the house anyway. What did that mean? I’m not physically in danger with Ginny. If anything, my heart is most at risk. It’s too late to do anything about it now, though.

Could he have meant that? He’s never said anything about it before.

I shake off my questions and drive to the Mango Mart for groceries. I already gave Ginny the heads-up that I’m coming over. She requested lemon chicken for dinner. I replied with, Yes, Your Majesty.

It only takes me ten minutes to get the groceries, and I’m pulling into Ginny’s driveway soon after.

Somehow, this house has become like a second home to me.

It used to feel obnoxious every time we had a family gathering here.

I’d never equated Ginny with this kind of wealth—it just didn’t match with what I had imagined for our lives.

Looking back, I resented her a little for going out and finding a path without me.

Then, when she came back with the Weasel, it was like a slap in the face.

Once I got over myself, logic kicked in to remind me that I was the one who let her go.

I could’ve told her how I felt a number of times.

Instead, I kept my mouth shut. Now I have to lie in the bed I made and watch her get over the Weasel with someone new.

You could be that someone.

I shut that thought down fast. I can’t be a rebound. It would kill me to help Ginny get over her ex and then watch her walk away from me again.

The weight of the grocery bag in my hand brings me back to reality.

Going down that line of thinking is a one-way ticket to hell.

I may not be book smart, but I’ve got enough intelligence to know letting a small spark of hope ignite will only lead to my heart shattering into irreparable pieces. False hope is the killer of all dreams.

“Your servant has arrived,” I call out as I walk through Ginny’s front door.

“It’s about time. Get to work, peasant.”

I bark out a laugh when I get a good look at Ginny.

She’s got a hastily colored paper crown on her head, and she’s wearing a bathrobe around her shoulders like a cape.

In her hand is a long metal stick I can’t identify until she drops her arm.

The telescoping mechanism fails, causing the end to thunk against the wooden floor. “Is that a shower curtain rod?”

Ginny giggles, an embarrassed smile filling her face. “Yeah. It was the best I could do on short notice.”

I close the distance between us while I shake my head at her.

Before I can stop myself, I kiss her on the cheek.

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep my actions in check.

I’ve hugged, cuddled, and kissed Ginny more often in the past couple of weeks than I have in years.

It’s as if the doorway cracked open that night in the hotel, and I haven’t been able to close it again.

“You’re a goober,” I say to cover the slip. I don’t make eye contact with her as I walk into the kitchen to get dinner started. “How was your day?”

“Uneventful.” Ginny drops the robe when she slides onto the barstool on the other side of her island. “Tanya posted our message today, so I’ve been staying off social media and news sites.”

“Ah. Has she given you any updates?” Working in Ginny’s kitchen is a luxury. Everything is high-end, and I love using it as often as possible.

“It’s mostly gone over as expected. People are shocked, sad, angry, all the usual emotions toward someone they don’t even know.”

“Have you heard from Weasel or Cece?”

“Chelsea has fielded calls from both of them today. She’s been the real MVP. Wesley was beyond livid, and Cecelia wanted to talk to me. She wants to work together again.”

“I’m glad Chelsea’s handling that for you. I have a feeling Cecelia is very good at manipulating situations to her advantage.” I slide the chicken into the oven to finish cooking, then open the bottle of white wine in Ginny’s fridge. After filling both glasses, I sit next to Ginny at the island.

“You’d be right about that.”

I wrench my gaze from Ginny’s lips against her glass.

“She told Chelsea she’d drop Wesley immediately if I’d take her back.”

“Because she knows you’re a better bet than some B-list actor who can’t keep it in his pants. ”

“I’m not sure I am.” Ginny fidgets with the rim of her stemless glass. “This life isn’t what I thought it would be.”

“I can’t imagine it’s easy to live your life in the spotlight twenty-four seven, but this craziness with Wesley will die down, Goose.”

Ginny shakes her head. “Even before I let him tear down my confidence, I wasn’t sure how long I could keep this going.

At first, it was exciting. I couldn’t believe I was selling out shows where people were coming to see me sing.

It was incredible. Then the reality set in, and suddenly, it wasn’t fun anymore.

Two years of a grueling tour, and the label is already talking about getting another one going the minute I put out my next album.

How do other singers live like this? Is this truly the only way to stay relevant?

Living out of hotels, never quite sure what city we’re in, and isolated from the people I love most? How is that a life?”

There’s no right answer to her question. As much as I’d love to tell her to quit and move back home, Ginny has to be the one to decide what she wants. She won’t be happy with anything less.

I wrap her in my arms, pulling her head into my chest. It’s the only thing I can think of doing since I can’t give her an answer.

She looks up at me, her ocean-blue eyes staring deep into my soul. Can she see how gone I am for her? Is it obvious that I’m so deeply in love with her that I’d give her the world on a platter if I could?

I cup her face, my big hand making her appear tiny. Her skin slides smoothly under my thumb. Is she longing for me, too? Does she want me the way I want her?

A line forms between her eyebrows. Questions dance in her eyes that I can’t answer, not right now.

“Carson? ”

My name is a whisper on her lips. It fills me to the brim, making it harder to hold back from kissing her.

A beeping noise startles me out of the moment. I jump out of my seat, and the quick movement causes Ginny to almost fall out of hers. It’s only my hand on her forearm that keeps her upright.

What the hell just happened?