Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“Before you go...” I walked over to the box and took out Jacob’s journals and the photos. I held everything in a pile, returning to where Tristan stood. “I want you to take these. You should look through everything. These are his most recent private thoughts. It will help you learn about him.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. You can give them back to me, if you want, when you’re done looking through everything. Or you can keep them. You have more of a right to them than anyone.”
He took them from me. “Thank you.”
I wanted to ask when I’d hear from him, but I didn’t. I wouldn’t blame him if he never called me again. Even the pain of that felt better than having to hide everything from him. My feelings for Tristan were just as strong as they always were, so I could only hope both of us would find our way to some peace with all of this. I loved him. It was as simple—and as impossibly complicated—as that.
CHAPTER 25
TRISTAN
It felt surreal. Suddenly I was fifteen again, standing in front of Cheyenne’s mother’s door. I had no idea how much Mrs. Benson knew about any of this, or what I was going to say. I just had to wing it.
Back in Nevada yesterday, I’d booked a ticket to Iowa, flown here, and spent the night at a hotel near my hometown of Spirit Lake. Carrying Jacob’s diaries with me in my backpack almost felt like they were some kind of good-luck charm, though I hadn’t had the damn courage to read them yet. I needed to focus on the task at hand, not allow myself to get so emotionally involved that it paralyzed me. I’d barely allowed myself to think about my son, for fear that I’d break down.
I wasn’t sure I could read the diaries anytime soon. How would I function on tour with the regret I knew I’d feel? The more I distanced myself for now, the easier it would be. The less real this situation would seem. But I felt guilty for not opening them right away. Then I’d remind myself that he was gone, and nothing could bring him back, certainly not reading his personal thoughts and feelings.
I still hadn’t knocked on Mrs. Benson’s door. Instead, I looked around for a moment, taking a long whiff of the fresh air in Spirit Lake. Nothing smelled like this. It smelled like my childhood. Not much had changed here. The same trees lined the street outside Cheyenne’s childhood home. The same view of the lake in the distance. The paint on the exterior was the same, although flaking. The fence was the same, too, albeit a bit rusty.
The door suddenly opened. Startled, she jumped back.
I cleared my throat. “Mrs. Benson...”
“Oh my God. Tristan.” She covered her mouth. “It’s you.”
I sucked in some air. “I know it’s been a long time.”
When tears formed in her eyes, I suspected maybe she felt guilty for keeping my son a secret. In any case, I wasn’t here to have it out with Cheyenne’s mother. I just needed to know one thing.
“I need you to tell me where Cheyenne is.”
“She’s living in Milford now, with her husband.”
That was a couple of towns over.
“Do you have an address?”
Her breathing seemed shallow. “Is there a reason you need to see her?”
“I need her address,” I repeated.
Mrs. Benson went back inside the house and returned with an address written in pen on a piece of paper. She handed it to me.
I’d planned to see my parents while I was here, but I was too anxious. I’d go see Cheyenne first and come back to Spirit Lake after.
***
I’d imagined this moment several times over the years but never thought I’d actually see Cheyenne again. Even as I stood at the doorway to her house, I couldn’t believe it. My heart thundered in my chest as I forced myself to press the doorbell. It was the middle of the day, so I had no idea whether anyone was home.
But then the door opened, and Cheyenne stood there, looking almost the same as I remembered, her brown hair still long, the same beautiful blue eyes. Now they had slight creases at the corners. I looked into the eyes of my first love, yet love wasn’t what I felt anymore. Cheyenne looked frozen but not exactly shocked. Her mother, I assumed, had given her warning that I was on my way.
“Hi, Cheyenne.”
“Tristan...” she whispered.
“I think you know why I’m here.” Sadly, she really didn’t. She just thought she did. What I had to tell her was far worse than she could ever imagine.
She stepped aside. “Please come in.”
I needed to get the hard part over with. No matter how much anger I harbored for the decision she’d made, she deserved to know. So I came right out with it. “He died, Cheyenne. Our son passed away in a car accident.”