Say You Won't Let Go Read online

  You’re no trouble, I’ve enjoyed the distraction of your letters.

  I sincerely hope you find her.

  Shay

  I seal it up and immediately run the envelope to the mailbox. I’ll have to go to the post office another day to ship him the box.

  I run inside and change clothes, finding I have a renewed spurt of energy. Part of me is a little sad to think I won’t be hearing from Keegan again. His letters hit something inside me that makes me want to know him. Maybe I’m envious of the deep connections he’s able to have with other people, or his bravery to continue after his wife died.

  I make it downstairs as Paul is hauling grocery bags inside. “Here, let me take a couple of those.” I take four bags, and he kicks the door closed with the heel of his shoe.

  “I’m glad to see you listened.” His gaze falls on my cleavage.

  “Don’t go getting any bright ideas that I wore this for you. I wore it for me, to feel like a woman.”

  “You keep telling yourself that. You love me, and you know it.” He chuckles.

  We empty the recyclable bags on the kitchen bar. “From the looks of this, you’re making salad and lasagna.” I snatch the bottle of red wine and remove the cork.

  “You’re responsible for making the salad. I’m sure you can handle that.”

  His eyes grow wide as I tip the wine bottle up and take a drink. “I guess you don’t plan on sharing. Maybe I won’t be able to trust you with a knife to make a salad.” His eyes twinkle, and I know he’s joking with me.

  I hold the wine out for him to take. “Only a sip.” I snatch it back as he reaches for it. I love teasing him.

  “Nah, you go ahead and drink the whole bottle. Maybe it will make you finally give in to me.” He laughs, knowing good and well that will never happen again. I sip on the wine and watch him as he starts assembling our meal. He really is a handsome man. He’s lean with some muscles, not bulky, but nice. I like his dark hair now that he’s wearing it a little longer. The curls in the back lay over his shirt collar. He’s got a smattering of gray at his temples, making him look distinguished. His five-ten frame is an inch shorter than mine. He used to hate when I would wear heels out on a date with him. Actually, we didn’t go out on dates much; we preferred to stay wrapped in bed together. He had some skills in the sex department, no complaints there. I just couldn’t get my heart to connect with him. Sometimes I think there is something really wrong with me.

  “That was delicious.” I lean back in my chair, rubbing both hands on my stomach. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to go on a run tonight or not.”

  “I think that has more to do with you polishing off the whole bottle of wine than it does the food.” He smirks.

  “Hey, I offered to share,” I almost slur.

  “I’m just glad to see you out of your cave.” He wipes his mouth with his cloth napkin. “What was in the box? I noticed it was the same address as the letter you received from the soldier a couple weeks ago.”

  “It’s really kind of odd. His name is Keegan, and he’s looking for his dead friend’s twin sister. This address was listed as hers.”

  “That’s odd. You don’t have any siblings.”

  My eyes flutter as I rub my left temple. “Not that I know of anyway.”

  “Have you ever been able to dig up anything about your background?” His chair scrapes across the tile floor as he picks up his plate from the table.

  “I gave up a long time ago. It was a dead-end every time I tried to search for information. My therapist suggested that it was time to move on after years of looking.” I join him at the sink. “I’ll wash these.”

  He playfully swats my ass with a dish towel. “Damn right you will, wench. I cooked.” He dries his hands off. “I have some emails I need to answer, anyway. Do you want to go to your favorite little lunch café tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, I would like that.”

  Chapter 4

  Keegan

  “That was awesome, Dad!” Emmalyn pulls her boots off and shakes the snow on the painted blue steps of the porch. “Thanks for letting me drive the snowmobile. It’s so much more fun than riding on the back.”

  “You’re right about that. You scared the heck out of me trying to hold on when you were doing donuts in the snow.” I chuckle. I use the railing to help me get up because my leg is stiff from being out in the cold. “Why don’t you go inside and warm up. I’m going to sit out here on the porch for a few minutes.”

  “Okay. I’ll make us some hot chocolate. Do you want marshmallows?”

  “Who drinks hot chocolate without them?” I laugh, and she heads inside.

  Wolfe hated marshmallows. He’s been on my mind so much lately that I’ve started having trouble sleeping again. I keep having nightmares of the day he was killed. Sometimes my dreams are so vivid, I feel like they are real. Remembering that day always brings me down.

  I woke up lying face down in the dirt with blood dried on my face. I don’t know how long I lay there, but the enemy soldiers must have thought they killed me. They beat me, leaving me for dead. Nothing hurt until I tried to move. I spit the dirt out of my mouth as I tried to roll. I screamed out in agony when I made it to my back. I looked down to see a compound fracture of my right thigh. The pain was so fierce, I turned my head and puked. I told myself I had to get it together if I wanted to make it out of the desert alive. I slowed my breathing and focused on survival and trying to get to Wolfe.

  The jeep was upside down behind me. I cranked my head around to look for him. “Wolfe! Can you hear me?” Dead silence. Stretching my arms above me, I pulled myself closer to the jeep, using the door that was open. Beads of sweat rolled off my face from the searing pain in my leg. Ignoring it, I rolled back over so I could look inside. Wolfe was still in his seat, hanging upside down, strapped in by his seat belt. I used the steering wheel to pull myself further inside. “Wolfe, please don’t be dead,” I kept repeating to myself. I knew before I touched him that he was gone. His forehead was caved in, and blood was already dried in his hair. “No!” I screamed over and over, not wanting any of it to be real.

  “Dad. Dad!”

  “Yeah.” I jump.

  “I’ve been calling your name.” Emmalyn hands me a mug of hot chocolate.

  “Sorry, baby. I was lost in thought.” I take it from her, my hands shaking from the memory.

  She watches me cautiously and sits in the rocker next to me. “I heard you last night.”

  “You heard what?”

  “I heard you screaming in your sleep. Grandpa stopped me before I went in to wake you up.” She’s scooping up the marshmallows with her finger.

  “Sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “Were you dreaming about Mom?”

  Her dark eyes look so sad. “I only have good dreams about your mother.”

  “So, it must have been about Wolfe. I miss him too. He would always pretend he was the drummer in a band with me when he would visit.”

  I rub the top of her head. “I do miss him.”

  “Why do people die?” Her eyes hood over.

  “Everybody dies at some point. But, I don’t know why some people die way before they should.”

  “Do you think Mom watches over me?” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears.

  “She and Wolfe are both keeping an eye on you.”

  “What are you guys doing sitting out here in the cold?” My mom pokes her head out the door, interrupting our conversation.

  “We’re drinking hot chocolate.” Emmalyn lifts her mug in the air, all signs of tears are gone.

  “Well, come inside soon. Dinner is almost ready. David, you have mail on the desk.”

  Mom is the only one besides Timber that calls me David. Once I went into the military, I almost forgot I had a first name. We both get up and go inside the warm house.

  “Go get cleaned up for dinner, Emmalyn.” She rolls her eyes then heads up the stairs. “Dad must have brought the mail home from the stor
e.” There is a letter from Shay, and she only has the store address.

  “Yeah, he stopped by this morning and picked it up.”

  Needing to warm up, I go into the living room and build a fire in the fireplace. Once it’s roaring hot, I sit on the plaid couch and make myself comfortable, propping my feet on the ottoman. I unfold the letter, finding I’m eager to read it as my stomach flutters.

  I gaze over her handwriting before I start. It almost reminds me of a beautiful song, the way it flows. It’s very similar to Timber’s handwriting. She would leave me handwritten notes tucked away in our house, knowing at some point I would run across them. Some simply said I love you. Others were very sexy, saying what she wanted to do to me. She had a Polaroid camera, so some of them were not notes at all; they were pictures of her smiling, blowing me a kiss, and on occasion, they were shots of her nude. Those were always my favorite and very effective. I would stop whatever I was doing and run home to her.

  I clear my head and my throat before I read Shay’s letter, absorbing every written word.

  She sounds like someone who does nothing but work. She needs a vacation. I get up and limp across the old wooden floor to the desk in the corner of the room. I take out a piece of paper and pen and write her another letter.

  * * *

  Shay,

  You sound like you are a busy woman and could use some fun. Jackson would be a great place to take a vacation. I’ll include some brochures from the store so you can see what adventures you could have here. I know a great little stone cottage on the outskirts of town. It keeps rented in the winter with all the tourists, but I could see if they’ve had any cancellations. If you decide to visit Jackson, I would love to meet you.

  As far as Wolfe and his father are concerned, they had a complicated relationship. His father was an alcoholic as far back as Wolfe could remember. He was a very closed off man and never let Wolfe into his life. I guess that is kind of obvious since Wolfe had no idea he had a twin sister. He told Wolfe his mom had died and never talked about her. He was always hard on Wolfe. He showed no love toward him at all. It’s amazing that he turned out to be such a good man. I’ll send you a picture of Wolfe smiling so that you can see he is as I described him.

  It’s funny you made the remark about the lyrics of music. My wife used to say the same thing. She loved music and was in a rock band for a few years. I was her groupie. She was one of the most beautiful women inside and out that I had ever met. Anyway, she quit the band because the lyrics either weren’t heard over the music, or they all sounded the same after a while.

  I know it’s strange, but I do feel a connection to you, even if you aren’t Wolfe’s sister. I would love it if you came for a visit. You could meet my twelve-year-old daughter, who wants to be a rock ’n’ roll star. And, no, most of the time she’s rolling her eyes at me, so I don’t think I’m her hero, more like a pain in her ass. LOL. I do miss the days when she was daddy’s little girl. The hugs are few and far between now. I think between my parents and me, we have spoiled her rotten. I’ve tried to make up for the mother she lost. It’s funny though, how she can be so much like a person she was never around. The fire in her is Timber through and through. Not only does she look like her, she moves like her too. The mannerisms are uncanny. She can be sweet one minute and a spitfire the next, but I wouldn’t want her any other way.

  I’ll keep an eye out for the box.

  Keegan

  * * *

  “David! Dinner is ready,” Mom’s voice bellows through the house. I leave the letter folded on the desk and make my way to the kitchen to join my family at the old wooden farm-style table.

  “Was that letter about Wolfe’s sister? Have you gotten any closer to finding her?” my dad asks.

  “No. The woman that lives at the address isn’t his sister. It was a dead-end.” I pick up the mash potatoes and scoop some onto my plate.

  “But, you’re still writing her?” Dad raises his shaggy gray eyebrows.

  “Yeah, I sent her Wolfe’s belongings before I knew she wasn’t his twin. So, she’s sending them back. Funny though, I get the feeling she’s lost. She does nothing but work all the time.”

  “Is she married?” Mom asks.

  My fork stops halfway to my mouth. “I don’t know for sure, but I get the impression that she’s not. I know I’ve never met her, but for some reason, I feel akin to her.”

  “Have you Googled her?” Emmalyn says sarcastically.

  “No, I have not.” I roll my eyes at her like she does me.

  “Well, why not. Maybe she’s pretty.” She smirks.

  “Just eat your food.”

  “You know, I’m okay if you wanted to date someone. I don’t like that you’re lonely.”

  I put my fork down. “I’m not lonely. I have all of you.”

  “She’s right, David. You need to start living again,” my mother says, pouring me some more sweet tea.

  “If you’re referring to Shay, you seem to forget she lives in California.”

  “You could invite her here, or better yet, you could go see her.” Emmalyn’s bouncing in her seat.

  “I’m not going anywhere. This is our busy season. I did invite her here, but she’s so busy I doubt she will come. I need to focus on finding Wolfe’s sister. I don’t have time for someone else in my life. You, little miss, keep me busy enough.” I point at her.

  She hangs her head. “It would be nice to have a mom.”

  “You had a mom, who loved you very much.” I glare at her.

  She drops her fork on her plate. “May I be excused?” She doesn’t look up.

  “You haven’t finished your dinner.”

  “I’m not hungry.” She pouts, getting up from the table and leaves.

  “She wants you to be happy,” my mom says, picking up Emmalyn’s plate.

  “What makes her think I’m not happy? I’m happy. I just happen to miss my wife.” I gnash my teeth together and throw my napkin on the table, scooting my chair across the wood floor. I head to the desk where I left the note to Shay.

  PS. I was wondering if you are married?

  * * *

  I rock the pen back and forth on the desk. I could try to Google her. I open up my laptop and type in Shay Fox. I scroll about midway down and find her company name. There are no pictures of her. Maybe she’s camera shy. There are several reviews written by artists, singing her praises, but not one photo.

  Chapter 5

  Shay

  Music plays in my ears, drowning out the sound of my footsteps pounding on the asphalt. My headache came back with a vengeance this week, and I haven’t been able to sleep. Sometimes the endorphins surging through me from my run kills the ache. Ten miles later, I’m finally free of the pain.

  The rays from the sun are just opening up the day as I make it home. Paul is pulling out of the driveway. He rolls his window down when he sees me. “Not sleeping still?”

  “No.” I huff and wipe the beads of sweat rolling down my brow and burning my eyes. I disconnect my Bluetooth, so I can hear him better. “My headache has finally eased, so I’m headed up for a shower and a nap.” I lean against his car.

  “You’re a hot mess.”

  “I wish the weather would ease up. It’s December for God’s sake.”

  “Why don’t you take a vacation? Go somewhere cold and curl up by a fireplace.”

  “I can’t. I have clients already chomping at the bit for me to get them more music.”

  “You have plenty of work. Give it to someone else. You’ve been working nonstop for far too long. Go to France. You’re not sleeping with me, so meet some Frenchmen and screw his brains out.”

  “You’re an idiot. I’m not going to France, but a break for the holiday does sound nice. Do you want to go with me?” I squat down, so I can see him through his window.

  “Does that invitation curtail anything else?” He cocks an eye.

  “I love you, but no.”

  “I’m going to my parents�
� for Christmas this year. You’re welcome to come with me.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. Your mom hates me.” I stand.

  “That’s because you broke my heart.”

  “Your heart belongs to all the woman you sleep with,” I yell, heading for the mailbox.

  He backs up into the street and waves as he drives off. I know he’s teasing me about breaking his heart. We care deeply about each other, but we’re not in love. His mom wanted us to be. She thought he would finally settle down and maybe give her some grandkids. I think if I could love someone, it would be him, but there is a hole in my heart that always holds me back. He can’t get to it to fill it. It’s an ache that is always with me.

  I pull a stack of mail out and drop several envelopes on the ground. I bend down to pick them up and notice the now familiar handwriting of Keegan. My heart does an odd little flutter. I carry the stack inside and grab a much-needed bottle of water from the fridge.

  I sit at the counter finding myself excited about opening the letter. I never made it to the post office to mail the box. Maybe that’s why he’s writing me again. I tear it open and start reading. My fingers drum on the countertop as I take in his words.

  “Am I married?” I laugh out loud. “Who has time for marriage?” His question makes me curious as to what he looks like. I run upstairs to my office with the letter in hand. My fingers hover over the keyboard. I only know him by Sergeant Keegan. He said his family owned an outdoor center in Jackson. How many can there be? I Google outdoor centers in Jackson and Outdoor Adventures is at the top of the list.

  It’s a beautiful, rustic log-cabin-looking building on the outside with a unique A-frame build on the front. Placing the mouse on the title bar where it says contact, I click on it. There is a gray-haired man with glasses, Dave Keegan, owner/operator. Vice president, David Keegan. All this time, I thought his first name was Keegan. He never signs his name David.