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You told me a story once. You were standing in the kitchen making a taco casserole, wearing a fuzzy sweater that matched your eyes. It was a story about a bunny. When you were young, a little rabbit had found its way into your garage, injured and bleeding. You wanted to save it. You wanted to give it a second chance at life. Unfortunately, the story didn’t end well, and I wished so hard that I could go back in time and help you save that bunny.

Since my powers are limited, I did what I could.

Meet Hoppity.

I hope that when you look at it, hold it, set it on your shelf, you think of me. I hope it serves as a constant reminder of your beautiful heart and the way it changes people. The way it changed me. You changed me, Halley, in all the best ways.

Let this be your second chance at life. Take risks. Take opportunities. Take pictures that hang in galleries one day, so everyone can see your talent, your beauty, your immeasurable worth.

Fight. Fight for you, for your future. Not with fists and kicks, but with what you’ve always fought best with: love.

The night I met you, you sat down in a cold lake and said, “You’re welcome.” I said I didn’t thank you for anything and you replied with, “You might one day.”

You were right.

Thank you, Halley Foster.

You’ve made me a better man.

Reed

Tears bucketed down like rainfall as I clutched the letter in one hand and Hoppity in the other. I fell backward on the bedspread with the plush toy plastered to my heart, my body shaking like a stormfront had belted right through my soul.

I grieved.

I grieved hard. Messily. Painfully.

And I allowed the crushing moment to span for one whole hour, even when Scotty came to check on me, even when he crawled into bed beside me and held me in his arms, trying his best to soothe a bleeding heart that could only be healed by one man who was hundreds of miles away.

I let him.

I let him hold me, hush me, swipe away my tears as my pain petered out and left me drained.

Then I regrouped.

I brushed off the remaining shards of my shattered dreams and made a promise to myself that I would be strong, brave, formidable.

I can do this.

Days rolled into weeks. Weeks into months. Scotty took me to the ocean every weekend, and I would dunk my feet into cool water, letting each dip wash away another fragment of my fear.

As the sun began to set on a warm October evening, a shiver rolled through me as I stared out at the churning salt water.

Deep, dark waves crested, hypnotizing me.

It was fascinating how beautiful things could look so frightening when you were up close.

But then, the very things that frightened you could be beautiful, too.

If you looked a little closer.

I turned to Scotty as he waded a few feet away, his profile splashed with golden sunlight. He found my eyes, his smile broadening against the hazy lowlight, triggering my own.

Blinking back toward the water, I stared out at the aquamarine abyss with new eyes, with eyes scrubbed clean, and I drank in a salt-spun breath.

Then I did exactly what Reed told me to do—I fought.

CHAPTER 35