They cut to footage, and my breath rushes from me. Smoke. Ash. Firefighters are moving through the wreckage. One corner of the building is gone. Collapsed. Demolished like it was never there at all.
“Oh my god,” I whisper. “No. No, no, no.”
Tears blur the screen as pain blooms in my chest, not just for the destruction, but for them. I turn the volume up, my hands numb as I fall into my couch.
My heart fractures at the line I wasn’t ready for.
“There were two people injured. One sustained severe injuries and is currently hospitalized. We are awaiting an update.”
Grant went to open the shop.
And Clay was with him.
“It’s my fault,” I breathe. The words fall out before I can stop them.
Shelly’s last letter slams back into my mind. No more.
She wasn’t saying goodbye to me. She was warning me. Threatening me. She was trying to hurt them. She knew I’d been with them. How? Did she wait all this time? Until I finally let myself care about someone?
My chest tightens until I can barely breathe. I’m so confused and scared.
“They’re going to die,” I whisper, sobbing now. “It’s all my fault.”
And all I can think is that once again, the people closest to me are getting hurt. Dying.
The TV keeps talking, but I don’t hear the words anymore. Just the tone. Calm. Controlled. Like this is something that happens to other people.
My hands start to shake so badly that I set the coffee down before I drop it. My reflection stares back at me from the dark TV screen between clips; wide-eyed, pale, already guilty.
This is what she meant.
No more.
Not goodbye. Not closure. A promise.
Every moment. Every letter. Every decision not to involve the police. Regret pressing in on me. Years of regret. I should’ve dealt with this years ago.
If I’d taken it seriously from the first envelope, would they be in the hospital right now?
I should never have gotten close to them. That’s the truth my brain settles on. I should’ve known better. People around me get hurt. That’s the pattern.
Andy.
Sherry.
Now them.
I press my palms to my eyes, but the images come anyway. Fire, smoke, and red lights.
Shelly didn’t care about me. She cared about taking something from me. And I handed it to her the second I let myself feel something.
A laugh breaks out of my throat, sharp and ugly. “Of course,” I mutter. “Of course, this is how it ends.”
I replay every choice. Clay here. Staying with them. The wedding and everything I avoided. I try to pinpoint the exact second I sealed their fate.
If I hadn’t kissed Clay back.
If I hadn’t stayed in the hotel.