I turned around to see him sitting in my living room.

The sleeves of his shirt were rolled to his elbows, his eyes were bloodshot, and several empty shot glasses lined the coffee table.

“How long have you been sitting there?” I asked.

“Long enough.” He glared at me. “I need to know if it’s Kyle or me, Court. I need you to choose.”

“Graham, can we talk about this when you’re sober?”

“No, we can do it now.” He stood up and strode toward me, his gaze never breaking from mine. “Kyle or me.”

I swallowed, pushing Kyle’s name off the tip of my tongue.

It was a no-brainer, but I didn’t want to break up with Graham this way.

“I can’t fight to be with someone who doesn’t feel the same about me.” Graham closed the gap between us, running his hand through my hair. “Tell me that the past few weeks are just a phase, and that you’re still in love with me.”

I don’t think I ever was… “Why did you propose to me on my birthday, Graham?” I asked.

“What?” He furrowed his brow.

“My birthday,” I said. “Why did you pick that date to propose to me?”

“Because I love you, and that’s what men do when the time is right.”

“Are you sure?” I tried to read his eyes, but they were too glossy. “Because I think it had something to do with Kyle.”

“How the hell is that possible, if Kyle randomly popped back into our lives weeks ago?”

“I’ve told you about Kyle before,” I said. “I told you all about our history long before we started dating.”

“And I may have vaguely remembered it, but he has nothing to do with what I want for us.”

“He said that he sent me tons of letters to my old apartment.” My voice cracked. “The one you so graciously allowed me to switch for yours. You never had an issue sliding my mail under the door every day, but I never once received anything from Kyle. Can you tell me why?”

His face paled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.” I didn’t move. “So, tell me why you—”

“He was all you ever fucking talked about.” He hissed, cutting me off mid-sentence. “I remember when Kyle and I did this, Kyle taught me how to do that, Kyle and me’ ad nauseam. You begged me—fucking begged me—to help you get over him. So, like the good friend that I am—”

“Was.”

“I didn’t give you his goddamn letters because I thought that would hurt you.”

“Did you open them and read them for yourself?”

“Kyle Stanton is not good for you, Courtney,” he said. “He was a player when you first met him, and he’s a player now. Please don’t be stupid enough to believe that he’ll ever change his ways for you.”

“I asked you a question, Graham.”

“He only wants you because you’re taken now. I know guys like him, trust me.”

“Did you open his fucking letters?”

“Yes.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Yes, I opened his fucking letters.”

“And you saw that he still wanted to be with me, didn’t you?”

Silence.

He stared at me for several seconds, the truth etched all over his face.

“So much for being one hundred percent honest about everything,” I said.

“Everything that matters.” He scoffed. “Kyle Stanton is irrelevant to us. If you even think about taking him back, you’ll be another used up groupie within the next five years. You’ll also be the dumbest bitch I’ve ever met.”

I slapped him across the face without thinking.

Sucking in a breath, he clenched his jaw and stepped back.

“I guess that’s what you want,” he said, his face reddening. “You have a week to get all of your shit out of my building. I’m terminating your lease.”

“I only need a day.” I stepped back. “What did you do with the letters?”

“Ha! You honestly think that I kept that shit?”

“If there was any way to keep them away from me forever, I’m sure you did.” My chest heaved. “That was your intention, right?”

He hesitated a few seconds.

“I’ll take you up on only needing one day to get out,” he said. “Your unit will be on the market at noon tomorrow. The letters are in the bottom left drawer of my desk across the hall. The code is the day we first met, not that it ever meant a damn thing to you.”

“This isn’t personal.”

“It’s been personal since day one.” He tossed me his keys. “When he fucks you over—and he will, don’t come crying back to me.”

He walked around me, slamming the door shut on his way out.

I waited for a few seconds, standing by until I heard the ping of the elevator.

Still unsure, I walked over to the windows and watched him step into the rain and then slip behind the wheel of his car.

Walking across the hall, I unlocked the door and headed straight to his office. I entered the lock code and opened the bottom drawer.

Rummaging through stacks of manila folders, I continued until I found a small, blue box.

Lifting it up, I noticed that Graham had scribbled the words, “Junk Mail” on top.

Inside was an assortment of blue and gold envelopes, all adorned with specialized Pitt Panther and ‘Hail to Pitt!’ seals across the back flaps.

At the top, they were neatly sliced open, and there were far more than the “fifty-seven” Kyle mentioned.

I counted at least a hundred before making myself stop.

Letting out a breath, I carried the box back to my place and sat by the window.

I brewed a pot of coffee and started reading them one by one.

Courtney: Now

Present Day

* * *

 

Dear Courtney,

I got this idea from that P.S.—I Love You movie. (No, I didn’t dare watch it again, but I do remember every dreadful second of it.)

Anyway, since we’re currently not talking, and I feel like I’ve actually died without you, I thought I would borrow this concept until I come to see you at the end of the year. (Does October work?)

Between you and me, I wish that you would’ve never taken that fellowship in London. I should’ve told you to come with me and be my press person … Until you got a job you wanted.

I really do think—No, I know—that we could’ve made long-distance work, Court.

I missed you the moment we parted, and our random meetups were never long enough.

Kyle

P.S.—I sent you a text message a few weeks ago. I take it that you’re still upset with me over what I said.

I’m sorry, Court.

I truly am.

P.S.S.—I know you’re going to tell me that I’m making things up again, but whether you ever remember it or not, I feel like I was right about you during our freshman year. You were sexy as hell then by the way, and that was probably the best night of my first semester. (That was the closest I thought I’d ever come to getting “a ride” with you *smile drawing*)