“For love.”

Not ten minutes into the two-hour flight, I’m even more thankful for having been moved seats, because somehow I end up with no one next to me. The plane is smaller than those from the first two legs of my trip, with a pair of seats on each side of the center aisle and only about fourteen rows or so. And other than the window seat next to me, it appears the flight is full. Again, however, no one seems to pay any extra attention to me. Almost there, Madden.

Once we level off and the seatbelt light turns off, I lean down into my carry-on bag and pull out the folded piece of paper I’ve read so many times I’m surprised it hasn’t disintegrated under the intense heat of my scrutiny. I hate to admit it, but I’ve even slept with the damn thing more than once over the last couple of weeks, clutching it like a lifeline.

I know I was supposed to burn it. The damn thing even specifically tells me to turn it into ashes, but I can’t. Not yet. Not until I see her and know this isn’t all some incredibly cruel joke. God, please don’t let this all be a lie.

Carefully, I open the letter and focus my eyes on the handwritten words, hoping this will be the last time I feel the need to read it. If all goes to plan, all of the promises listed on this piece of paper will become reality in the next few hours. If not, I may light myself on fire instead of the damn note.

Decker,

I really hope you get to read this letter before you do something really stupid, like kill someone and end up in prison without knowing the truth of what really happened at the cabin. Though most of what has probably been reported is true, there is one thing that’s not. One thing I can guarantee. Your girl is not the female body they discovered in the rubble and ashes. I know this, because I personally drugged her and took her to a motel before Vincent ever showed up, giving her a packet and letter similar to this one.

Assuming she followed my directions and everything played out as I planned, she is currently sitting on the other side of the world, waiting for you to join her in a few weeks. Both of you have been provided completely new identities, and in this envelope, you will find everything you need to begin life as Zachary Covey. Travel arrangements have also been made to take you to her, but again, I have set them up for a few weeks in the future, expecting there will be some things you need to do before you walk away from your current life. If you so choose to, that is.

Make no mistake about what I’m suggesting. If you want to spend the rest of your life with the woman you love, the woman you risked your life for numerous times in the last several weeks, you will have to cut ties with every single person you know and love, including your family and friends. Not a single person can know who you will become or where you are going, or both your lives will be in grave danger. It has to be a clean slate.

Whatever or however you decide to do this, it will need to be convincing, and you need to accept that you can never return to being Madden Decker. It’s a huge sacrifice and a decision only you can make for yourself, but I’ll tell you that I’ve lived the last couple of years without the woman I love, and it’s fucking hell. By blowing up this cabin, I’ll finally be with her again and my suffering will end.

If you make the decision to go to her, she will be able to fill you in on a few more details of the story, but at this point, I’m just going to leave this letter with these instructions. First, no matter what you do, burn this letter. Never leave any evidence. Second, make a decision and stick with it. Don’t spend the rest of your life wondering ‘what if.’ And finally, don’t be fucking stupid. Go get your girl.

-Raze

Blinking back the moisture in my eyes, I fold the paper back into the quartered-square and shove it back into the bag. To think I almost didn’t even open that envelope . . .

I shake the horrible thought from my head. It doesn’t matter that it took me seven days after Blake’s funeral to finally get around to attending to the pile of mail on my table; the important thing is I did. And I’m here.

There are still so many unanswered questions, but I don’t care. If I can get to her—my sweet girl—it doesn’t matter what our names are, or where we live, or that we have no one but each other to build a new life on. The only thing I care about is being with her. She fills holes in my life I didn’t know existed until she appeared, and if there’s even the most miniscule chance I can be with her, I’ll give it all up . . . I did give it all up. Because a hundred percent of everything else doesn’t equate to even one percent of her.

The hardest part about leaving my life as Madden Decker behind was my parents. I knew a fake suicide note would wreck them, but it was the only way. Leading up to the day I supposedly threw myself into the Pacific Ocean, much like Emerson had, due to my overwhelming depression from losing both her and Blake, I made sure to spend quality time with them and ensure they were aware of how much they meant to me. Saying goodbye led to me drinking a fifth of whisky by myself in my bed that night, but ultimately, I had no choice. I’d live a miserable life if I didn’t go through with my plan.

The last night I spent with Easton was a little easier. For one, the last couple of months had been a huge wake-up call for him, and he was finally starting to get his act together. From fearing for his life because he owed the Russian mafia a huge sum of money, to losing Emerson and Blake—or so he thought, at some point he realized what was important in life and began taking an active role in both the company and our family. Secondly, he’d mentioned that he had taken Jae out a few times to dinner and a movie, and it seemed he truly liked her. I wasn’t sure what would happen between them, but I hoped my “suicide” would only bring them closer. Part of me felt that when Easton and I said goodbye that final night, he knew something was up, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t believe my note. But if he does think that I was up to something, he’ll know why I did it, and I trust him to keep my secret safe.

Leaning my head back on the seat, I close my eyes and replay memories of Blake and me over the past few months as we were getting to know each other and rapidly falling in love. Before I know it, the captain’s voice reverberates throughout the cabin, announcing our impending arrival, and a short time later, I’m stepping off the plane and approaching a man with a sign that reads Mr. Z. Covey.

The attendant offers me no name, but his English is precise and he apparently knows the ins-and-outs of the small airport. In a whirlwind of action, he leads me down to baggage claim, where he scoops up my one large suitcase and leads me out to a car parked at the curb. Once both me and my bag are inside the backseat, the man slides behind the steering wheel—which is on the wrong side of the car—and off we go.

“I guess I should ask where you are taking me, Mr. umm . . .” I chuckle nervously as I look around the front seat for some indication of the guy’s name.

“I am driving you where I was instructed to deliver you, Mr. Covey,” he replies matter-of-factly, his expression offering nothing as far as a clue.

Sighing, I nod and twist to look out the window. “Can I at least ask how long it will take to get there? I’ve been flying from one airport to another over the past twenty-six hours and I’m exhausted. I’d just like to know if there’s a nap anytime in my future.”

A ghost of a smile slips over his face before he responds, “The drive is about an hour, sir, but I doubt you will be doing a lot of sleeping when you arrive at your destination.”