When you almost threw those pictures in the fire, it’s like my trance was snapped. I realized how selfish I was being. And I couldn’t let you get rid of those memories; not knowing they were all you had left. So I told you. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I love you so much it makes me selfish—greedy for you. I want you all to myself.

Since you walked out of my parents’ house, though, all I’ve been doing is thinking about Josh. And I’ve come to a realization. I think Josh loved you just as much as I do. And if he’s the kind of man who can love you this way—see you for all the things I do—then he sounds like he’s probably a pretty great guy. And maybe I’m all right with sharing your heart with a guy like that.

I have another confession. I know you wrote to him sometimes, on Facebook. I know because you accidentally sent a message meant for him to me.

I stop when I read this, my heart rate speeding up and my stomach feeling as if it’s full of rocks. I pull my phone from my purse and open my Facebook message to see, and when I go to my string to Nate, it’s there…the last letter I ever wrote to Josh. Nate read every word. Re-reading it makes me cry, remembering how hard it was to want to let Josh go, and how painful it was admitting to him—even in this way—that there was someone else. It takes me several minutes before I can put my phone away and open Nate’s letter again, but I finally do.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that sooner. I probably should have. But you were opening yourself up, and you were falling for me. And Rowe, I just didn’t want to stop that. I told you I’m selfish. I wanted you to fall. And I wanted to catch you.

But since you left, I’ve been thinking about that message you wrote. I bet there are more. You don’t have to tell me; those words are private, for you and Josh. But Josh hasn’t been able to write back. And the more I thought about you sending him messages, and not getting anything in return, the sadder it made me—for you.

So while this isn’t Josh writing now, and while I don’t have the memories of you at sixteen that he did, I do feel slightly qualified—as someone who loves you just as much—to speak on his behalf. You didn’t get to say goodbye, Rowe. But neither did he. If he did, I’m pretty sure these are the things he would want to say:

Dear Rowe (he would be more formal than me),

You were my first. And you were my only. And I am blessed because of that.

My last great moments on earth were with you, just as I would have wanted them to be.

Kissing you for the hundredth time is just as intoxicating as kissing you for the first.

You will always be the only girl I want to dance with.

I can’t believe how big your heart is, and how strong, for being able to carry me in it for so long.

Thank you, for caring so much for my parents and for me.

I’m proud of you, for fighting through what life handed you. It wasn’t easy, and for many it would have been impossible. But you’re a fighter, a beautiful, brilliant, funny, witty, kind and loving fighter. And the world needs you. So thank you for coming back to it.

And it’s okay to keep me in your heart. I talked with that other guy…Nate something or other. And he doesn’t mind. Like, at all. (Okay, so he probably wouldn’t say this, but you get the point.)

I won’t say goodbye. And you shouldn’t either. Because what we had is permanent, and goodbyes would only erase that. So instead, let’s say good beginnings. The best beginnings—first loves. I hear your second one is pretty crazy about you, too. (Yeah, that last part is totally me.)

Yours. Forever.

Josh

And Nate

Chapter 31

Rowe

Maybe I’d already forgiven him. But reading his words, seeing his handwriting, and knowing his touch was on that paper—scribing out every raw emotion coming straight from his heart—had me turned upside down.

What was I giving up? I’d come so far. After two years of nothingness, somehow I’d come to this place, this place where he was, and I’d met him, gotten him to love me, and started to breathe again! I couldn’t go back to life before; I didn’t want to. This place, here on this floor, this hallway, this room and his—this was my home now. And next semester, it would be my home again. And next year, I’d find my home wherever he was, wherever Cass was, wherever my friends were. This was living. And I wanted life. Josh would have wanted it for me.

I called Cass from the airport and left her a message, knowing she was probably already on her flight. She texted back later that night, giving me Ty’s number. And I sent Ty a text, begging him not to let Nate know. He was the only one who could help. I hoped he would have that same sense of obligation Cass had when she helped Nate.