Page 172 of Small Town, Big Storm

In a matter of months, it’s gone from a nightmare to a home.

Myhome.

Not a cesspool for rage and booze and pain.

It’s a new beginning, a place to start over, to rebuild.

Which means it’s time to put the last of the past behind us.

“You ready?”I ask quietly.

He jerks, tearing his gaze from the photograph, and looks at me, lifting a brow in silent question.

Just as silently, I pull the letter I retrieved from the nightstand this morning out of my pocket.

It’s folded and stained, but my dad’s handwriting is scrawled across the front.

Storm.

Rain stares at it for a long moment.

Then shakes his head.“I don’t know if I’m ready, kid.”

“You’re gonna be all like,I’m five years olderand you’re scared of a piece of paper?”

He scowls.“What are you trying to say?”

I shrug.“I said what I meant, dumbass.Get your fucking letter.We’re gonna read this shit and then we’re gonna burn them.And then we’re going to bury Norm Harrison once and for all.”

Silence.

Taut and stretched thin.

Then he curses softly.“I’msupposed to be the mature one.”

“Have you looked around you?”

His mouth quirks.“That’s true enough.You’re still being an asshole about it.”

“Genetics, remember?”

“Oh, I remember.”A heavy breath.Then he shoves his hand through his hair.“Pain in my ass,” he mutters, reaching intohispocket and pulling out his much-abused letter.

My heart convulses, and I wonder how long he’s been letting it sit in there.

Festering.

Eating away at him.

“Let’s get this shit over with,” he grumbles.

For once, I don’t argue.Instead, standing there in the middle of the space that used to be a nightmare, but is now one Rain and I have managed to turn into a home, I tear open the envelope, pull out the yellowed page…

And I read.

Storm,

If you’re reading this, I’m dead.