Gotta Have Fate (Winslow Brothers)

Unfolding it quickly, I flip it right side up and start to read. Her penmanship is neat and delicate, each of the words she’s placed on the page deliberate.

Remy,

If you’re reading this, you must know by now that I’m gone. The truth is, I wasn’t sure I was going to follow through with it until now.

I sent this note with Ivy and Harper, hidden in my bag, so that if I changed my mind, I’d be able to meet you at the altar as planned. But I know with certainty now, I’m doing the right thing.

I’m taking the job in California, and I’m going to move there on my own.

I know it’s an asshole move to do it this way, and I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry. I wish I were brave enough to come and say all of this to your face. But I do love you, Rem, and because of that, I know I’m doing what’s best for the both of us by parting this way.

It’s also why I have to tell you this way.

You made it pretty clear last night that having both you and California wasn’t an option, and I could not in good conscience enter into a marriage with you that I knew I would grow to resent. And I couldn’t give you the chance to say words I know you don’t mean—words that would color the picture of our relationship, and my memories of you, forever.

I don’t know, maybe I’m just scared, and I’m a coward to run away like this, but Remy, one day, you’re going to understand. I know you will.

So fucking sick to my stomach I can’t read any more, I let my arm drop to my side and stare straight ahead.

“She’s not coming,” I say simply, my voice flat even to my own ears.

“What?” Jude breathes audibly. “Why the hell not?”

I can’t believe she’s not fucking coming. In some twisted, fucked-up way, the pain feels compounded, like the wound of her leaving is layered directly on top of the one my fucking father already inflicted.

So angry I can hardly breathe—at her, at myself, at my dad, at the fucking world—I pick up the crystal vase from the table beside me and throw it across the room, watching as it shatters against the wall.

With quick, methodical strokes, I rip the letter she penned into tiny, minuscule pieces and watch as they flutter to the floor. Right along with the remnants of my heart.

Fuck. Love.

It was shit for my mom, and clearly, it’s shit for me. I’m never, ever putting myself through this again.

Flynn

Crack!

A second vase flies out of Remy’s hand and smacks against the wall.

Shit. This is bad.

In a matter of minutes, my older brother has gone from being an excited groom, ready to marry his fiancée and build a life together, to a man who just found out his soon-to-be wife isn’t his soon-to-be anything, scraping at the bottom of the barrel of emotion.

Charlotte is gone, and all that’s left is a torn-to-shreds letter in her wake.

Winnie steps back, the unpredictable nature of Remy’s next move engaging her flight instinct so much that her back hits the door, her sad, drawn face mirroring the sentiment of the whole room. The wedding is off, and one of us—a part of the Winslow whole—is coming apart at the seams.

I meet her eyes, stupidly hopeful that maybe she knows something we don’t—that this is a misunderstanding and a clusterfuck, but at the end of the day, our eldest brother’s world will once again get made right. Charlotte will call. They’ll make up. It’ll be one of those stories that lives as a legend in their family for generations to come.

But when Winnie meets my eyes and shakes her head, I know.

We’re actually living this nightmare. It’s real. Charlotte isn’t going to appear by magic, and no simple fix is going to fill the hole in Remy’s heart. All I can do is think quickly and try to decrease the logistical ramifications of the catastrophic damage.

“Ty, go get Uncle Brad. Now,” I whisper discreetly to my side, and he doesn’t hesitate to follow orders. With one curt nod, he’s out the door of the groom’s suite and into the hall.

Remy paces near the large windows, running his hand through his hair. He’s like a caged lion, and all of us know him well enough to understand that we need to give him some space right now.

Jude wraps his arm around Winnie, who’s holding back tears, her hand inconspicuously moving up to her face and hurriedly brushing away any rogue emotion that manages to slip down her cheeks.

Fuck.

I know Charlotte didn’t leave me at the altar—or Winnie or Jude or Ty—but seeing Rem like this feels like a hundred daggers to my chest. And I’ve got to imagine it’s the same for the rest of my siblings. You don’t grow up together like we did, fatherless and going through life together as both one another’s greatest champions and enemies, and not feel a hurt this deep collectively.