“Has she said anything to you?” I found myself asking.

He shrugged. “She says she doesn’t feel worthy of me. I don’t know.” His gaze dropped. “I feel like it’s my fault. Maybe I haven’t shown her how much I love her or how much she means to me and how sometimes I walk with her hand in mine and I get that sense of pride, you know? Not because I want to show her off or whatever, or the fact that I think it’s amazing that she doesn’t mind being seen in public with a kid like me but because she’s fucking smart, man. And she’s beautiful, and funny and passionate and opinionated and a complete pain in the ass but, fuck, I love her. I love all those things about her and it hurts she can’t see that. That she can’t love herself the way I do. I don’t know. Is it my fault?” he asked, his eyes back on mine, pleading with me to give him something.

I didn’t have anything to say. It’d been a long time since I felt what he was feeling. That kind of pain at the thought of losing someone he loved with everything he had. And it wasn’t a show, Riley. It was just me and him—two guys talking out on the street—him pouring his heart out, and me, not able to give him whatever it was he was looking for. “College is a long time away, bro.”

He just shrugged. “Time means nothing when forever’s in play.”

Then he looked over at your house again and I could see the desperation in his eyes. “Maybe don’t show her.” I told him.

His gaze trailed back to mine. “What?”

“Don’t show her. Tell her. Everything you just told me, say it to her.”

He squared his shoulders and took a long, deep breath. “You think it’s enough?”

“It has to be, right?”

He nodded and sniffed once and for the first time since I’d been speaking to him, I saw the fear in his eyes. He was so afraid of losing you, Riley.

Then he smiled and shook his head. “Under love’s heavy burden do I sink,” he mumbled. And then he was gone. He marched right up to your house and pounded on the door. I turned around and went into the house, not wanting to witness your moment of love and (hopefully) clarity.

I sat in my room in the silence of my thoughts, having no fucking idea what I was doing with my life. But that kid on the street—he knew. He wanted you to be his life. His love.

And at least you get to have that, Riley. At least you get to walk away knowing his heart belonged to you and that he was so afraid of losing you, so desperate to show you your worth, that he bled his heart out to a stranger. He loved you, Ry. He loved you so damn much. And I was so jealous of him, not because he had you at the time, but because he was so passionate about you and love and life and the future you’d share, and I didn’t have any of that.

What I had wasn’t enough.

I wanted more than enough.

I enlisted the next day.

And I found something I was proud of, like he was proud of you.

Jeremy Walters—he changed both our lives.

I cover my mouth with my hand to stop the sobs from escaping. Each read seems to hurt more, but not the kind of hurt that has me reaching for the bottle. It’s the kind that lets me know I’m breathing and that I’m alive, and that eventually, it’ll be okay. I fold the note and place it on the bed next to me, then I reach into the jar and pick up the second letter, already smiling as I unfold it.

Riley,

I’m sorry for making you cry with the last letter. I hate seeing you cry. I hate even more knowing I caused it. But, I thought you should know about that night because I know for sure it’s not something you can write to him about. I wonder if he’ll be pissed that I told you about it. Looks like I’m breaking bro-codes all over the place when it comes to you.

Anyway, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I haven’t really had the chance to say it in person, so I thought I’d write it to you. And with any luck, take away some of that hurt I just caused (I’m sorry—again).

Okay.

Here goes.

I find it completely appalling that you seem to love bacon. It’s weird. You’re weird, Riley. I mean, out of all the food in all the world, you ask for bacon? It just doesn’t make sense. But, because I’m trying to get in your pants, here are some random facts about bacon:

1. International bacon day is September 3rd. I mean… what the hell? There’s an actual day to celebrate bacon!

2. Bacon cures hangovers. Okay… so maybe that explains why you love it so much.

3. There’s bacon-scented cologne. Jesus Christ, what has the world come to?

4. There’s a bust of Kevin Bacon… made of bacon. Is now an appropriate time to use WTF?

5. And last, but not least. You, Riley Hudson, are bacon me crazy.

*     *     *

Riley: You’re such a goof, Lance Corporal Banks.

Dylan: Jesus. You just mafe me hard…er. The thinga I’d like toxbe doing to you wgen you call me that in person…

Riley: omg…

Dylan: Also, if youcever kiss me like thaf in front ofxall my friends again…

Riley: …

Dylan: I won’t let youxleave so easily. I can’t fuxking focus on anythinf else now.

Riley: Because I’m bacon you crazy?

Dylan: :D :D :D !

“Riley!” Mom shouts. I quickly put the letters back in the jar and move just in time to hide it under my bed before she opens my bedroom door. “There’s someone at the door for you.”