Her features soften, her act put aside. “I love you so much, Dylan.”

“Wait for me, okay?” I whisper, my weakness shown in words only she can hear.

“Dylan…”

“Promise me”

“Semper Fidelis. Always.”

Another announcement.

Another non-goodbye.

I pick up my bag. “I have to go.”

She nods as Jake stands beside her, throwing an arm over her shoulders.

I give everyone a casual salute before looking back at Riley. Then I cup her face, my thumb skimming across her lips when I force her to look at me. “I never told you.”

“Told me what?”

“That I’m glad you’re here, Riley. Not just here with me, but here in this world.” Then I nod once at Jake—an unspoken understanding, before turning quickly and walking away.

It’s not until I’m on the bus and the engine’s started and the brakes are off that I finally look back at them: At Dad and Eric standing side by side, at my friends in a line, all holding hands. At Holly, standing to the side of Riley. And Riley—crying in Jake’s arms, her head on his chest and his hand rubbing her back, letting her know what I always knew—that he’ll take care of her.

They all will.

If I wasn’t sure of it, there’s no way I’d be leaving her.

Riley

It’s the first time in a really long time that I’ve thought about drinking, but there’s a big difference between thinking about it and wanting to. I don’t want to. I won’t. Because Dylan was right. Whatever I’m looking for, I’m not going to find in the bottom of a bottle. I’m going to find it in him.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Mom tells me, hugging me tight. “I have a client waiting for me. Will you be okay?”

“We’ll take care of her, Ms. Hudson.” Jake answers for me.

I look up at him, a little confused.

She’s holding out a glass jar, a single folded up piece of paper inside it. “Dylan wanted me to give you this.”

I release another round of tears as I take it from her, feeling the eyes and presence of everyone around me.

“What is it?” I ask.

She smiles, warm and comforting. “It’s his heart, baby.”

The jar sits on my lap as I drive carefully, my anxiety building with each passing second. I pull into the garage next to his truck, now covered to keep it safe from dust. He said I could drive it, but the thought of being in it without him didn’t sit right with me. I get out of my car and go straight to his workbench—the second thing we brought over from his dad’s house along with all his tools. With the jar gripped tightly in one hand, I run the other over his tools, smelling the grease that comes to mind whenever I think about him. I wait for my heart to settle—a million thoughts racing through my head. When I feel like I can actually read his words without my heart shattering to pieces, I place the jar gently on the bench and stare at it. And that’s all I do. Minutes pass. I don’t move. I barely breathe. It’s his voice in my mind “Come on, Hudson!” that gives me the courage.

I unscrew the lid and as carefully as possible, I take out the letter.

Dear Ms. Hudson,

I’m sure you already know who I am. Or, at least, you think you do. Maybe in some aspects, you’re right. I am the boy next door. I am a Marine.

And I am hopelessly in love with your daughter.

You don’t know that last part yet.

Neither does she.

I’m hoping one day she’ll give me a chance to show her.

And I’m hoping even more that I can do that with your blessing.

So, I thought I’d write you this letter, introduce myself properly so you can get to know me—Dylan Banks—not the boy next door. Not the Marine. But the boy who loves your daughter.

I never knew my mom. She died during childbirth. Sucks, I know, but I’m not telling you that to gain your sympathy. I’m telling you because my dad raised both me and my brother on his own… he was both parents for us… and he did a damn fine job of it.

He taught us to be honorable men, to love and respect everyone equally, and he showed us, more than taught us, to love fiercely. My dad, though quiet, has always had a voice when it came to putting us first.

He left the military as soon as my mother passed and became the strength we all needed to move on from her death. Then took a job at a factory pressing metal so that he could support and raise us the best way possible.

I’m getting off track.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that my dad loves us something fierce and he’s always done what’s best for us. Which, I know now, is something you’d understand.

See, for the past few weeks, I’ve woken up every day and Riley’s been the first thing on my mind. She’s the last thing I think about when I go to sleep, and she’s pretty much all I think about while I’m awake.

Swear, Ms. Hudson, I’m not a creep. I just really like her.

She’s smart and witty and funny and a complete pain in the ass—which, I guess, just adds to her charm. And she’s pretty. Real pretty. And she’s so strong. The fact that she hasn’t had anything to drink the past few days (not sure if you knew that or not) just shows how strong she is. I’m sure you know all those things about her, though you may not have witnessed it since the accident, I just thought I’d remind you.

Riley told me about her dad (jerk, right?) and it kind of made me angry—that there was some guy out there who’d had a hand in creating such a perfect girl and he didn’t even know her. I felt bad for him—that he was missing out on all things Riley. Then I thought about Riley and how she missed out on having a father in her life. But then I realized, she didn’t miss out.