“Hey,” I frowned when he looked up at me. “What’s that?”
He didn’t answer immediately, instead waiting for me to go over to him. Once I was close enough, he pulled me onto his lap, immediately kissing me deeply, as if needing to draw strength or patience or something from my lips.
“Are you okay?” I asked softly when I pulled away.
He ignored the question to answer the one I’d asked before.
“A stranger sent this to me four years ago,” he murmured, picking up the letter again. “Right before everything that went down with Tim.”
“Oh.” Hugging the towel to my chest, I blinked down at it in his hands. “Why are you looking at it?” I asked gently.
“It’s been four years since I touched it. But it’s what I showed Iain. To explain why I did what I did to Tim.”
Oh. Shit.
My eyes widened as I stared at the thing. Suddenly, it went from a normal letter to a map into the mind of Drew Maddox, which was precisely why I expected Drew to just read me bits and pieces.
But to my surprise, he handed the whole thing over.
“If there’s anything I’m not good at it’s talking about this subject,” he said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “So just read that first.”
I looked at him – at the pain storming behind his green eyes as he held out the piece of paper. But I noticed that his broad shoulders relaxed as soon as I took it from him – as if I’d just taken an actual burden off his hands.
“Okay,” I murmured as his arms circled around my waist, holding me still on his lap. My heart was already beating fast before I started reading.
But once I did, my heartbeat only quickened.
Hello Mr. Maddox,
I am writing to you as both a longtime fan (North Florida native here!) and a mother of a child undergoing cancer treatment. I watched your ESPN interview four years ago, in which you opened up about Pattie Lillard, her extraordinary impact on your childhood, and finally, her cancer diagnosis. I am aware of the significant financial help you have contributed to Ms. Lillard’s treatments over the years, and even donated to her GoFundMe when you first publicized her story.
I have long felt connected to both your story and Ms. Lillard’s, so it was deeply saddening for me to hear about the return of her cancer. I have followed both your stories for years, so safe to say it was of great surprise for me to spot Ms. Lillard at the same hospital in which my daughter has been receiving treatment.
I want to inform you that every Tuesday for the past month, I have watched her enter the building and appear nowhere near the infusion center. Admittedly, I have on two occasions watched her arrive at the hospital and spend approximately two hours in the cafeteria before exiting the building and being picked up to go home. I am holding out hope that there are explanations to these incidents, but I am writing to simply urge you to keep a closer eye on Ms. Lillard’s story.
Wishing all the best for you.
Sincerely,
Jill Marino
My stomach twisted furiously by the last word of the letter, and for some reason, I held out hope that I’d read this wrong – that this didn’t mean what I thought.
But when I brought my wide eyes up to Drew, he confirmed my suspicions.
“She didn’t have cancer,” he said. “The first time or the second time.”
My heart dropped into my stomach.
“What… what was she sick with then?”
“Nothing. She wanted money,” Drew said, his Adam’s apple moving as he swallowed hard.
I shook my head, already having troubl
e processing.
“But…” I remembered the images they showed during that interview in which Drew talked about how much he loved her. “There were pictures of her in the hospital bed. She didn’t have her hair anymore. She looked so sick.”