I let out a curse. “I’m going to take away all his phones and tablets and everything else he has that’s got even a hint of information on it.”

Finn laughed and stabbed his shovel into the mound of earth I’d dug up. Then he sat down and dangled his legs over the edge of the grave.

“There’s another reason I came here.” He drew in a breath, not quite looking at me. “I finally looked through that box of stuff you gave me. The one that Dad left in Deirdre’s casket. I read his letter too.”

I’d given Finn the box and the letter the day after the warehouse fight. I should have given it to him sooner, the very first night I’d dug it up. Maybe if I had, none of this would have happened. Maybe Deirdre wouldn’t have hurt, tortured, and betrayed him. And maybe Tucker wouldn’t have hurt me by hinting at ugly truths about my own mother.

But Fletcher had wanted me to wait until after Deirdre was gone—dead—to give Finn the letter. I might have honored the old man’s wishes, but we’d all suffered because of it. Still, I think I finally understood Fletcher’s reasoning. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Finn by telling his son all the horrible things his mother had done. He really had wanted to give Deirdre one last chance, hoping that she was a different person, a better person, for Finn’s sake.

But Fletcher had also realized that she probably hadn’t changed, so that’s why he’d warned me about her. Hope for the best, but always prepare for the worst was another motto that the old man had lived by. In this case, he’d let Finn do the hoping and me the preparing. Now what was done was done, and Finn and I would have to live with my mistakes and all the painful consequences of them.

Finn pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket and passed it down to me. “Here. I know you want to read it.”

“I do want to read it, but that doesn’t mean I should. Or that I have any right to. Fletcher left it for you, not me.”

He grinned, but it was a sad expression. “Just read it, okay, Gin?”

I nodded and held out my hand. Finn leaned down and helped me up out of the grave. I sat down beside him, our legs hanging over the edge. Then I unfolded the letter and began to read.

Dear Finn,

If you are reading this, then I am gone, but your mother is back . . .

It was a long letter, much longer than the one Fletcher had written me, and in it he recapped his relationship with Deirdre. For once, she hadn’t been lying, and everything had happened just as she’d said. She’d accidentally gotten pregnant, tricked Fletcher into killing her parents, threatened to freeze Finn with her Ice magic. Fletcher wrote that he’d kept the few things he’d had of Deirdre’s because he thought Finn might want them someday. And he also confirmed my suspicion about hoping that Deirdre was different from the woman he’d known and that she would never hurt Finn the way that she had him.

But it was the last few lines of the letter I lingered over.

I don’t regret what your mother did to me because I have you as a result. I would suffer through it all again—and again—if it meant having you as my son.

I’m so proud of you and the man you’ve become.

I love you so much.

Now and always.

Fletcher

Tears gathered in my eyes, but I blinked them back and looked at Finn to find that he was doing the same thing. I had to clear the emotion out of my throat before I could speak.

“He meant it, you know. Every single word. He was so proud of you, and he loved you so much.”

“I know,” Finn said. “And I loved him too. I just wish I had been more like him sometimes. That we had gotten along better. That I had told him how important he was to me more than I did.”

He plucked a blade of frosted grass out of the ground and twirled it around. “I also wish that I had listened to you about Deirdre.”

“You don’t have to apologize again.”

He looked at me, his green eyes full of regret. “Yes, I do. I just . . . I wanted her to actually be here for me. I wanted it more than anything. You know?”

“I know. It’s the same way that I feel about Fletcher. Sometimes I wish he was still here so much that it hurts. It’s literally an ache in my chest that I can never get rid of.”

“But at least you know he loved you.”

I waved the letter at him. “And he loved you too. He kept you safe from Deirdre for all these years. The two of you might not have been that much alike, but he loved you more than anything, Finn.”

He nodded, but he didn’t say anything else. A few flakes of snow started falling down from the sky. Finally, he gestured at the box that was still down in the grave.

“What was in it?”

I showed him the key and the letter.

“Yep, that’s from First Trust, all right.” He winked. “I know a guy who can get you in there on the sly.”

I laughed. “I’ll just bet you do. But first, I need to clean up the mess I made here.” I slid off the edge of the grave and back down into the hole.

“You want some help putting all this dirt back where it belongs?” he called out. “Or can I just sit up here and supervise and keep my clothes pristine?”

I gestured at him with my shovel. “You can stay up there, or you can take a dirt nap down here. Your choice.”

Finn laughed at my teasing threat and slid into the grave with me. Then he grabbed his shovel and stuck it in the dirt right next to mine. “I’m going to have to get a manicure after this,” he said. “All this dirt and physical labor will wreak havoc on my nails.”