Free Wild Blue Yonder (The Ceruleans: Book 3) by Megan Tayte Page A

Feelings
stuff is hard to get out.
    I love you.
    I’ve loved you from the first day I saw you on the beach.
    I always will love you.
    I wish you were here.
    I’d do anything to bring you back here.
    I know there’s nothing I can do – nothing you can do. I
know I have to accept it. You made me promise to let you go.
    I’ll try.
    But not yet.
    Yours – always yours,
    Luke
    PS – Cara sends her love. Chester sends a dog-breath kiss.
I’m sending a virtual lemon drizzle cake with extra icing and a kiss in that
certain place that makes you melt.
    PPS – Sorry. Was that inappropriate? But what do you
write to your girlfriend who’s gone someplace where you can’t follow, and you
miss her, and you love her, and you just wish everything could go back to the
way it was?
    PPPS – I’m having some trouble signing off. Because then
that’s it. The last contact with you. And there’s a lifetime of things I wish I
could have the chance to say. But you know them, don’t you? You know how I
feel. And I know how you feel. And that’s enough.
    It has to be.
    In several places the ink of the letter was blurry. By the
time I’d read it for the fifth time, my own tears mingled with Luke’s had
rendered the letter an illegible mess. But it didn’t matter. I knew the words
by heart.
    Finally, carefully, I re-folded the paper along the lines of
the original creases and slipped it back into its envelope. Then I put it into
the pocket of my pyjama top, the one right over my heart, because I wanted to
feel it close to me, this one, final connection to the boy I loved.
    Luke. The ache for him was physical, ripping at my insides.
    A knock on the door interrupted my descent into tears. It
was light, tentative.
    ‘Go away, Jude,’ I shouted.
    There was a pause; then: ‘It’s Estelle.’
    I hesitated for a moment. I really didn’t want to see
anyone. But I could hardly shout ‘Go away’ again. I wiped my eyes on my sleeve
and then stood, crossed to the door and opened it.
    ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you,’ she said, eying my robe.
‘Only you weren’t at dinner, and Jude said you had a headache, so I thought I’d
check that you were all right.’
    He’d lied for me? Why that surprised me, given all his lies,
I didn’t know.
    ‘I’m fine,’ I said automatically. ‘Just…’
    ‘Having a meltdown? Thinking about smashing some stuff?
Considering a leap over the balcony?’
    I blinked at her.
    She smiled. ‘Don’t worry about it. Been there. Done that.
Got the “HOW many babies are you saying I’m gonna have?” t-shirt.’
    I laughed then. The noise sounded alien, and it made me
nostalgic for Luke and Cara.
    ‘Can I come in?’ Estelle asked.
    I opened the door fully. ‘Sure.’
    She stepped in. ‘Nice,’ she said, looking around. ‘My room
has the same layout. Only it’s pink and orange. Oh – can I check your
bookshelf? I’ve nearly finished all mine.’
    ‘Help yourself,’ I said, and she scurried over. ‘Do you want
a drink?’ I offered, figuring I’d better be polite.
    ‘Do you have mint tea?’ she said, fingering her way along
the novels.
    I rummaged through the box of hot-drink sachets.
‘Peppermint?’
    ‘That’s it. Yes! An Adele Parks,’ she announced, pulling a
novel from the shelf.
    As the kettle boiled she kept up a running commentary.
    ‘Marian Keyes: no, read all those. Cecelia Ahern: got them.
Austen: lovely, but too wordy for me at the moment. Twilight ?’ She
looked up at me. ‘You like paranormal romance?’
    I shook my head emphatically: no.
    ‘Ah well, leave that one be then. Lisa Jewel: read it. Jane
Green: read it. Karen Adams: never heard of her. Carole Matthews: that’s a
maybe. Ooo, look here – Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason . LOVE that
book. The Colin Firth interview is hilarious.’
    ‘You like women’s lit, I take it,’ I said, pouring boiling
water into a mug.
    ‘Love it!’ she declared. ‘Before I came here, I read all the
new releases. Wanted to be a