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But when you didn’t come, I told myself she was meant to be mine.

I’ve realized in these last few months, after the diagnosis, that I was right about that. She was always meant to be mine. But she was always meant to be yours, too.

It cuts me now to admit it, but it’s the truth I know in the deepest part of my soul. My life was never meant to be a long life. But what I lived; I was meant to share with her. With our kids.

They’re my joy, man. My family.

I didn’t know I could love something as much as I love them. The thought of leaving them…fuck. It hurts. I want to be sick just writing it.

I’m terrified Mabel won’t remember me.

I’m terrified Owen won’t move on from me.

I’m scared shitless because I know Faye will….

I want her to move on. Move forward. But I don’t want her to rush into something because she sucks at being alone. And, man, she sucks at it. The woman can sell a renovation idea like no one else, but for fuck sakes don’t let her pick up a damned screwdriver. Don’t let her change the oil in her car. The woman is hardly safe with a paintbrush, you just have to walk into the mess of the garage to see that fact for yourself. DON’T LET HER UP ON THE ROOF TO HANG THE CHRISTMAS LIGHTS! She’ll try to tell you she can. She can’t.

I repeat…she can’t!

They’re my whole life, man. They’re the reason I lived, the reason I breathed. My family…

And now, I’m leaving my family to you. You’re the only one I trust to love them like I do.

I know this must sound all kinds of messed up. I get it. But I promise you, Holt, I’m clear of mind. Except for that pesky tumor, of course.

Shit, ignore the water drops. I’m not writing this out a second time, so deal with it. I’m a grown man bawling like a baby.

But what I’m trying to make clear to you, tears and tumor aside, is that the path of life gets a little clearer when you’re standing at the end of the line. I’m at the end, brother. I had my turn, and now it’s your turn.

It’s your turn to love her. To love them.

Owen breaths soccer with the same obsession that you breathed hockey. Our friends from Creekwood Valley, Adeline and Colt, they got a daughter. I know they’re young, but like I say, the path of life becomes clearer when you’ve got a foot on the other side. Their daughter, Harlow—he doesn’t like to admit it, but Owen’s been obsessed with her since they were little. There’s something there…so maybe, just maybe there’s more than just soccer for him.

I smile even as the wet blurs my vision. Tate’s right about that. I saw it, too. Saw the way Owen’s eyes looked for her constantly on the sideline. Saw the way he played harder when he saw she watched.

I keep reading.

Let him know that I lived a good life in this little town with his mom, okay? Let him know that fame and fortune isn’t everything. That passions can change and evolve. Let him know that he doesn’t have to be single-minded to grasp hold of success. Let him know that he can have all the parts of life—that it’s there for the taking—if he wants it.

Tate doesn’t want my life for his son. He doesn’t want fame to be the end goal, like it was for me. Doesn’t want him to lose all I lost in the play to win.

My little Mabel. Fuck, man. Isn’t she gorgeous? I don’t know who she is yet, but she’s full of spitfire. She’s going to take this world by storm. Never let that fire die, man. Stoke it. Feed it. Let it burn wild and hot. Let her wear all the colors of the rainbow for as long as she wants, and don’t give her too much trouble when she sneaks her food to Duke. That little dog has the stomach for her shenanigans, I promise. And if she starts waking again in the night…howl at the moon with her, all right, man? She likes the night sky. And you never got the infant stage, so I figure you’re due for some witching hour fun.

Trust me, bro, Faye needs her sleep. She’s liable to remortgage the house to buy Cherry’s without it.

Faye. My beautiful wife. The love of my life.

The love of our life.

She loves her sweet treats. It’s the way to her heart on a hard day, just as it’s the path to peace when she’s on that time of the month. She’ll escape in a hot bath for hours, so long you’ll start to worry. She’s fine. Refill her wine and make sure her kindle is charged. Heed my warning: you don’t want to know what she reads. It’s scary. Just remember, she’s ours, and we love her.

When spring comes and the greenhouses open, go with her. She can’t carry all that crap and she likes someone to coo with over all the soft colors and flowers. She’ll buy more than she should. And you’ll have to water it all every day, but the smile she gets when she looks at them every time she comes home is worth it.

Our girl loves life, man. All of it.

And she never stopped talking about one day building a big house in the mountains on a lake. A place to slow down. A place for loving, she’d say. A place for life.

A place I know—I’ve always known—was a place for the two of you.