It had been two days- two aching, silent days. How many times had she picked up the phone without thinking to call him, or send a text? It took everything within her to resist. She knew she had to give him some time, space. She owed him that – and much more.

Juliette sat on the couch in her living room, but looked out the windows to the outdoor terrace. She and Avery had spent so much time out there over the past year. It was where they wrote their first song together; where he'd played her his amazing mix of "Don't Put Dirt"; where they'd come out and burrowed under her soft down comforter in early spring to watch the sunrise after they'd been up all night making love. Juliette's throat constricted when she thought of two nights ago, when they'd also watched the sky turn into morning.

She had bared her very soul to him, all its ugliness and need. Any man in his right mind should've turned away, she thought. Any man would have run. When Avery had taken a step back, she was sure he was going to leave again. She turned her eyes away from him, folded her hands together. She couldn't bear to watch.

Then she heard his footsteps walking softly to the front of the terrace. She saw him sit down on the retaining wall. His back was to her, his gaze on the Nashville skyline. Juliette didn't know what to do, what this meant. So, she kept watch over him: the soft black jean jacket that he always wore, the way his shoulders shook so imperceptibly that she wondered if she was imagining it. An irrational part of her thought that if she took her eyes off him, he'd disappear.

Was it selfish that she wanted him to say something? She knew she'd wounded him deeply, but a tiny part of her was angry with him. She'd cut herself open and he hadn't done anything. Avery wasn't a big talker, this she knew, and she certainly didn't deserve anything from him, but she couldn't help but think that he was always holding something back from her. Juliette felt she could never bring it up before; so much of him was genuine and true, but she could sense that there were some parts of him that she couldn't touch. Parts she thought maybe Scarlett could. When she'd heard him say to Scarlett that she'd always have a place in his heart, her suspicions were confirmed.

She had given her heart to Avery, but the situation with Scarlett made her doubt that he cared. That scared her. She didn't like the feeling of being so vulnerable, so exposed, so she took it back. But when Avery had held her heart, he'd changed it. She hadn't counted on that. The guilt she felt after sleeping with Jeff was truly unknown to her, and when she thought of Avery finding out the truth, she knew it would destroy them both. So she'd panicked and she'd lied, and lied, and lied.

Yet judgment day had come, and he was still sitting right in front of her. Juliette wasn't sure how much time had passed, maybe hours, before she finally got up and sat down beside him. He didn't move. The sky burned violet; the stars were fading. Fresh tears slid down her cheeks and she cursed herself for being so weak. Summoning all her courage, she turned to face him.

He turned too, his lips pressed together in a tight line before he exhaled. He wasn't crying anymore, but Juliette could see a difference in those brilliant blue eyes. Where had their light gone? Their fire? Now all she could see was darkness. God, she'd changed him, too, and not for the better.

But he reached out and grabbed her arm with enough force that Juliette was surprised. Her mouth went dry.

"You are worth fighting for," he said. He squeezed her arm, rose, and finally left.

Juliette was pulled from her memories when she heard Emily walk in the front door.

"Mail call!"

"Why do you always say that?" Juliette laid her head against the back of the couch.

"It's just something I remember from summer camp. It was a highlight to get mail from home."

"Can't say I ever went to camp," Juliette said. "What's in there, bills?"

Emily paused. "There's a letter from Avery."

Juliette snatched the pile. She had a tiny flashback to the letter her mother had written her before she'd committed suicide, the weight of knowing she held her last words in her hands. She shook the memory away.

The letter's envelope held no clues. Juliette stared at Avery's handwriting for a second, remembered the way he wrote out versions of lyrics or chord progressions in twelve-stave manuscript books. Sometimes the words would wind and wrap around the staves where he'd sketch ideas for melodies or leads. She would always offer him legal pads or notebooks, but he just said he liked his way better. Holding the envelope, she wondered if this would be the last time she'd see his handwriting. This had to be a "Dear Jane" letter.

Emily bit her lip. "I've got some phone calls to make. I'll be in the office if you need me."

Juliette nodded and Emily stepped quietly away.

"So you know, or you don't know," Juliette whispered to herself. "What choice do you have?" Neither option would make it hurt any less. She knew she should trust what he'd said to her the other night, but knowing you should trust someone and actually being able to do it were two entirely different things. If past experience had taught her anything, it was that no one could be trusted. What would make Avery any different?

Still, she waited a moment before finally ripping open the envelope. Inside was a letter, handwritten.

Dear Juliette:

I remember the first time I read about John Keats' idea of "negative capability." He was a Romantic poet, and he said negative capability is "when man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts." To me, it meant the ability to hold two completely opposing viewpoints in your mind and being able to live with them both. It meant to cultivate empathy. I couldn't believe that such a thing was even possible, when this whole world always wants you to choose sides. It just blew my mind. It's not an easy or straightforward concept, especially for someone like me who's always too quick to fly off the handle. Now, it means more to me than ever before.

Two opposing viewpoints:

I want to carry this burden for you, gather up what is broken and fix it. I want to go and find every man that's ever taken advantage of you and beat him senseless, tear his guts out and make him feel every ounce of pain that you've felt. I would be by your side, on your side.

But I am also crushed: crushed that you thought so little of me; crushed that you didn't think of me at all. It kills me that everything I've done for you, every moment I've supported you, loved you, wasn't enough to stop you from destroying the both of us.

Now I have a better idea of just how much you hurt, how much you've always hurt, and how that colors everything you see. I wasn't paying enough attention before. I missed signals from you. I've always sensed your self-destructive impulse, even seen it in action a few times, but now I have sounded its true depths.

The same river runs through me.

It would be so easy for both of us to be pulled under by the current and drown. Succumb to the darkness, the lack of oxygen.

But I can't accept that. For better or for worse, I've been wired for survival. So have you. I don't know if you'll believe me now, but I know you will come out of this. You will be okay, with or without me. Baby, I'm counting on it.

Where does this leave us? I don't know. There's so much I can't understand; it makes me question a lot of things. But I do know this much: I ain't a quitter and I ain't a liar. I've made promises to you, both explicitly and implicitly, that I will keep.

I think a huge part of the problem between us is simply that we don't know each other yet. So much has gone unspoken, and that's okay, but I think if you had known more about me, if I had let you in more, maybe you wouldn't have freaked out so much, maybe you could have had a little more faith in me and my choices. That's my fault. There's the me that tries so hard to do the right thing, the decent guy, the one I hope to see in the mirror in the morning. Then there's the other me, the one who can't do anything right, who keeps fucking up over and over, even without knowing. He's scared and insecure and small. I've been embarrassed to tell you about my past because I've done so much that I'm ashamed of. Made a lot of stupid, selfish mistakes.

We are so alike sometimes it scares me.

I want to tell you now. I want to show you my damaged, cowardly heart. Maybe you won't accept it. Maybe you'll walk away. I'll understand. But if you can stand it, let this letter be the first of a series. And if you want, you can write to me, too. I don't know if I'm strong enough to see you right now, but I won't leave you alone. You can carry my words with you until it's time to meet again.

Avery

The pages blurred. Juliette took deep, gulping breaths and curled up on her side. No one had ever written her a letter quite like this before. It was completely him, somehow starting with a poet she'd never heard of and ending with gut-wrenching honesty. Her body was broken by the obvious pain, and obvious love, in his words. And he was worried that she wouldn't accept him? That she'd be scared away? They really were just alike.

Despite everything, a tiny glimmer of hope shined through those pages. She could see it in every messy, smudged word. It was a small, precious thing, and Juliette decided that she would not let it go.