Page 72 of All the Promises We Break

My hand wraps around the back of his calf. I give it a gentle squeeze to offer him comfort. I can see by the tremble in his body it’s what he needs. “What do you mean, you did it?”

He finally raises his head so I can see his face. We lock eyes for only a moment, maybe two, before his focus switches andlooks through me. Wes is always so full of life. The eyes in front of me now are so empty and distant. That hurts me more than I thought it could.

“Spring weather came early that year,” he starts. “I remember the snow being completely gone before Easter. It was awesome. That meant that we could take our motorcycles out a whole month before we usually would. Your mother hated the idea of us being on bikes. My mom wasn’t thrilled either, but she seemed to understand our need for speed.

“We’d spent the better part of the whole week making sure the bikes were all primed and ready for the weekend. Each tune-up and cleaning would make us want that rush even more. To get the rust off of our driving skills, we made plans to do an up and back to the Sawyer summer compound. Lots of open road and not too much traffic.”

His head bobbles a little from side to side. It reminds me of a baby before it can hold up their head on their own. The bruise on his cheek is turning more and more purple with each passing second. The blood that was dripping from the corner of his mouth has slowed. The tears from the corners of his eyes haven’t, however.

I make the choice not to stop him with questions. I think I can sense his need to tell the story. “We stopped at Sammy’s for pizza. Mikey was talking about his new girlfriend and what the rest of his last year of college would be like. He was bragging about the women and the parties. He made everything just more.

“Once we were ready to go, I decided to make our ride back a game. Last one back had to clean up all the bikes. Fuck if I was going to do that. I shoved him aside and got on the bike quickly. I was going to get the head start and win this race.”

With each sentence, Wes is getting farther and farther away. The space between our bodies couldn’t be much closer, but it’sclear he’s in another time. The wall under the breakfast bar behind us seems to become the screen for the horror movie I sense is coming.

“I can see it all. It’s like it’s happening right now, but everything is in fucking slow motion. Mikey strides past me to his bike. Mine revs first and Eli wasn’t too far behind. My brother wasn’t one to ever lose. He always led. I always followed. Always.

“Mikey knocked my helmet to the ground off the back of my bike, so I’d have to dismount to get it. That would give him the edge. Eli was laughing so hard at our rivalry. I wanted to do anything and everything my brother could do.

“‘Got that kid?’ my brother said. He smiled and laughed. Mikey’s helmet was barely strapped when he took off before us. I hollered at Eli to hurry up. ‘I’m not losing this bet,’ I said. He and I both turned out of the parking lot at the same time. Mikey was about half a mile up the road. It would be an easy catch I thought. I’d be beside him in seconds.”

Chapter Thirty

Dylan

Sometimes I think we’ve spent the majority of our relationship inside a hospital or at doctor’s appointments. I know it’s not true, but it feels like it. I’m in the same sterile waiting room. This time, I’m alone. I didn’t want to raise the alarm about Eli just yet, until I know what, if anything, we’re dealing with.

I sit and battle my way through the regret of not telling Eli about Hayley and Wes and all the what-ifs. If I’d told him sooner, I could have done damage control. If Wes had been upfront… If Hayley had. If. If. If. Two letters. One syllable. I still hate it.

All I know for certain is that Eli is back in this place and I’m waiting for results again. Finding myself in the worst episode of Groundhog Day, I stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows of the waiting area. The ledge between the upper and lower windows becomes like a ballet bar once more and my body seeks the muscle memory it offers.

I start by resting my fingertips on the ledge and rolling each ankle out. First the left, then the right. My neck soon follows.As I’m making my way to the right, my name is called in the distance behind me. My zone out is broken by a familiar face.

“Dylan?” Dr. Collier approaches with a slight smile. “I would have bet money on seeing you with an injury before I saw Elijah again with another head wound.”

“We both bet wrong then. How is he? Please give me something good since this day pretty much sucks up to now.”

Dr. Collier actually laughs. She’s always been so serious when we’ve seen her. That gives me hope for things to come. “You did the right thing by coming here immediately. His brain is still rewiring things and likely will be for a long time. The impact of him striking the corner of the table has set him back in some ways, but none that will be long term.”

I lower my head and look at my feet. I can feel a headache of my own forming. My instincts to relax are kicking in. The hands that were once wrapped around the windowsill are now wrapped at both sides of my neck. They shake even in the attempt to rid the knots that reside just beneath the surface. I just feel weak, period.

“Are you all right, Dylan?” Dr. Collier asks.

“Yes.” I take a deep breath and try to decide if I’m telling her the truth. “When can I take him home?”

“My resident is finishing cleaning up his cut, then we’ll want to transport him to a private room overnight for observation.”

A moment of panic washes over me. “Wait. I thought you said he was okay.”

Dr. Collier’s hand rests softly on my shoulder. “He is. I’m being overly cautious with him since he exhibited some of what you told me was behavior that wasn’t his normal.”

“You’re right. It wasn’t, but there were extenuating circumstances. It’s not an excuse but to be honest, some of it’s my fault, along with a list of half-truths and misinterpretations.” Why don’t you just say what you’re really feeling, Viper.Maverick would tell you we fucked this up. “May I ask you a personal question, Dr. Collier?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Does being married get easier and do you get better at it? I guess that’s two questions.”

She laughs again as she folds her stethoscope in her pocket. “Oh, Dylan. I wish I could tell you it gets easier. But what I will tell you is that you do get better at it. The things that you think are big stuff now will be the small stuff later. You and Eli have been through a lot, even with just my minimal view. But you’re holding true to your vows. You’ve done the sickness and health with ease. Apply what you’ve learned to the rest.”

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