Page 1 of Mended Hearts

Prologue

DUSTIN

May 2014

It’s been a long time since I’ve had a reason to wear anything other than fatigues. I think my brother being honored with an award tonight is just the right reason to do so. Being transferred to a different unit before getting sent back overseas for another tour gives me a very small window of opportunity to make this surprise happen. Soooo small that my mother couldn’t grasp the idea of why I needed her to bring my dress suit here instead of me flying home first and making the five-hour car ride with them.

Because that sounds delightful. The thought alone causes me to shudder.

I’ve been avoiding my hometown like the plague since I left thirteen years ago. I’ve also been avoiding my parents and anyone else who reminds me of that godforsaken town. Including Dax—the one person I regret pushing away. But the truth is, if I could go back in time and redirect my trajectory, I wouldn’t. My distance is safer for the few people I care for. Truthbe told, I shut my heart off a long time ago…because it’s safer for me that way. Self-preservation at its finest.

Droplets of water cascade down my body as I stand at the counter, examining my face in the mirror as I contemplate shaving off the scruff. My better judgment gets the best of me, and I decide to keep the light stubble shading my face. No need to pretty myself up just to get dumped in a sandy land far, far away in a few days. A knock on the hotel door causes my body to tense. My feet instantly feel heavy with dread. I groan, walking toward the door. I already regret being here. The idea to sneak out the window crosses my mind, but I remind myself I’m doing this for Dax…and I’m on the third floor. I let out an exasperated breath that borderlines a growl and grab for the handle. The door swings open and I tighten my jaw as my mother barrels in with zero care for one’s personal space. She tosses my freshly pressed dress suit to the side and misses the bed, stretching her arms wide for a hug.

“My suit.” I narrow my eyes and snap, pivoting away from her embrace. I know she has no regard for the Army and loathes that I joined it, but damn, a little respect would be nice. I walk over to the open closet and drape the hook of the hanger over the top so my suit rests flush with the door. She begins to stammer as if she can’t collect the right words to form her thoughts, and I glance back toward her. My stomach drops with regret, and I’m reminded why I keep my feelings turned to nonexistent. All of a sudden, I’m a teenager again, wanting to console my mother. But I don’t. Thirteen years of residual anger have a way of keeping one callous.

“So many scars,” she whispers, staring at me with a mix of horror and sadness. I grasp where my towel connects around my waist, wishing I had thrown a shirt on. I didn’t sign up for a pity party.

“It’s not that bad, Ma,” I admit, knowing she can’t see the biggest scar of all—the one she had a part in.

She glances up with a hint of a smile. “You haven’t called me Ma in so long.” And just like that, all traces of a smile fade, covered with sadness. Enough of this jog down memory lane. I need to get ready and flip her mood around. I refuse to show up to Dax’s award ceremony with this sour puss in tow.

I close the distance between us and grasp her shoulder, causing her to look up at me. “Remember why we’re here.” I slightly tighten my grip to reassure her and drive my point in simultaneously.

“Dax.”

“Yes, Dax,” I repeat. “Now let me get dressed.” I offer a weak smile before placing a quick kiss on her forehead. I’m not above offering a sacrifice every now and again.

She regains her composure—as if nothing happened—just like she has all my life, and says, “I’ll go wait in the car with your dad.”

I lock the door behind her for safe measure and walk to the closet, then pull the plastic covering my suit. I take in the deep blue jacket and all its adornments that don’t mean squat to me. I don’t do what I do for badges or for show. I quit caring about participation awards after the last one I got my senior year in high school. But damn if I don’t take pride in it or give respect to the other men and women proudly wearing them.

A knock at the door shakes me out of my stupor, and I cautiously walk over and peek out the peephole. Flipping the lock, I open the door halfway.

“Your mother forgot to bring up your shoes.” My dad offers, holding my shoes out. “I even looked up how to shine them for you.” He lets out a chuckle, brushing his hand through his hair, and I take in how weathered he looks.

In what feels like forever, I genuinely smile. “Thanks, Dad,” I say, inspecting my pristine black dress shoes. Impressed is an understatement.

A hand clamps on my bare shoulder and my smile falters as I peek up, barely meeting my dad’s gaze. A gaze that feels so distant with mere inches between us. A lump forms in my throat, and I slowly push it down, trying not to make it visible. I’m responsible for the distance.

“It’s good to see you, son.” My dad nods, holding my view. His fingers curl into my shoulder in the same manner mine had just done to my mom, and I nod back in agreement and understanding.

THE DRIVE STARTS abnormally quiet. So quiet I wish Dax were riding back here with me like when we were younger. There’s no way the ride would be silent if he were with us. I’m not sure if that word exists in his vocabulary. My mom finally starts talking, my dad nods, and I stare out my window. Just like old times. I keep my fly-on-the-wall stance and listen. Okay, well, listened. Once she began complaining about my brother’s current situation and seeming to insinuate Lincoln’s widow is holding him back from the life he’s destined to live, I began tuning her out.

After all these years, she still hasn’t changed.News flash, Ma… I have.

Ten minutes later, we pull in, and I thank God. Then take it back, knowing there’s nothing to thank him for. He left me high and dry when I needed him the most. Instead, I thank myself for not losing my shit on my mom during the short car ride here. Stepping out of the car, I breathe out a sigh of relief as if I were holding my breath the entire drive. I’m used to the heat,but right now, I’m feeling overheated. I rub the back of my neck, checking for sweat, relieved when my hand returns dry.

Nerves, it must be nerves. But why? To see my brother? The one I walked out on and never turned back even for a second glance? Yeah, that one. And yes, definitely nerves.

“Shit,” I mumble, rolling my shoulders back, trying to gain my composure—something I typically never lose. I glance over and catch my father’s eyes watching me intently. I see the worry in his brow, but thankfully, he doesn’t say anything. It’s a little too late for those kinds of talks. Thirteen years, to be exact. I bend over, double-checking my shoelaces, and grab the penny partially sticking out from under the car. It’s on heads.

We begin walking across the parking lot, and I fall behind, following my parents. I don’t want to lead, nor do I want to present a united front. Through the years, my mom has been good at keeping me informed about Dax, something I’ve always appreciated. Despite what she may believe, I’ve read all the letters she’s sent me. There have even been times I’ve sat down to write a reply, but the words remained tethered, never leaving the tip of my pen.

Five steps up, and we’re walking through the double doors. There are more people here than I was expecting, but I can’t take my eyes off the huge fountain directly in front of us. I walk to it, leaving my parents at the registration table while I examine the foliage-covered stone. A lone quarter in the middle of the water beckons me.

“Why not,” I mutter, reaching in my pocket for the penny I just found, and flip it in.

“Dustin, this is not a wishing well,” my mom chastises as she sidles up next to me.

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