Page 24 of Mended Hearts

I grab my backpack, jacket, and beanie in one swoop, leaving my room in haste. “Bye,” I yell, closing in on the front door. So close I can taste it.

“Are you not having your mom take you?” my dad grumbles from his study.

I pause for half a second, grabbing the door handle. The idea of ignoring him crosses my mind, but I’m not a complete brat, so I give him something. “Nope, walking.” A very short and to the point something. I’m sure he watches me as I leave, making sure I don’t jump in someone’s car. Hell, he’ll probably get in his car and trail me from a distance. The idea causes me to shiver. How did we end up here? I want to ask him‘who hurt you’to make you this way? But, again, I’m just the child in this situation.

Chapter Sixteen

DUSTIN

February 2001

Not seeing Echo is torturous. Not being able to talk to her about what happened hurts even more. Stupid Vo-Tech keeps me from getting to see her at school, and the unknown keeps me from seeking her out other ways. This living in a town where everyone knows your name is bullshit. Not only do they know your name, they know your every move. At first, sneaking around seemed romantic, but after a while, it began to take a toll. It especially was wearing Echo down. She has more at stake to lose. Of course I argue that idea because I’d lose Echo, and to me, she’s everything. But I worry just how far her dad would take it. I don’t want to chance her losing out on getting signed to play college ball as a way out of here. Even though I’d pack her in a suitcase and haul her away from here myself, need be. I don’t want to be the reason that dream of hers isn’t fulfilled.

I sink back into our couch and groan loudly. Dropping my head back, I close my eyes. My mother called me downstairs for my birthday celebration, but it’s the last thing I want to celebrate. For a moment, I debate packing my shit and hittingthe road since I’m of age now, but what kind of future could I secure for myself doing that? Echo deserves better than the unknown. And that route, without a shadow of a doubt, would be unknown.

“Bro, why do you look like someone killed your puppy?” Dax jokes, landing next to me on the couch. The force bounces me out of my zone. I debate slapping his chest with my hand but think better of it. I peek over at him, and I swear he sits taller than me. His eyes are fixed on the TV, so I know he’s not expecting a reply to his question. It’s not like I was going to give him one, anyhow.

My mom walks in, carrying a cake covered in white frosting, with two lit candles on top. As she gets closer, I take notice of the image on the cake. It’s one of my senior pictures with the one and eight candles to the side. My dad follows behind her, camera in hand. I’m so thankful no one else is here to witness this monstrosity of a cake.

“I get his face,” Dax shouts, turning toward me to join in the singing. This time, I don’t hold back as my hand slaps his chest. “Ow.” He winces, not missing a beat with the song. My mom narrows her eyes, and my dad says cheese.

Picture-perfect family.

“Your brother’s right, you know?” my mom admits as she hands me a slice of cake. I’m thankful it’s not my face.

“Of course I am,” Dax says with a full mouth. “What am I right about?” He licks his fork, getting up for a second piece.

She sits down in her recliner, careful not to drop her cake. Taking a bite, she slowly pulls the fork out of her mouth, looking off to the side as if she’s in thought. I’d say she’s choosing her words cautiously, but that’s something my mother never does.

“I just think…” she begins, treading with ease. “That it’s time for you to stop walking around here sulking, with that sour pusslook on your face.” She finishes, throwing caution to the wind in true Donna fashion.

“Uhhh,” Dax stammers, sitting back down next to me. “I never said that.” He looks at me, offering a weak smile, all traces of humor gone. Just like most of his boyish features. When he’s serious, I can notice how grown he’s starting to look; all defined features as he thins out with height.

“Not in so many words.” My mom gives a wave of her hand, looking our way. “But I agree with Pastor Price.” The mention of that prick’s name has my body tensing and my jaw clenching. She better choose her next words carefully. I’m about to ask what exactly she agrees with, but she begins without my ebbing her on. “I’m glad whatever you and that girl of his had going on ended. It was only going to end in disaster and mess up your future,” she says matter-of-factly like she’s expecting a ‘Mother of the Year’ award.

“Oh, shit,” Dax whispers at my side. “Abort, abort.” I’m unsure if that’s intended for me or our mom. Probably both. I sit my cake down on the ground before pushing to my feet. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dax bend down and grab it. If I wasn’t so incredibly pissed off, it’d make me laugh.

“You’re glad?” I all but snarl, giving her a chance to abort like Dax insisted.

She straightens in her recliner and my dad stands for good measure, always being the middleman. Obviously, not where I got my balls from.

“Yes, I’m glad.” Her shoulders rise and she tilts her chin up toward me, holding my stare. She’s not backing down, and neither am I. “You have a prominent future in baseball ahead of you. There’s no way I’m going to let some girl screw that up.”

“Some girl?” I seethe, clinching my fists. If she wasn’t my mom or a woman, I’d lunge at her. And I’ve been putting all the blame on Echo’s dad, accusing him of being the culprit. Now I’mstarting to wonder if my own damn mother conspired against us as well. My chest heaves and my neck feels hot. These people are turning me into someone I don’t even recognize or like.

“Dustin,” I hear from beside me, breaking through the noise in my head. I avert my gaze to Dax, who’s standing at my side. His brows furrow and he swallows hard. “Let’s go outside.” His hazel eyes plead with me and my shoulders sag in agreement, not defeat.

Echo’s dad and my mother might have won the battle, but they won’t have the final victory.

I fling open the front door with such force Dax has to catch it before it slams into the wall. He curses under his breath, and my lip curves up at the corner. I walk off our porch and pace the sidewalk in front of our house, trying to calm myself down.Happy eighteenth birthday to me.The idea of taking off floods my thoughts even more.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I stop mid-stride and look at Dax. He’s sitting on the bottom step of the porch, with his elbows resting on each thigh, watching me intently. My heart drops, hating that I’ve put him in this position. He’s too young to have to step in and play Devil’s Advocate over something that doesn’t even concern him. Hell, it doesn’t concern anyone in our house, yet they seem to think it does.

I throw my hand through my hair in frustration. I want to scream, but the prickle behind my eyes says otherwise. The urge to drop to my knees and let it all out tries to push through my iron exterior but fails. To do so shows weakness, and weakness is a sign of defeat.

And I will never accept defeat.

---