Page 37 of Mended Hearts

“I know, Mom.” I get up and sit next to her, wrapping my arms around her. “I’m sorry about how it all went down. I’m sorry it took the past coming back into my life for me to realize all of this. I should’ve done it sooner.”

“I’m just glad it’s finally happened. It’s an answered prayer.” She pulls back, placing her hand on my cheek. “No matter what has happened in our pasts, I’m proud of the woman you’ve become.”

I nod, choking back a sob. Those are words I’ve never expected to hear from her.

Proud. She’s proud of me.

I let them anchor my soul because no matter what comes our way in the future, I don’t want to lose what I’m feeling now.

“Now, finish the story. What brought you back here?” My mom prods.

“Honestly, after seeing Dustin, I’ve been a ball of confusion. I needed a break from the everyday and just wanted to feel close to him even though he’s half a world away.”

My mom pats my hand. “All I can say is sometimes there’s something bigger in the works. Maybe this isn’t a coincidence. You need to figure out what you want and what will make you happy. In the end, that’s what will be best for Dylan.”

“Can I add something?” Lynsie pipes in. She angles her body toward me. Our knees touch as she holds my hands in hers. She stares deeply into my eyes. “I know you have these feelings you’re unsure of. But just be careful. Guard your heart. People change. Don’t expect the boy you once knew. He’s been gone for so long. No one really knows him anymore.”

I see sadness in her eyes and know it’s empathy for Dax and the lack of relationship he has with his brother.

But she’s right. Not only was Dustin hurt by what happened between us, he’s been in constant battle since. I can almost guarantee the boy I once knew and loved no longer exists.

“ARE YOU SURE you’re up for keeping Dylan?”

“I’m always up for keeping my grandson,” my mom reassures me.

“I know, but it’s last minute, and not during the normal time we usually do it.”

“Echo, stop.” She hushes me. “It’s baseball season, remember?”

My eyes light up with a glint of envy.

“You need to take this time to put your needs first and sort out your thoughts.” She looks around, swiveling her head and motioning with her hands. “What better way to do that than getting your hands dirty?”

“Any requests?”

“Nope. I trust you’ll make it look a million times better than its current state.” She grimaces, and I laugh.

I lean in and hug her, holding her tightly and telling her thank you. Pulling back, I place my hands on her shoulders and just gaze into her eyes, not being able to form any words. She does the same back until we both nod in understanding. “Okay, I’m going to go get the boy now. I haven’t even told him he’s going with you. He’s going to be so excited.”

I push open my old bedroom door, and it creaks just like it use to. I glance around, taking in the brightly lit room. The yellow paint only amplifies the brightness. My Switchfoot poster still hangs near the closet and I smile. My eyes drift to my broken bed and I gulp in remembrance of how it got that way. No matterhow many times it's been fixed and propped back together, it still ends up falling back down to a slant.

“Whatcha playing over there?” I lean against the bedroom doorway as I watch Dylan. He’s lying on his back on the floor, holding the iPad up. I always tell him to be careful. That he’s going to drop it smack dab on his face. But he never listens, and because of that, we’ve had one black eye and a busted lip. Two separate occasions. Because apparently, dropping it on your face once isn’t good enough.

“Minecraft.”

“Nice. I still don’t get the point of that game, but whatever.” I walk into the room and kneel beside him. I grab the iPad and pull it from his hands.

“I wasn’t done,” he huffs.

“Sit up. We need to talk.”

“As long as it’s notthe talk,” he mumbles as he sits up, stretching his legs out.

“And what talk is that?” I raise a brow. “Never mind. We’ll discuss that another time. You’re going to go hang out with your grandparents for a bit while I stay here and work on this house.”

“Are you sure, Ma?” he questions, taking in my old room. “This house needs an awful lot of work done.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” I ruffle his hair. “Ye of little faith.”

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