Page 63 of Mended Hearts

“You’re riding back with your mom,” Echo yells over her shoulder. As if he knows he’s lost the war, he just says okay and walks to the car he arrived here in. An older lady with short gray hair holds the door open for him while he slowly climbs in. I can only imagine the blow to his pride all of this has been. Brian is in a shit position. We all are.

She walks around her car and leans her back against the driver’s side door, facing me. With her arms crossed, she stares off into the distance. Dusk has settled in, and little specks of stars are starting to appear.

“Asshole for an asshole.” She laughs. “Those seem to be my options.”

I want to disagree, but she’s right and nothing I have done proves otherwise.

“I’m only angry because I can’t have you,” I whisper, not knowing what else to say, but wanting her to also know where I stand. Her eyes dart to mine as if my admission is surprising. As if I could never want her. Even when I don’t, I do. “But I don’t want this to be a choice. I don’t want you to feel like you are a rope getting pulled in two different directions.”

Echo walks up to me, places her hand on my check, and I resist the urge to melt into it. “We’ve all been running, it seems. I think it’s time we all work on ourselves and let everything unravel naturally.” She gives me a weak smile. Tears trickle down her face and it’s my undoing. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her tightly against me as if it’s the last time I’ll see her. Because it very well could be.

“I’m worried about you,” I admit.

“I know.”

I pull away and cup the side of her face in my hand, searching her eyes. “Promise me, Echo. Promise me you will get out before things go too far.”

“Brian’s harmless.”

“We’re all harmless in the beginning. Then life throws a bunch of shit our way.”

“He just needs help.” She diverts her gaze from mine.

“Yes, psychiatric. You can’t fix him.”

“I don’t want to fix him.” She wraps her hand around my wrist, slowly pulling my hand from her face. “I don’t know what the future holds, Dustin. But right now, I have an obligation.” She cups my face with her hands and stares intently into my eyes. “I promise you I’ll stay safe, but you need to promise me something, too.”

Can’t she see I’m putty in her hands? I’d promise her all the stars in the universe.

“I need you to promise that you’ll work on yourself. Not get trapped in the what-ifs. Restore the relationships you can. And most importantly heal this,” she says, placing her hand over my heart. I nod. It’s the only response I’m capable of giving. She then stands on her tiptoes and leans in to kiss my cheek. “I know the Dustin I love is still there,” Echo whispers.

“He is,” I confirm. I’m engulfed with a flood of emotions. That seems to always be the effect she has on me. I know sheisn’t mine, but I can’t help but panic knowing she might be walking back out of my life for good. “But what if I don’t see you again?” I barely get the words out. My throat feels tight as if I’m physically having the life choked out of me.

She wraps her arms around my waist, and this time I allow myself to melt into her. “You and I are bound for life. This isn’t over.”

I find comfort in her words and loosen my grip.

She pulls away and gives me a sweet smile. It’s a reassuring one. Her hand glides down the side of my face, over my beard. She gives it a little tug once it reaches my chin. “I’m kinda digging this. And this,” she says, ruffling my hair to lighten the mood. Something I’ve always loved about her.

“Just tell me when and I’ll get rid of it.”

She scoffs. “Or how about I just do it for you if that day comes?”

“Deal.” I smile, loving her plan even better.

“Speaking of.” She opens her door and bends over, reaching inside. I avert my eyes. The last thing I need is my mind wandering to the gutter. “Here,” she says, handing me a business card.

“You want me to drive five hours for a haircut?” I ask, raising my brow.

“No.” She laughs like it’s the most incredulous idea.

“I would.”

Her laugh falters and we stare at one another. I want to tell her to stay, to pick me. But I could never say those words knowing she has a family. I might be a selfish prick, but even I have my limits. Maybe just when it comes to her.

“I was just thinking if you wanted to continue our letter writing, you could send it to my work.” She looks down and kicks at the scattered gravel.

“Is that what you want?” I ask.

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