Page 67 of Mended Hearts

He even engraved D + E on the key itself. I’ve kept it tucked away in a hidden pocket in my purse since I received it. I couldn’t chance Brian ever finding it. I just experienced what finding less does.

“Let me help, Ma,” Dylan says, turning the flashlight of his phone on.

“Thanks, son.”

I go to slide the key in but hear it unlock from the inside before it swings open. Dustin stands in the doorway, wide-eyedand shirtless. The tenseness in his body evaporates as soon as we lock eyes.

“I’m sorry to just show up,” I stutter, looking at the ground.

He pulls me inside, turns the entryway light on, and inspects my face. Besides my running mascara, I’m sure the handprint is still evident. Along with the bruises where he grabbed my arm with such force I was pulled backward to the ground.

Dustin’s face turns every shade of red before he storms off to the back of the house. I pull Dylan farther inside as we stand and wait for his return. He comes back fully clothed, and dread instantly washes over me.

“This is your safe place. Make yourself at home. I’ll be back,” Dustin says, grabbing his keys.

“Wait. Wait. You don’t have to do anything. Dylan slugged him with a baseball bat,” I plead. Possibly just making the situation go from bad to worse. He slows down enough to finally realize I’m not alone. I watch as he looks at our son. A sense of pride and emotion washes over him before he compartmentalizes it to the back and anger regains control at the realization that his son was also in harm’s way. I try to stop him as he walks past us, but not even a freight train could slow him down from his new mission.

I tense up, anticipating the slam of the screen door. It never happens. He must’ve put new doors on. Then I do a three-sixty and realize we aren’t standing on carpet but wood floors. He really has completely revamped this house. “Was that my dad?” Dylan asks.

I look down, offering a weak smile. “Yeah, that’s him,” I say, ruffling his hair.

“He’s pretty badass,” he says with awe.

I laugh, not having the energy to correct his language.

“Like a real-life G.I. Joe.”

“Yeah, I’d have to agree. But this isn’t at all how I wanted you to meet him.”

“Life isn’t a script, Ma. You’re going to have to let things take their course,” Dylan replies with a long yawn that follows.

“You need rest. Go pick out a bed, Goldilocks.”

He takes off like a kid on an Easter egg hunt. “Whoa, cool. Ma, come look,” he hollers from down the hall. I round the corner, and tears fill the brims of my lids as I take in the bedroom. It’s baseball themed and I have no doubt that it was designed for the boy tucked in the bed.

“Looks like it was made just for you, huh?” I sit down next to where he’s lying. He nods as his eyes fight to stay open. I grab his uncovered hand and run my free hand through his hair. “I love you more than anything, Dylan Ryan Adams. Thank you for protecting me today.”

“I will always protect you, Ma,” he mumbles.

Part of me wants to mold myself against my son and tightly hold him. I want to protect him from the ugliness of the world. But I’ve done a shit job of doing so. I failed him as a mother. I compromised the very essence of motherhood—to protect your child at all costs. I let love, loyalty, a lifelong friendship, the feeling of obligation like I owed Brian my life cloud my judgment. And who paid the cost? All of us.

Thirteen years ago, I fell in love with a boy and our love caused a war zone. And the casualties just keep piling up.

A light tap at the door brings me back to my current reality.

“Echo, it’s me.”

I slowly stand, careful not to wake Dylan, and stare down at him a beat longer than I should.

“I’ll do better,” I vow.

I turn around to see Lynsie in the doorway. All the emotion I’ve been holding in begins to fester as my chest heaves,beckoning me to release it all. I quickly make my way out of the room, pulling the door shut before I lose it.

“Oh, no. Echo.” Her voice cracks as she takes me in. She pulls me against her. Wrapping an arm around my head, she cradles it against her. Uncontrollable sobs flow from within me as we slide to the ground, Lynsie never losing her hold on me.

“He was getting better.” I pull back, pleading with her eyes. “He was getting help. I never would’ve stayed if I thought he would turn violent.” I look down, shaking my head as more sobs erupt. “Never. I never would have.”

“Shhh,” Lynsie coos, pulling me back against her. One hand rubs my back, while the other massages my head. Both motions relax me, calming my erratic body movements as I try to regain normal breathing. This brings me back to when I did the same for her. And that reality sobers me right up. Why am I having a pity party? I’m alive and so are all the people I love—even Brian.

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