Page 149 of The Wrong Heart

He hid the truth from me because he was afraid I would reject him once I discovered that he wasn’t carrying a piece of Charlie inside his chest.

He didn’t do it out of spite or malice; he did it out offear.

Fear of losing me. Fear of losing himself and everything he’d cultivated.

Fear is a very human thing—aforgivablething.

And I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I didn’t fall in love with the wrong heart.

I fell in love with the right heart at the right time.

I fell in love with Parker Denison.

As my tears fade to strength, I’m filled with certitude—optimism. I can see the future dancing in front of my eyes, colors and songs, rebirth and bright lights.

Parker.

I also dance that night. While my mother hugs me tight and makes her way back into the kitchen, my father pulls out his old record player, dusting off a familiar casing and placing the disc over the spindle. When the needle touches vinyl, and the record starts to spin, the song bursts to life, and I’m transported back in time to this same living room as a young girl, over twenty years ago.

Giggles break through my happy tears as I step onto my father’s sock-covered feet with little grace, and he clasps my hand in his, holding me steady behind my back with his opposite arm. We laugh, we cry, and I heal, asUnchained Melodyfilters through my ears and fills my soul.

I’m still not sure what I came here for.

All I know is that I leave with exactly what I need.

Tires bite at the gravel as I slow to a stop, rubber against rock. The dark sky twinkles with a sea of stars and milky moonlight, and I can’t help but smile as I turn off the engine.

Reaching forward, I pluck the little piece of paper off my dashboard, dusting my thumb over Parker’s handwriting, then I heave in a deep sigh and slide the note into my front pocket.

The air is humid when I step from the car, hitting me like a brick wall. It takes a moment to find my breath, but less because of the sticky late-August night, and more because of what I’m about to do.

My feet carry me forward as jitters scatter along my skin and mosquitoes buzz into my ear, and when I come to a stop at my destination, I sift through my pocket for that note.

Zachary Adler on Melbourne Street.

Parker thought I wanted this. He thought I wanted this faceless man with Charlie’s heart, and he thought I wanted it more than I wantedhim.

The thought alone causes my chest to ache.

Falling to my knees, my gaze dips down to the precious stone, a stone that has absorbed many of my tears and desperate pleas. My eyes blur as I reach out to trace the carving of his name with shaky fingertips.

Charles James March

1991 – 2020

For a moment, my thoughts drift back to that fateful day on a downtown street.

The day the sun died.

I can still smell the homemade pizza in the air. I can hear the sirens ringing in my ears. I can feel the frosty raindrops on my skin.

I’m lost, I’m so lost…

Thunder cracks above me.

I’m losing him.

“Charlie,” I sob, watching in numb horror as he’s fastened onto a stretcher. Everything happens fast, startlingly fast, and paramedics are talking, possibly in tongues, taking vitals, and I’m still clinging to the illusion that this is all a terrible dream.

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