Page 127 of Wreckage

“Promise?”

“I do, son. Have some faith.”

“You sound like Troy,” I said with a soft, sad laugh.

He gave me a gentle smile. We were quiet for a moment before I spoke again.

“Do you ever talk to Mom?” We’d never spoken about it before. She’d walked out and didn’t look back.

He took a sip of his coffee and sat quietly before answering me.

“I called her when you and Troy didn’t show up. I told her when we got the call that the plane lost communication. Adrian, your mom left because she wanted to. We weren’t what she wanted. Time never changed that for her.”

His words were a punch to my guts.

“She didn’t care?” I asked tightly.

“Maybe in her way. Maybe it was a shock. I asked her if she wanted to wait with me for more news, but she said she didn’t. I asked her if she wanted an update. She said she did. I called and left voicemails after that through it all. She never responded. When you were found, I told her we had you guys. In a voicemail, of course. I haven’t heard from her since the first call. I can’t tell you how she feels, son. I’m sorry.”

I swallowed hard. “OK.”

He got to his feet and hugged me. “I love you, Adrian. You and Troy.”

“I love you too, Dad.” I hugged him back.

We pulled away from one another, and I left him to his coffee, seeing the sadness on his face. He hated to tell me those things, but I needed to hear them. It helped, even if it hurt.

Troy and I kept trying,although we slowed it down after I spoke to Dad. We’d only sent a message each. They remained undelivered to her. It was radio silence, as always.

Endless, deafening silence that threatened to suffocate us.

I sat on my bed, staring at my phone, feeling like an idiot for thinking she’d answer. Pushing up my new black-rimmed glasses, I sighed and looked over at Troy, who was lying beside me, scrolling on his phone.

“She meant it,” I murmured.

Troy glanced at me. “What?”

I gripped my phone so tightly that my knuckles ached. “When she said she hated us.”

Troy didn’t respond at first.

“No, she didn’t,” he finally said.

I scoffed, bitter and exhausted. “How do you know? Everything happening suggests she wasn’t fucking lying, man.”

Troy sighed and set his phone down, rolling onto his side to face me. He winced at the brace on his knee.

“Because people who truly hate you don’t just disappear,” he said quietly. “In my experience, they play with you like you’re a defenseless bug trapped in their web. They make sure you know exactly how much they hate you as they toy with your emotions and genuinely fuck your life up. That’s not Elena. That, my brother, is every other fucking woman I’ve been with.NotElena.”

I let that sink in. Maybe he was right. Perhaps she didn’t hate us. But she sure as hell didn’t want us, either. Her silence proved that.

And that felt just as bad.

After another week of silence,I was done. Troy and I sat down and talked. We weren’t waiting anymore. We were going to her.

Dad tried to convince us to stay home and told us to take a semester off to give ourselves more time. I couldn’t stand it anymore. Even if we kept our distance, we needed to be near her if she needed us.

We packed our bags, gave a few final interviews to the press—carefully dodging any mention of Dean—and then left.

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