Page 20 of Delta
“Why?” When he doesn’t answer me, I become more frantic. “Why, Tucker?”
“He doesn’t remember who we are. Whatever they did to him was bad, Ems, and we need to stabilize him—both physically and mentally—before you see him.”
“Are you saying that for my safety or his?”
“Both,” he replies. “Look. If he were to accidentally hurt you, he’d never forgive himself. I want my brother back, and I know you do too, so we need to move slow, okay?”
Tears stream down my cheeks. The pain in my chest is nearly unbearable as I imagine all of the horrific things that may have happened to him while he was held in captivity.
My Dylan.
The man I love with everything I am.
How could this happen to him?
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Thank you. I’ll let you know when we get back, okay?”
I nod even though he can’t see me. “Tucker?”
“Yeah?”
“If you can, will you tell him I love him, please? I need him to know.”
Tucker pauses a moment. “I’ll tell him.”
There’s not a single part of me that doesn’t ache as I refill my mug for the third time, then steep a fresh bag of herbs inside. Even the hot tea can’t soothe the pain in my chest. I’ve never lost it like that.
Not once, in my entire life, have I been so angry. I screamed at him. Yelled until my throat burned, all while he stood there like stone.
A statue that cannot be bothered by anything anymore.
What’s worse is that my pain isn’t even entirely about me. It’s about how far he’s fallen. Dylan was the most sensitive person I’d ever met in my life. He was kind, loving—feeling. And now? He might as well be made of marble.
Cold. Immovable.
I glance at the shoebox I’d pulled out from beneath the bed in what used to be my bedroom but is now a guest room. The lid is firmly in place, the contents still hidden from view. Just like they’ve been every day for the last ten years.
Maybe it’s time to face it though.
With a deep breath, I lean forward and lift the lid.
A withered corsage made of lilacs and baby’s breath is the first thing I see. Since Dylan was homeschooled and I wasn’t, he’d gone with me to my prom. It had been a perfect night.
I toss the corsage into the trash can beside me.
Next, I lift a photograph of the two of us. Taken by Tucker right after Dylan smeared some vanilla ice cream onto my nose.
Straight into the trash can.
With each discarded memory, I expect relief. Instead, I only feel more pain.
My phone rings, ripping me off of memory lane. I check the readout. When I see Kennedy’s name on the screen, I take a deep breath. She’s called nearly half a dozen times in the last hour. Same thing with Lani, Alice, Talia—they’ve all called nonstop. And I know that if I don’t answer at least one of them, the calls won’t let up. “Hello?”
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
