Chapter 6
Emma
“He’s alive.”
I remain rooted in place, the receiver pressed against my ear, because I’m sure that I heard Tucker wrong. Even as I’m sure I misheard him, hope burns a hole in my chest. Straight through my broken heart. “What?”
“Dylan’s alive, Emma. We found him.”
“You—” Tears fill my eyes, but I try to keep my voice level as I set the flowers I was arranging aside and grip the receiver with both trembling hands. “How is he? Is he hurt?”
Tucker hesitates. “It’s not great.”
“Oh no.” I choke on a sob. “How bad?”
“I don’t want to get into the specifics, Emma.”
Which means it’s horrific. “He’s alive, though?”
“Yes. Lani thinks he’ll pull through, even with the injuries.”
“Injuries. Where did you find him?”
“He was being held in an underground prison.”
“He was being held captive?” I choke on that last word. Are the injuries because of the escape? Or did they—
“Yes. Like I said, he’s in bad shape, but we got him back, and that means there’s hope.”
“When will you be back? When can I see him?” Hope shoves aside the grief I’ve carried since we were told he was killed in action.
“We’ll be back stateside in two days. But I think you should wait a bit before seeing him.”
“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.”
“Emma.”
Embarrassment heats my cheeks. “I’m assuming Bradyn told you what happened?”
She lets out a sigh. “He did. And now I’m going to ask again, how are you?”
“Mad. Hurt. But it doesn’t matter. None of it does, and I think I’m starting to realize that.”
“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?”
“Dylan will never be the man he was again, and I am finally coming to terms with that. Maybe now he’ll leave me alone so I can move on.”
She pauses a moment. “Look, I know I wasn’t around when everything between you two went sour, but I hope you know—he’s hurting too.”
“I really want to believe that, but I don’t. I need to go, okay? I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Thanks for calling.”
“I’m here if you need me.”
To defend Dylan. “I know. Thanks. Bye.” Without waiting for her to say anything, I power down my cell phone and toss it onto the counter.
After adding honey and milk to my tea, I take the mug into my living room and sit down on my couch, tucking both knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them.
I can’t get the image of him out of my head.
Standing there, unmoving, completely unaffected by the pain he’s caused over the years. Pain that I’ve buried because I know that, even with what I’m feeling, it’s nothing compared to what he suffered over there. He could break my heart a thousand times over, and it still wouldn’t match up.
But I’m so tired of pretending that I’m okay.
Of not wanting to fully grieve because it means I have to really let him go.
Maybe that’s why God hasn’t healed my heart yet.
Because I wasn’t truly ready to surrender my feelings for Dylan Hunt or the love that I still carry for him, despite everything.
Will I ever be able to move on?
My gaze lands on the photograph sitting on top of my coffee table. A woman and her baby. Me and my mother. Unfolding my legs, I reach forward and take it into my hands. The truth is that I have an entire family out there waiting to meet me.
People who won’t remind me of everything that went so horribly wrong.
But am I really selfish enough to leave my friends behind in search of a past I never thought I wanted to know?
Someone knocks on the door. Even though company is the last thing I want, I get to my feet and pull it open, fully expecting it to be Pastor Ford coming to check in on me after the very public fight in the church parking lot.
What I’m not expecting is Mattheus on my porch, a bouquet of bright white daisies in his hand. He smiles at me widely. “Hey, Emmaline.”
Alarms screech somewhere in my mind. How did he find me? Did he follow me? “Hey. How did you know where I live?”
“Asked around. Small town.” He offers me the flowers. “For you. I know I said I was going to give you time, but I realized that I never gave you anything for your birthday. Since it’s the first one I’ve actually been able to somewhat celebrate with you, I didn’t want to mess it up.”
“Thanks.” I take the flowers, feeling a bit of my pain ease away thanks to the distraction of having my brother here.
My brother.
It is a small town. And since Talia knew who he was, it wouldn’t be unusual if she told him where to find me, right? Honestly, he could have asked the florist. Genny has known me since I used to work there.
I always wanted a sibling. And here one is, on my doorstep. “Won’t you come in?”
“I would love to. Thanks.” He closes the door behind him as I carry the flowers into the house. “They smelled amazing in the floral shop, so I hope you like them.”
Leaning in, I sniff the flowers, drawing in the delicate scents. “They do smell amazing.” Reaching under my sink, I pull out a vase I bought at the farmer’s market last year and move to set it on the counter. But as I straighten, my vision swims, and the vase falls to the floor.
Glass shatters.
My stomach rolls as the ground sways beneath me.
“Oh no, I’m sorry.” I try to lean down to grab it but lose my ability to stand. Mattheus is there though, wrapping an arm around my waist to steady me.
“You’re okay,” he says. “Just ease into it.”
Ease into it. Fear ices through all other emotion, those alarms louder than they’ve ever been.
Because he’s not surprised. Or worried. Which means— “Did you do this?” I ask, my voice wavering.
“You’ll come to forgive me one day,” he says. “Maybe.” Reaching into his pocket, he withdraws his cell and taps the screen. “Yeah. It’s me. We’re going to be wheels up in twenty minutes. Got it? Great.”
“W-w-what are y-y-you doing?” I stammer, slurring my words so badly they’re barely audible.
“Putting my family back together.”
He reaches into his other pocket and withdraws a syringe. “Sorry about this. You shouldn’t feel it now, but it’s going to leave you with one nasty headache when you finally wake up.”
“Please don’t.”
“Too late.” Cold surges through my veins, spreading from the side of my neck. And as it does, my vision goes completely dark, leaving me with only one final thought.
What will this do to Dylan?